#and i thoroughly believe that one day you will receive the love and acceptance you need.

[golbpd]

why can't i just open up? why am i even like this? jealous and annoying. i just want to be loved but not like someone can type it, no, i want someone to tell me this and give me a hug and idk, maybe sometimes hold my hand. i can't open up and i know i have tons of issues to work on, so i just stay silent, hidden in the shadows, where no one can see me. i detach so it won't hurt when they leave me. i don't want to feel like this. i hate myself and i'm trying so damn hard to stay sane, to remind myself that this isn't true me, but then i ask myself, "who's true me?". i don't know who i am

thank you for your post about asks, it's the first time i'm telling this to anyone who isn't my notes app!

[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, ���wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞voicemails with chan after an argument

✰ genre : angst, romance and fluff in between

✰ pairings : bf!chan x fem!reader

✰ word count : 0.8k+ words

CHAN | minho | changbin | hyunjin | han | felix | seungmin | jeongin

one 𖨂

hey, my beautiful girl. how are you? it’s not the same without you by my side. the house looks wrecked and so am i. i am so so sorry baby for snapping at you last night. i. . . didn’t mean it. i swear. it all happened because of me and my work, and i do accept that. just come back please? i know you’re at your friend’s house but i won’t force you. ever. i just hope we can talk this out thoroughly. please? i love you very much. always know that, yeah? and i’m only a call away if you need me. good night.

two 𖨂

so i didn’t receive an answer back. does that mean you’re going to stay there for a while? alright, i respect your decisions. i always do. you know that right? anyway, today sucked. i kind of twisted my ankle while practising and i tripped over a charger and hurt my chin. it sounds painful but it was even more painful when you don’t reply to my messages, or to my calls and even my voicemails. i fucked up and i know that very well. i may sound selfish but i want you with me. i need you when i wake up and when i sleep. i want to see your face when you smile at me. how long has it been since i last saw you? over 2 weeks i suppose? if you’re listening to my voicemails, let’s meet tomorrow at our usual spot. at 3 i’ll be there. i’ll wait for you even if it takes forever.

three 𖨂

you eventually did show up. to be honest, i was surprised. i didn’t expect you to show up. but i’m glad you did. but i’m not very glad that you almost didn’t speak any other words except for ‘i need time’ and ‘alright’. it was pretty sad. then i realised how bad i must’ve hurt you for you to act this way. and i’ll say sorry a million times if you want me to. i regret ever letting you walk away like that. if only i had tried harder in our relationship we wouldn’t be at this stage where we’re unaware whether we’re together or not. i regret not understanding you earlier and spending my days at the company, rather than with you. i even started taking time out to come home early, at 8. just like you wanted. i even began sleeping on time, but i can’t help myself to fall asleep that easily without thinking how lonely you used to feel when i wasn’t here to hold you or to even talk to you. i regret everything, baby. i really do. i hope you’re happy, not skipping your meals and sleeping for good hours.

four 𖨂

i noticed something fall out of your wardrobe, and even though i respect your privacy, i couldn’t help myself. it was a letter. a letter presumably you wanted to give me, but you couldn’t. and it would be a lie if said i didn’t sit on the floor crying as i read the letter over and over till i had it memorised. you always wanted to write me letters didn’t you? what more do you have up your sleeve? how long are you going to keep impressing me and making my heart flutter like that? you might think i’m being a little too extra today, but it’s true! you can’t just go away after making me fall that deep for you. it’s been three weeks now. how long am i going to be punished? just answer me once. please.

five 𖨂

when i tell you i almost fell off the couch, you won’t believe me. but i almost didn’t believe my eyes when i saw your voicemail. why would you ever be sorry baby? you have all the right to be angry at me. i deserve it. but don’t think you did anything wrong. you just did what you thought was right. and sometimes, it’s better that way you know? like if you wouldn’t have gone away i would just return to my schedule again. i wouldn’t have realised where i was wrong. so don’t blame yourself, okay? as i said before, i’ll wait.

six 𖨂

so this is gonna be the end of all the angsty voicemails as you just called me saying you’ll be coming home tonight. i’ll prepare a welcome dinner for you along with some kisses if you would like. and hugs too perhaps? i am just on my way to clean the house and myself too. since i didn’t shower today, so i’ll see you in about 8 hours. i’m very happy that you’re coming back babe. i love you so much. and i, thank you, for giving me a second chance. i’ll be waiting for you, my love.

[twstowo]

Hello, my first request here, if it's not inconvenient I would like to make a request, where Leona and Jamil have a boyfriend or girlfriend, who likes to shower them with love and affection, for example he is always giving them kisses on the face, or spoiling them , giving gifts, practically a Y/N who is overflowing with love for her boyfriend (my boys need more love)

♡︎I'm so sorry for taking so long to answer you! I also hope you don't mind but I decided to add more characters since I really liked your idea!

♡︎Includes: Second Years and Leona

⋆⋅☆Leona:

Leona tends to be quite dramatic about it. He can't easily accept the fact that you love him so much and genuinely enjoy showing him affection. In public, if you start giving him kisses or hugs, he may initially be reluctant to reciprocate. He'll likely playfully tease you, hoping to embarrass you enough to tone it down. If you persist, he might have to leave, or he'll end up smiling like a fool.

When you give him gifts, he'll constantly ask why you chose that particular item. It's not that he dislikes it, on the contrary, he'll cherish your gift forever. He just struggles with expressing his feelings. Overall, he appreciates your affection but finds it challenging to show it. Please bear with him, he's genuinely trying his best.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Riddle:

If you kiss him unexpectedly in public, he'll become irritated and pause to explain why it's inappropriate. However, he won't be able to finish his sentence once he catches a glimpse of your face—your beautiful eyes and very kissable lips. Suddenly, he finds himself on the receiving end of improper actions. By the Seven, you might be the end of him.

Not particularly fond of public displays of affection, Riddle believes those moments should remain private. If you shower him with affection in private, he'll feel content. Despite being giddy and somewhat embarrassed by these newfound feelings, he'll reciprocate the affection.

When you give him gifts, he'll always be polite, expressing gratitude no matter the item, and he'll often seal it with a kiss on the cheek. The next time you meet, he'll make sure to present you with a sizable bouquet of roses.

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⋆⋅☆Ruggie:

Nervously laughing throughout the entire encounter, he's taken aback when you kiss him in front of everyone. A faint blush graces his face as he responds with his signature silly laugh. Your affection fills him with happiness, he couldn't ask for a better partner. While he tries to reciprocate your affection, he's more reserved when there are many people around.

Receiving gifts from you brings him immense joy, as he's never experienced such gestures from anyone else before. He'll eagerly try to reciprocate, often offering food or a random flower he's come across.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Azul:

Azul appreciates all the attention and affection you give him, but he's a bit cautious about public displays due to his business image. He politely asks you to keep things low-key when you're around others, knowing how easily he can lose composure when you shower him with kisses.

As someone who enjoys spoiling you with gifts, Azul would be delighted if you reciprocated with small items he likes. It adds an extra layer of joy to his already generous gift-giving habits.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Jade:

Jade thoroughly enjoys teasing you about your affectionate gestures, finding delight in the moments he catches you off guard. He doesn't shy away from planting random kisses on you throughout the day, relishing in the joy of seeing you blush and feel embarrassed. Doesn’t care about you being affectionate in public, after all, no one dares to stare at the two of you.

If you present Jade with little mushroom trinkets, especially different species, he'll be overjoyed. It shows your interest in his hobbies and proves that you pay attention to the things he shares and cares about.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Floyd:

If he is in a good mood, he will be as affectionate as you and won’t let you leave him until he is satisfied. If he is in a bad mood don’t expect him to be very into it as he will probably just accept your affection and won’t care much about it, he might even just leave. Don’t take it personally, because sooner or later he will come back in a good mood and the two of you can just be all lovey-dovey again.

He will keep all of your presents and even likes giving you small stuff that he finds that makes him think of you. He will literally bring you a rock and say it reminded him of you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Kalim:

The two of you are a perfect match. If you initiate any form of affection, he'll reciprocate with double the enthusiasm, it's almost like a competition. A simple kiss on the cheek in the school hallway turns into him spinning you around in a joyous hug while showering your face with nonstop kisses. Despite the disapproving looks from onlookers, the two of you remain unfazed.

When it comes to gifts, he reciprocates with double the generosity. You find yourself receiving so many presents from him that you're not sure where to put them all by the end of the day. His enthusiasm for gift-giving knows no bounds, and he takes joy in showering you with tokens of his affection.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Jamil:

In public, he tends to distance himself if you initiate affection, firmly believing such moments should be private. When it's just the two of you, he initially feels uneasy being the center of attention. However, as you shower him with endless kisses, he experiences for the first time a mix of vulnerability and trust, allowing you to express your love freely.

He genuinely appreciates both small and large gifts from you, especially when they align with things he mentioned liking before. It makes him feel valued and heard, knowing that you pay attention to the details of his preferences. As a gesture of gratitude, he ensures that you're treated to freshly prepared meals every single day. He takes pleasure in observing your reactions as you enjoy the food he lovingly makes for you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Silver:

Both of you are really into it, turning into a sappy couple. At the start, he was a bit shy about the affection you showered him with, but as time passed, he opened up to it, caring less about whether people are watching. After all, you two are dating, so expressing your feelings is only natural.

When it comes to gifts he accepts every one of them, but he does struggle with finding the right things to give in return. Seeking advice from Lilia, he often brings you flowers as a thoughtful gesture.

[thebroccolination]

People Think Krist Is Homophobic (but He Isn’t)

[TW: discussions of homophobia, death threats, "the rape filter joke", etc.]

Last September, I made a thread about The Whole Krist Thing, and I'd like to make a version here on Tumblr as well.

NOTE: My being a queer fan of Krist doesn’t override the feelings or opinions of other queer people. I fully understand that time on this planet is limited and you don't need to exert precious energy into researching an actor. The reason I'm making this is to provide context for people who are new to the fandom or just wondering why Krist is known as homophobic.

- Why I Made the Twitter Thread -

As a queer international fan living abroad, my understanding of Thailand, Thai culture, and Thai language is extremely limited. Like most of us, I rely entirely on translations, both official and fan-made.

After watching SOTUS for the first time in 2020, I saw English-speaking fans claiming that Krist Perawat, the actor who played Arthit, was homophobic. And it wasn't just one or two people saying it. It was dozens. Hundreds. That called for some research. I loved Arthit, and Krist's empathetic portrayal of him didn't mesh with the angry guy in the Instagram photo I was seeing passed around.

I'd made a number of queer Peraya fans on Twitter, so I went to them individually and asked, "What's this about Krist being homophobic?" As queer fans who were knowledgable and openly fond of Krist, I wanted to hear their side of things.

They sent me links and photos and videos and translations that thoroughly explained how Krist's reputation for being homophobic had gotten so out of control. The problem: those things weren't compiled in one place, and they were all on Twitter where the Asian Peraya fandom is most active. Interfans, meanwhile, took the worst of everything they could find and compiled it into contextless videos for Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, etc. Since the vast majority of Krist's fanbase is spread across Asia and many of them don't engage with the international fandom, it's no wonder to me that the homophobia thing has become so ubiquitous over the years.

It's a paradox where, in order to see the evidence of Krist's allyship, you kind of have to be a fan already. Or you have to know which keywords to use to navigate Twitter's nightmare of a search function (I know, Tumblr is worse). While I made that thread, I was regularly texting Peraya I knew things like, "Do you know where that one interview from 2019 is?" or, "Did you take a screenshot of the marriage equality post he made last month?"

The thread was difficult to make, and I'm a fan! What I know of Krist, I know because I've been a fan for three years and I have access to information that fans who have been here much longer can find.

I also procrastinated on making it for ages. I knew the amount of vitriol people hold against him, and I just wanted to enjoy my time in fandom quietly without calling waves of anger and hate to my carefully curated little corner of sunshine.

Then Krist was in a car accident.

And even though he was reportedly driving safely and slowly, Thailand is notorious for its poorly maintained roads and a high number of traffic accidents. Only months after receiving his first driver's license, Krist's car flipped upside down, and he had to reassure fans from the hospital that he was physically all right, just shaken.

Meanwhile, some international fans thought it was funny.

And that's when I started making the thread.

So, with all that said, let's start with Krist's allyship, because I know most of us agree that that's the bare minimum for an actor working in the BL industry and profiting off the queer community.

- Acts of Allyship -

In the early days of their SOTUS fame, Krist and Singto were interviewed about the LGBTQ+ community.

Acceptance and equality is something that the LGBTQ community still struggles to achieve up to this day. But both Singto and Krist believe that this should not be the case. “They are just humans. They are like me, and they are like everyone,” Krist claims. Furthermore, he mentions that we should all be given the freedom to love anyone we want to love. “It’s just natural,” he says.

“They don’t have to understand now,” Singto says, referring to those who can’t grasp same-sex relationships. “One day, when they find their true love, they will realize that love is the same no matter the gender.” Krist adds, “Gender is not relevant when it comes to love. But in case some people still don’t understand this in time, what’s important is that we all give due respect to each other at the end of the day.”

He's also educated himself in colors representative of the LGBTQ+ community.

When Krist and Singto attended an award ceremony for their photoshoot in the gay magazine Attitude, Krist shared a sentiment that he gave to a queer friend of his. "If no one accepts you, you can stay with me, because I accept you for who you are." [Paraphrased]

Despite Thailand's current government leaning on BL series as a new soft power, it's still very conservative, and its people are to this day fighting to see equal marriage recognized.

Krist often adds his voice to this fight on Instagram, specifically as someone who works in the BL industry. These were in 2021 and 2022:

And, like many young people in Thailand, Krist also seems to support the Move Forward party. Earlier this week, he used an orange heart in a tweet to encourage people to go out and vote in the most recent election. One of the many things the Move Forward party is pushing for is the legalization of same-sex marriage "with the same rights and responsibilities as their heterosexual peers", which the current military government actively does not.

- His Circle -

When I was making my Twitter thread, I hesitated before including mention of his queer friends and coworkers. I knew how that would sound, but in the same way I felt it was important to mention my own queerness, I also think it's important to highlight not just the presence of queer people in his life, but how comfortable they are with him.

As I said in my Twitter thread, having queer friends isn’t indicative of anything substantial, but I do think it’s important to look at how those queer friends interact with him. If you’re queer, you know firsthand which friends you’d be physically affectionate with. The entertainment industry is its own world, of course, and the weight and meaning of relationships and connections can be different, but for all Krist's fame and popularity, he's not so famous or remotely powerful that faking a friendship with him is going to get them very far.

Among his queer friends, you've got Jennie who babies him, Godji who treats him like her son, and Oat who still adores him years after SOTUS. All of them queer, all of them visibly affectionate in a way that feels authentic, at least to me.

On the professional side of things, I think the best example of someone who wouldn't bother with him if he were homophobic is Golf Tanwarin Sukkhapisit. In 2022, Krist worked on The War of Flowers with Golf, a nonbinary queer activist, former MP, and director of The Eclipse. Since they're not just a queer person in the industry but a vocal queer activist who's made incredible progress for the community in their country, I value their judgment of his character.

Again, the reason I bring up these people isn't to say, "Look! Queer people! He knows some!"

It's to point out that he's close to them, and it disrespects their judgment to casually assume that they’d cosy up to a homophobe.

It's a small point, yes, but it was important to me when I first became a fan to see that queer people who know him personally had "vetted" him.

- Growth -

For this next section, I'll address three things I see brought up most often: the rape filter joke, the rumor that Krist said he doesn't like watching men kiss, and the claim that he's only doing BL because rent is due.

1) The Rape Filter Joke

In 2017, Krist and Singto were on a live with (I think) two other friends. They were testing out different filters, and when they got to a blur effect, one of them (one of the friends, I think) said it looked like the filter they put over victims of sexual assault on the news. They all laughed, including Krist and Singto.

I can't find a video of the original event, but we do have a translation of the apology he gave in 2018, and the public apology he made in 2020 when the video resurfaced again.

While this is unfortunate, and it would be nice if he hadn’t done it, I’m more interested in how he responds to criticism and his growth afterward. The incident was in 2017, but even speaking on it in 2020, he didn't make excuses for himself.

He apologized, accepted culpability, educated himself, and has never repeated it.

2) Krist "Doesn't Like to Watch Men Kiss"

There's also a claim that goes around that Krist said he doesn't like to watch men kiss. But that isn't what he said.

The subtitled interview that this claim was taken from has been split into two parts, and I think a lot of people have only seen the first half, if they've seen either.

(Also, my deepest apologies, but I'm linking you to Twitter for the video clips.)

In the first clip, the hosts tease Krist about Singto's sex scene with another actor in Close Friends. I can't speak to the nuances of what Krist is saying in Thai, but in the subtitles, he's basically saying that as a guy, he doesn't want to watch stuff like that and just skips past Singto and his partner to one of the other couples, like the male-female pairs. With just this clip, I agree that it doesn't sound great.

But in the second clip, the hosts tease Krist until he admits that the "stuff" he doesn't want to watch is Singto specifically kissing people who aren't him. Krist's jealousy, especially when it comes to Singto, is a well-trod fanservice joke.

3) He's Doing BL Only for the Money

I mean, I have no idea, but it'd be very weird if this was true, because he hasn't been in a BL since 2018 (if you count Our Skyy), and he's doing very well for himself financially.

Listen, this is probably the least serious people get when they criticize him, but I'm including it because why not, this is already a thesis.

From what I understand based on actors' comments, BL roles don't make a lot of money for the actors. (Boun even quoted a surprisingly low daily salary recently, and I'll share it here if I find it again.) Of course, I imagine Krist has enough fame and clout that he gets paid more than most actors, but to be frank, he absolutely makes more from all his other work.

Apart from the acting work he's done, he hosts two music shows, he starred in a musical recently, GMM just flew him to Japan for the first leg of his Asia concert tour, he runs a restaurant with Wave, and he has a bunch of sponsorships. And that's off the top of my head. The car from his accident in 2021 was a luxury model, and he replaced it with another pretty soon afterward. I'm not bragging for him or anything, but the "he's just doing BL for the money" is an odd thing to say when he probably already earns more than most without doing it.

It would have been a better argument back in 2016 when Krist's family was deep in debt. Krist's said that his main motivation to join the entertainment industry back then was to pay off that debt for his family, and he did so with the money he made from SOTUS.

Krist has spoken in the past about wanting to do more BL roles, but GMM preferred that he work with Singto. Now that Singto's left GMM (likely to start his own agency), Krist is in Be My Favorite, so I think his explanation tracks.

It's also worth mentioning that you can do something for the money and also love what you do. In the case of SOTUS, Arthit wasn't just a role that made him money, he's the character who changed Krist's life. He honors Arthit to this day by always wearing the bracelet he wore to his audition and by naming his music studio "SUN St." after Arthit.

(This is a very minor point, but I don't think a homophobe would cherish a queer role to quite that extent even if it was their kick-off point. If anything, they'd probably try to bury the role and pretend their real success started later.)

- Perception of Sexuality -

I think the reason the IG story hits people so hard is because Krist's reaction makes it seem like he's horrified that people could even think he's gay. My understanding is that he was tired of people interrogating him about his sexuality.

Krist is very openly affectionate with the people he loves, regardless of gender, which is clear in the photos with his friends above. Thus, he's always been like that with Singto. They hug before every show, they sleep on each other, cuddle, what have you. All the stuff of people who have developed a tight bond over the years.

When Krist was asked if he was afraid that that would put off potential partners in the future (which, good god, the questions they're asked) Krist said he doesn't care how people perceive his sexuality.

This was in 2018, the year Our Skyy aired, and he's said similar things in passing before and since.

- Conclusion -

All of what I've posted here is just a slice of what's out there. This is just the stuff I could find with reliable English translations because I'm making this for an English-speaking audience. Krist's fans already know all of this, which is why he has queer fans in the first place, and a lot of them are just too tired by hate fatigue to keep correcting misinformation.

I'm not trying to get every person in the world to like Krist, I promise. He's not perfect. He's a loud mess, and while he has four cats who love him, they're also exhausted by him. I just happen to like loud, obnoxious people, especially when they're as kind as he is.

There are plenty of Thai actors I don't vibe with for any number of reasons ranging from serious to petty. You have my written permission to dislike some people.

The Instagram story he posted was a bad move, we're all agreed. He agrees. He's apologized multiple times over the years. Whether one accepts his apologies is each person’s right, and I understand if this is enough to turn people away.

I just hope it's clear that he's been a staunch ally of the queer community and remains so to this day.

Personally, I'm more upset about the question.

This isn't a question you ask anyone.

And this wasn't the first fan to ask him.

According to people who have been fans from the SOTUS era, Krist and Singto were both relentlessly dogged by fans about 1) their sexualities and 2) details about their relationship with each other. We've all likely seen it happen to actors today, but back in 2016, there weren't hundreds of BL actors vying for the spotlight, so the spotlight hit Krist and Singto in a way that we can't imagine today. Most of us, myself included, arrived in this fandom long after SOTUS's meteoric rise to popularity that ended up saving GMMTV from bankruptcy, but given how many fans still behave like they're entitled to know an actor's sexuality, I think it's safe to trust that it was relentless. Fans accusing Kit Connor of "queerbaiting" as recently as 2022 is proof of that.

At the end of the day, there are plenty of reasons to dislike Krist, just like there are to dislike any person on this planet. He's hyperactive, he's whiny, etc. He's not flawless, but I think he's more than shown through his actions that he isn't homophobic, either.

He's not some actor playing queer roles for clout. He's vocally supportive of queer rights, and he backed that up this week in the polls by voting for the most progressive party in his country who are actively pushing for marriage equality.

But like I said, you don't have to like him, so I'll end this post with a quote from a friend who doesn't like Krist for the funniest reason I've ever heard:

"I don't think Krist is homophobic. I just don't like him because he reminds me of every kindergartener who demanded my attention at the exact moment when I was carrying something that could spill – and then it did spill, and they laughed about it for five minutes."

[mywrittengartgallery]

PEDRI - Troisième regard

Words : +6,3k 

Warning : pure fluff

Summary : Neither you or Pedri had ever believed in love at first sight, nor in fast dating. Taking your time was a must that pleased both of you. Wasn’t going on dates the best part of flirting ? (Second part of “second regard”)

☁️ 

“What will you wear?”

“I don’t know! I’m so fucking stressed!”

“A dress does it generally.”

“Yes, I know, but I don’t want to be overdressed...”

Martha nodded, understanding your struggle. In a way it was a happy struggle, worrying over getting ready for a date wasn’t exactly a disaster. She wanted to ask more though, however the professor that was doing the lesson in front of the full amphitheater, glared at the both of you, close to calling you out in front of everyone. As a result, she put some space between you and turned a little bit so she could fully face the blackboard. You did the same, trying to take notes of what he was saying, despite his inhumane speech speed.

“It is really important to never, ever give beta blockers to patients who suffer from asthma, this medicine actually blocks bronchial beta 2 receptors and so aggravates an asthma crisis” his voice was as monotone as it could get, and if it weren’t for the constant silent notifications you were receiving on your phone, you would have probably dozed off by now. You should have known Martha wasn’t done.

___

The rush wasn’t something you particularly liked: you were someone who liked it organized, usually clothes chosen the night before and a schedule thought perfectly that you would thoroughly follow. But accepting a date with Pedri meant composing with his hectic schedules and so a potential crash of your own schedule. That’s why you had rushed back from the university to your apartment, Martha following the best she could, in order to make something out of the mess you were. Alright, you literally could have waited for the weekend for another proposition of date, he had said that he understood if you couldn’t and that he was willing to wait three more days. But you were impatient, you wanted to spend time with him.

“Put this one on, it’s a cute one but still simple” and you would probably die without the blondie. You thanked her, wrapping her in a hug and taking the silky blue-grey wrap dress: it had long sleeves that were a little flared at the end, it also wasn’t too long, revealing a little bit of your thighs. You quickly put it on, while you tried to find the shoes that would go with it.

“Y/N sit down, I’m doing your hair while you put some make up on” again, you would probably die without her. You sat down in front of your bathroom’s sink, on a chair that Martha had taken from the kitchen to make it easier when situations like that arose. You took out all of your make up from your glittery pouch and tried to find the items that you thought would fit. It would be an easy-slash-natural make up because you weren’t the most experienced in this area but mainly because you were running out of time and if you were to ruin any of the steps, you knew you would have to do it again. You couldn’t afford that. On the other hand, your roommate was working on your hair, curling them in a way that they would find themselves lightly wavy by the end of her magical doing. She was trying to go as fast as she could, you knew it and you were so thankful for that.

It was pure chaos, you panicking through everything you were doing and what if he just wanted a date and nothing else? What if he just wanted to get into your pants? And Martha was doing her best to reassure you, trying to prove you wrong by mentioning how long you’ve been talking. He couldn’t be that thirsty for him to wait more than a month for some simple fling.

Here you were, putting your shoes on as Martha was running around to find your perfume and spraying it on you, weirdly putting some behind your knees. You looked at her confused, would you dare to say, as if she were crazy.

“It attracts men... With that, you will definitely spend the best night of your life honey!” she winked after talking this nonsense and pushed you through the door, throwing your jacket at you. This was rushing a little too much and you didn’t know what to do. You were standing there unsure, looking at her as she was detailing you with a wide smile.

“You look beautiful Y/N.” she had whispered it as her eyes seemed to show some proudness. She was such a genuine person and that made you warm inside because you knew that she had really meant every words that had escaped her mouth. You smiled in return, calming your nerves a little. “Now go get your man!”

And that’s what you did, you ran down the stairs of your building, pushing the glass doors and meeting the warm air of Barcelona while the sun was setting. You knew the night would be colder, but god, did you love October afternoons here. Then you rushed to the next underground station to catch it just in time. Sitting here, on the uncomfortable jump seat, you finally caught your breath, resting a little bit. The adrenaline was lightly getting higher and you were excited while being scared shitless. A weird combination that had you playing with your thin bracelet and checking the time on your phone every two minutes. Not even twenty minutes later, you were out of the underground, in a beautiful street, without many people.

You had refused when Pedro had asked if he could come pick you up. You didn’t want to attract people’s attention and living in a student residence, gossip could spread like wild fire. Plus, you felt like it would be easier on your nerves to walk yourself to the date.

You saw him at the end of the road, leaning against a classic architectural building, scrolling down his phone. You didn’t directly make your presence known, wanting to take him in entirely. He was wearing simple black trousers, which were a change from his awful skinny jeans or cargo pants, with a casual white T-shirt, a black denim jacket thrown over his forearm. It was pretty simple but he looked good, it made you feel weird. This was the man you were going on a date with and you couldn’t really believe it.

“Pedro!” you exclaimed, waving at him while getting closer. That had him looking up. He smiled warmly at you while closing the small distance that continued to separate you.

“Hey!” he said shyly. “You look beautiful” and the near murmur that had left his mouth was all it took for you to blush furiously.

“You’re not half bad yourself” you tried to tease, wanting to project his attention on something else. It had worked apparently, if his small smile and red ears were anything to say.

And that’s how you found yourself walking by his side towards a hill that overlooked the Mediterranean Sea. A restaurant was at the top, and you recognized it: you had been there with your friends before. It was a cozy place with mostly tables en Terrasse. It had many colorful touches as well as white walls, delimiting the area, that complimented the Barcelona weather. You had talked about it to him, sharing the happy memory and explaining how the evening had been one of the best you had had in this city thanks to the amazing food. You were touched he had remembered, it was a special for you, and now sharing this with him, it felt all more special.

“I love it” you said, and you weren’t even yet seated. He turned around, winking at you before talking to a waitress, probably about the reservation. She nodded and took you to a secluded spot, where you could perfectly see the shore. It wasn’t entirely separated from the rest of the clients, but enough for you to stay in your own little bubble and you loved how he had thought of these details.

Both of you sat down, facing each other, and you couldn’t help but laugh because it was the most formal thing you had had with him and it was just weird. You were a stress-laugher if it made sense. He followed you and bowed his head so he could hide and if you were disappointed to not see his radiant smile, you weren’t ready to tell him yet.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight”

That had been said right in the middle of your dinner, him looking at you intently while he had said that. You swallowed your bite and looked at him confused. Why would he bring that up when it wasn’t what the conversation was about in the first place? Sure, there had been a soft lull in it, but still, you hadn’t been prepared to touch this subject yet.

“I’m sorry?” you asked with your voice holding an amused undertone.

“You gave me your insta when you came to sign your brother’s jersey... I didn’t really take it -”

“Your manager threw it away actually” you were teasing but if you really thought about it, it had hurt you a little bit. He grimaced at that and nodded, embarrassed. You took another bite, looking at him again to indicate him that he could continue, he had all your attention.

“Well, it’s because I don’t believe in love at first sight.” his shining eyes met yours: he had looked dead serious when he had said that. “I could have taken it, followed you and then it would have just been for a night. Not like I usually do that!” he quickly tried to reassure you, nervousness rising in him and you could see it in his desperate movements and the way he had taken your hand, squeezing it just lightly. You immediately looked at it, a blush spreading to your soft skin. He never let go.

“I, hum... it happens sometimes I guess?” how could he be so unsure in front of you? He was sure he was making a fool out of himself.

“Happens?”

“No! Not anymore, not since, well you know? Since we met again and all” he was normally good at taking the hint that you were playing with him but not right now apparently. A soft giggle escaped your lips and you felt the tension slightly evaporating from his body, his hand relaxing against yours. “So you shouldn’t feel like I didn’t want you because I didn’t accept it.”

“It’s something serious for me.” and that had you curious again. “This thing between us, I want it to be serious and I want to do it right.” and if you were blushing before, now you were a blood cell full of hemoglobin. He still hadn’t registered that his hand was still on yours, so surprise overtook him when he felt yours turn around and intertwine your delicate fingers with his. He was gone for sure, an idiotic grin playing on his lips.

“For me too...” and you weren’t sure why your voice couldn’t go higher. Probably because he had came and murdered your fears, the ones that were telling you he was playing around, that it was just to get into your pants and then you would just be a blurred memory in his mind.

“I still don’t understand why this has anything to do with love at first sight?” you asked, wanting to go back to a lighter subject. You heart couldn’t take more, you would crumble under all these fuzzy, mushy feelings.

“Because I didn’t feel like you were the type of girl to indulge into these kinds of relationship. So seeing you once didn’t mean anything, it was not destiny. But twice! That has to mean something...” you rose an eyebrow at his little rant, squinting your eyes at him.

“You don’t know that though, maybe I wanted you in my bed to throw you away the next day”

“Did you?”

You hadn’t, you had had your phases were you actually enjoyed life this way but it’s been quite long since you had stopped. You were more of a relationship girl, maybe because you could easily get attached and shallow relationships were the perfect way to hurt yourself again and again. You shrugged though, wanting to keep it a mystery. He laughed and brought back his hand to take a bite of his own food. You hadn’t fooled him one bit.

“Did you even remember me when you saw me at the hospital ?”

“Well, no, I had forgotten about you. But I remembered you after that!”

“Wow, that’s the worst thing to say on a date, Pedro!” and tears formed at the corner of your eyes with how much you were laughing. He was so awkward but still, his cuteness won over it. He accompanied you in your fit of laughter, trying to catch his own breathe as you took the napkin to dab the droplets of water that were held by your eyelashes.

And smiles and laughters and grins and shy giggles were apparently the theme of your date because when you got on your separate ways, you couldn’t stop the Crescent moon that was your mouth and the stars twinkling in your irises. Even the sour odor of urine in the underground did nothing to make your mood feeble.

And when you got in your bed, comforted by the soft fabric of your sheets, and you closed your eyes, the images that brought you to sleep were ones of a soft hug and a shy kiss on his stubbly cheek.

___

“I’m leaving Y/N!”

“Sure! Have a good night Lola”

“You too” she exclaimed while she had just put the leather strap of her bag on her shoulder. You nodded to thank her for her sweet words and went back to your semiology book.

You had been at the library all day, apart from your lunch at the campus cafeteria and the only class you had had. Your back was aching with all the sitting down you had done and your neck wasn’t better, your eyes were feeling dry and to make it worse your stomach was grumbling. It was nearing ten P.M yet you hadn’t eaten. However, going to the nearest convenience store seemed like the biggest task to do and you weren’t feeling brave enough tonight, so you had settled on studying on an empty stomach, ignoring the uncomfortable cramps. So, here you were, learning symptoms after symptoms, writing down the norms on colorful index cards under the yellowish light of the old lamps that were arranged on the library’s tables. If you had dared getting a little distracted, and actually lost your mind on the scenery offered by the wide windows, you would have seen the night sky littered with stars, the emptiness of the street. You would have seen a figure coming out of a small green car, a pizza box in hand as he looked through the window, searching for someone. Once his eyes had settled on your focused form, his gaze softened and the beginning of a grin appeared on his lips. He entered the building, greeting quietly the librarian at the entrance who was organizing a pile of books.

Steps after steps, he led himself towards you. Not once did you look up, and he took it as a time to process you: your soft hair falling with the bend of your head, some wild strands falling in front of your eyes. You didn’t really care to rearrange it. You were curled on yourself, feet put on the chair you were sitting on, your hand holding tightly your blue pen. Your cheek was squished by your fist, using it as something to rest on. But the thing that he noticed the most in entire the scene you were, were the glasses perched at the tip of your nose, complimenting your features in such a delicate way. He hadn’t though he could see such a softer sight of you but the round metallic frame made you ten times younger and he wanted to wrap himself around you to protect you. You were all he could think about, all he could see.

“Hey...” he whispered once he was close enough, deposing the pizza box, still pretty warm, on your table. He had made sure to not touch any of your things. You looked up, slightly startled, but a huge smile, quite surprised, broke on your face. He took the chair from the nearest table and sat down next to you, squeezing your knee. Your eyes were sparkling and he could feel the excitement bubbling inside you.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice just above a whisper due to your shock. He shrugged, nodding at the food he had brought but you didn’t look, completely mesmerized by his presence. You hadn’t been prepared to see him, you hadn’t even know he had been back from his away game. But here he was, a warm expression on his face and a hand on your knee. “Seriously, Pedro?”

“I wanted to see you but you wouldn’t answer so I kind of asked Martha if you were free.” he was fiddling with a loose thread of your jeans, still focused on you. “She told me that you were probably there, and nicely informed me that you probably hadn’t eaten yet.” even though he was gently scolding you, the worry seeping from him made you feel tingly. You bit your lip and got closer to kiss his cheek, as a thank you and maybe, just for you, as a missed you.

“That’s why I brought that; Martha also made sure to tell me that this library was ok with bringing food. I would have been dumb to not catch on the signals she was sending me” and you stifled a laugh at that, because that was so Martha. You would be thankful for her for the rest of your life. He reached for the pizza box, moving your pink binder on the side to make some room, and opened the red and green cardboard. A nice smell went out of it, activating your tastebuds and making you drool over it. It looked so appetizing. All the hunger you had felt crashed on you right at the sight and you couldn’t resist the urge to grab a slice, taking the first bite. A hum of contentment escaped you.

“Is it that good?” he chuckled, amused by your antics. You blushed as you swallowed, however taking another bite. Pedro imitated you, feeding himself a slice. You ate in silence, thanks to your hunger but also because it was the most appropriate way in a library. Your gazes would cross and quickly divert, shy hues coloring your skins, knowing smiles on both of your faces. He had stretched his legs under the table, playfully bumping them on the foot of your chair. He looked so soft in his black hoodie and sweats, you knew he had left his apartment just for you from his outfit to the slight sleepiness visible in the corner of his eyes : he had made the effort even though he must have been dead tired from traveling and playing full ninety minutes of an aggressive game. His hair were curling a little, probably due to a shower he must have taken, but the dark mop of hair was making you weak, so so weak. His stubble was gone, a weird habit to shave it before most of the games. He was a baby in your eyes at the moment, because looking this soft while practically being twenty years old wasn’t scientifically possible in your mind. And you were the same age but now, now you wanted to protect him, to hug him and never let go. You couldn’t though, not here, with potential prying eyes even though the library was practically empty. You also mostly couldn’t because you weren’t like that, yet.

“This is our second date” you whispered once you were full, playing absentmindedly with the napkin he had brought with the food.

“Do you like it ?” he questioned, once he realized the truth in your statement. He hadn’t thought of it like that, just the need to see you overwhelming him that coming here had felt right.

“I would love it if I didn’t have to work” you said, gaining a quiet laugh from him. You loved unorganized dates, the ones where it was just natural to hang out together without worrying over the perfectness the moment had to carry. Just the two of you enjoying good food in a cozy environment, you really couldn’t ask for more.

“It’s late though, maybe you could quit for the day?” he suggested, a mischievous glint in his dark orbs. His hand had went up to allow one of his fingers to push back one of your strands. The movement had been so gentle, you wanted to melt. You stuck out your tongue and playfully bumped into him.

“I can’t. I have to get this done if I don’t want to cry later on about how late I am in my work...” you had nearly whined while explaining to him, but it was clearly weighing on you. You could see it that he understood, from the soft look he gave you to the small alright he let out. A sense of relief washed over you: he wasn’t taking it personally nor did he resent you for not taking full advantage of the situation and just enjoy this date. Working with him beside you was enough for you. For him too, though you weren’t aware of that, but basking in your presence and grasping at every details that made you you, was enough.

That’s why, after chatting a little bit, about football mostly because you hadn’t had the time to congratulate him on his performance, he stayed. He propped his head on his arms that were resting on the table, and watched you through your working session. It’s like you had allowed him in your bubble and now the two of you were cut from the rest of the world. The idea made him smile.

___

You were watching over the sauce you had prepared in the pan, wanting it to be perfect. With a swift motion, you added just a little bit of pepper. Your eyes caught the time displayed on the microwave, making you turn around so you could set the two plates on the coffee table in front of the TV. Time was ticking, you were excited.

You hadn’t had to wait for long. The doorbell broke the comforting silence of your apartment. You ran a hand through your locks and smoothed your skirt before you went to the door, revealing a classy Pedro behind it. He had put on straight jeans and a simple sweater, and maybe you liked the idea of him putting on effort to dress nicely, just for you. You smiled at him, stepping aside to let him enter your home.

“Hi” he said, a grin on his lips. “Here, for you.”

You looked at the small box he was handing you, a red ribbon sealing it. You took it curiously, sending him glances to know if you could open it. He only nodded at that. You tugged at one of the ends of the silky ribbon and undid the perfect knot. You then grabbed the lid of the box and opened it. A mass of Schokobons in it: white and red clashing with the deep brown of the box. You laughed because he knew you had a slight obsession with these chocolates. And even if the situation was funny, you noted in a corner of your brain that he had taken the time to make a beautiful presentation for you.

“Thank you, Pedri!” and your laugh was contagious because you could hear him wheeze. His eyes were crinkled, god he was beautiful. It pushed you to grab his hand in order to lead him towards your small living room. You had dimmed the light and switched on some glimmering strings that were adorning your window. The TV was on, Netflix opened and offering many propositions of movies and series. He was looking around, still holding your hand, taking in the polaroids of you and your friends taped on the wall, the ton of cushions arranged on the leather couch, the small coffee table with two plates, two glasses and little white candles lit on it. His eyes were sparkling because this all felt so comforting and so you in a way.

“You can sit down, I’m going to bring the food.” you said shyly, because he hadn’t said a word and you were a bit self-conscious: what if the candles were too much for him? Yet, he turned around, a beautiful grin playing on his lips, hand tugging yours.

“Do you need help?”

“No!” you quickly denied and gestured him to sit down. You wanted to do it by your rules: your guest was to relax and enjoy the full Y/N’s experience. So he did that, settling on the white carpet, sliding his legs under the wooden table and watched you moving around the kitchen that wasn’t even five feet away. He liked how tiny your apartment was, how everything seemed so compact and so full of yours and, he assumed, Martha’s things. It did feel like a home, a warm one at that. He wasn’t saying his place wasn’t his home, but it had never felt as comforting as his parent’s house, it was a bit too big just for him and his brother, a little too neat and too empty because what could he put more in there if he didn't need it? He felt at ease in his apartment, he enjoyed his time there but it was never that comforting. It was different in yours, you had made a home for yourself there and he could imagine you wrapping yourself in a plaid on the couch behind him, feeling appeased to be in your own space. He longed for this kind of sensation.

You came back with a pan, bursting his little bubble. You put it in the table in front of you, stirring the pasta a little with a big spoon. When you felt like it was good, you finally sat down next to him, bumping your knee with his.

“It smells good!” he exclaimed as you were scooping some of it and putting it on his plate. With a shy beam on your face, you shrugged and did the same to your plate.

“It’s not a lot, just pasta with pesto. Although I must say that I made the pesto sauce myself!”

“I wasn’t expecting you to make a full three stars dish, Y/N” he tried to reassure.

“What does that mean?” you had faked being offended, placing a hand on your chest and gaping at him. He snickered and rolled his eyes.

“You clearly don’t have time to spend an entire afternoon doing that, I know how much your studies are time-consuming.” And that had you blushing because the way he had acknowledged all the efforts you had made to meet him tonight, just felt so sweet to hear. He was aware of you and your life, he was comprehensive and it took everything in you to not just kiss him.

And that was the feeling that was prevailing during this dinner, even when you had finished it and had to focus on the movie you had chosen, even when he had maneuvered the both of you on the couch to be more comfortable. You wanted to kiss him, it felt like the right thing to do but he did nothing that led you to think he wanted to kiss you tonight. So you tried to push it aside, focusing on him being here for the moment.

It only subdued once he finally dared snaking his arms around your waist to let you fall on top of him. You found yourself with your nose nuzzling the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent that weirdly appeased you. He had his hands holding you in place and his cheek pressed against the top of your head. You could feel the puffs of air he would let out with each exhale, mixing with your hair and creating shivers that would run down your spine. Pedro’s thumb was drawing circle on the slight exposed skin of your back, a steady rhythm guiding you to sleepiness. Your heartbeat slightly slowing down as your breath became lighter, your eyes would drop before unintentionally shutting themselves. Pedri, engulfed in you, followed short after.

And that’s how Martha found the two of you when she came back. Your limbs tangled and your head resting on his chest. She smiled, genuine happiness for you two: you were at peace, she could feel it and she was so glad that Pedro seemed sincere. With this warm pool inside her, she took the fluffy blanket that was stored behind the sofa and tucked you under it.  

___

“Pass me the spices please” Pedri asked while keeping an eye on the frying pan, making sure his art wasn’t burning. You did as you were told, giving him the small glass pot, leaning a bit on your side to see how his hands worked. You had never paid attention to his long fingers, lean and neat. He was precise in his movements, quick jabs and small twists, he knew what he was doing.

He had to, obviously. After your date at your place, Pedro had insisted on reciprocating the gesture by inviting you over so he could cook for you. Show you his own skills and maybe, just maybe, impress you on the way. He had claimed that this would be the best food you would ever taste. Your expectations were high.

“Now, I just need to let it cook for like a minute and it’s done!” he cheered, turning around a little so he could face you. You were inches apart, his breath fanning over your hair and you could feel the warmth coming from him, wanting to bask in it. You looked up, meeting his intense eyes and a sudden surge of timidity overwhelmed you. You were so close, yet none of you dared to move, dared to take the final step. You took a small step forward, it wasn’t that noticeable but it was still enough for him to swallow the lump in his throat. It had taken all of your bravery for you to move, to inch closer and drop hints but the boy wouldn’t take them. He didn’t do anything and you were beginning to think that you had read the situation wrong. Or worst, you had completely misjudged your relationship. It technically was your fourth date yet nothing had happened. Sure, they were labelled as dates, but maybe Pedro didn’t want more and was scared to tell you. You were getting anxious and overthinking everything while forgetting that Pedro had invited you over, in his apartment, in his home. It was intimate, the most intimate thing he could offer you at this point of your relationship. But you were too into your head to remember this simple thing.

Pedro turned back to the pan, clearing his throat before flipping the croquettes. He avoided your eyes and focused intensely on the heating spot, like the crackling oil was the most interesting thing in the world. You were blushing, a pink embarrassed blush, you were lost. Now playing with your fingers, you tried to divert your attention on something else, like the living room directly opened on the kitchen, or the wide window that offered a rare view of the city that was Barcelona. The sun was setting, orange hues enveloping the scenery as the moon shone brighter and brighter. However, your thoughts were cut short when you felt something nudging your hip. You looked up, finding Pedro’s eyes already set on you.

“Could you set the table?” he asked, an easy smile on his lips. And with just that, he had gotten rid of your former anxiety that was crushing your insides. You nodded and went to grab plates as wall as glasses, placing them on the island in the middle of the kitchen. You had set everything so you two could face each other, the plate of food the only separation. Pedro turned around, the pan still making crackly sounds, and set it right where you thought he would, on a ceramic trivet. And when you thought he was going to sit down, he actually took your own plate and glass, the cutlery with it, and set it on the side of the table. Now you were practically next to each other, only the sharp corner of the island separating you. You looked up, eyebrows raised because you weren’t sure what that meant, but the cute smile he offered you made you keep your mouth shut and just go with it. You sat down, following Pedri in his actions, and started eating the Croquettes he had cooked. His mom’s recipe he had said. Well, you never had gotten to taste something quite like that: it was good, great even.

“It’s so good!”

“Of course it is!” he exclaimed with a smug look on his face, shrugging like it was a known fact “I'm the one who made them!” he continued, pointing at the croquettes with his fork. A giggle escaped you and you took your chance, teasing him was fun.

“So they are better than your mother’s ?” you asked. His eyes had widened and he grimaced before quickly shaking his head.

“Never did I say that! No one can come close to my mother’s cooking.” you loved how he would defend his mother wholeheartedly, his family in general, but you could feel that this was a sensitive spot. This whole man was an entire softie. You just loved that about him. You smiled and kicked his ankle, trying to go back to your food.

“I will have to bring you to Tenerife one day, so you can try my mom’s food.” he had said it lowly, just so the two of you could hear, not like anyone else could, but it had felt much more intimate. Here you were again, a pinkish hue at the tip of your ears.

“That’s a big step mister González...” you continued with the low tone, not wanting to break the atmosphere the boy had just set. He was squinting at you, playfully but not that much actually. Anticipation filled the room and you weren’t sure where it was coming from and how it had enveloped you this fast. Your eyes met his, getting lost in the dark pools that were his irises, and unconsciously, both of you got closer. His breath had picked up, just like yours. You opened your mouth, with a newfound courage.

“Maybe you should start with asking me out” and it was barely above a whisper, but the words had resonated in him, leaving him shaken and surprised by your straightforward demeanor. He was dumbfounded. You brought your face even closer, and with the shock he couldn’t move. His cheeks had absorbed all the blood of his body, he was practically glowing red, he knew it because it was accompanied with a wave of heat. But still, his body wouldn’t cooperate and closing the small distance between both of your mouths seemed impossible. What if you were joking? What if it didn’t mean you wanted to be kissed right now? He was nowhere near inexperienced, he had had his fair share of girls, mostly in his bed, but he had also went out with some. He knew how to make a girl swoon over a nice rendezvous-vous, how to use his charms. But this far, as in a serious relationship? It hadn’t happened often, actually just once, and it was in high school, back in Tenerife. He had waited for months for that, so he had been sure that all of this was reciprocated when he had put his lips on hers. When it involved feelings, Pedro was a newbie, completely lost and entirely clumsy. That’s why, right now he wasn’t confident. he would hate himself if he were to mess it up.

His hesitance was visible to you and a small grin appeared at the corner of your lips. Because his hesitance was conjugated with a hard blush and heavy breathing as well a desire in his sparkling eyes. He wanted it but he wouldn’t take it. If he needed the final push, you would give him.

“For God’s sake... Kiss me Pedro !”

And he did. As if you had broken the high wall that would contain the water of a dam, his lips had crashed on yours like gigantic waves. He was intense, which was a pure contrast with the shyness he had shown you all night, or the sweet and calm character he had. His lips moved fast, pushing and pulling, wanting more. And you gave him just as much, grabbing his wrists the moment he had placed his hands on your warm cheeks. Your fingers pressing right where you could feel his fast pulse, it was grounding you while his kiss was trying to shatter your world. You weren’t sure how long it had lasted, it might as well be an eternity with how much of yourself you had put in it, but also merely seconds because it had ended too fast. You wanted him closer. So you never let go, even when he had broken the kiss to regain his breath or when he had stopped time to look at you, sinking into your orbs.

“Would you go out with me ?” he asked, faces millimeters apart, his breath fanning over your nose.

“I thought that was clear...” you giggled. However, his hands that were resting on your cheeks, squeezed them. His expression was a pleading one.

“Answer me, please” and he looked dead serious. That had you holding your breath before bumping your nose with his.

“Yes, Pedro, I want to be your girlfriend.”

☁️  

I hope you liked it! English isn’t my first language so I hope I didn’t make too many mistakes!

Don’t be shy and tell me what you thought of it.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Congrats on 2K! Can you do any Doctor in a train station with a letter?

[2K Followers 'Clue' Special]

During the reign of Queen Victoria, British Empire experienced tremendous technological advancement. One might even go as far as to call it an unbelievable advancement. That "one" being the Doctor himself as he, through an unimaginably strange chain of events, received a letter from 1863. The envelope simply lay there one day, under the door to TARDIS as though an actual postman had passed by them.

At first he, naturally, thought it was fake. But the letter was clearly calligraphed with a pen and the post stamp had the right design. Even the paper looked to be around 160 years old. As far as he could tell, and those were great lengths, the letter was genuine. Having no other option but to accept this inexplicable course of events, he decided to read the message thoroughly and take its contents to heart. Especially the compliments and celebrating he only half-believed to be deserving of.

Paddington train station is packed. People rush from platform to platform, hurriedly checking their luggage and documents, and exchanging goodbyes. Some of them frantically walk around and pace, unable to contain the happiness of upcoming reuniting with their loved ones.

No one seems to pay attention to him. He's still unsure whether he's doing the smart thing as he once more checks the time on his pocket watch. They should arrive any minute now.

With a screeching of wheels and an impenetrable cloud of smoke, the train comes to a halt. It's a beautiful showcase of human ingenuity and craftsmanship. The doors to wagons are opening accompanied by creaks. A mob of travellers from York floods the station.

Searching the stampede of a crowd, the Doctor finally notices a young woman. She's dressed no different than other ladies of the 19th century. There's confidence and thrill in her step as she's clearly walking towards him. Without a doubt, this is the author of the mysterious letter.

During the train ride, you kept on wondering what face he'll have. Will you be able to tell him apart from other men? Arriving at Paddington, however, you realize how silly your worry truly was. His strange, unfashionable attire makes it simply impossible to overlook him. Spotting him among the other passengers, you walk in his direction.

"This is yours, I believe." The Doctor offers you the letter as though you had merely lent it to him instead of gifting it.

You do not take up his offer. In fact, you don't even acknowledge the envelope in his hand. A polite yet excited smile appears on your face. "Then you must be him, sir."

"None other," he answers. Understanding your silent refusal, the Doctor puts the letter back in one of the inner pockets of his jacket. "Welcome to London, miss." Unprompted, he takes your luggage and offers you his other arm to walk with him.

You've got a lot of explaining to do...

[the-fandom-abyss]

Hiiii!!! I really love your fandom match up idea could I get a match up from mcu/tvd! Thanks if you do it!

Gender: Female she/her

Sexuality: straight

Appearance: I’ve got short black hair which I get trimmed every three to four months because I cannot handle below jaw length, I mostly wear flannel shirts as a style statement (my friend describes my style as someone’s 40 year old dad who does a 9-5), I get dimples on my face when I smile

Facts: I’m a stem major (struggling with it) (literally dying), I want to grow up to be a professor or teacher one day, feminism is my Roman Empire

Strengths: Im a people pleaser who accepts being one, im EXTREMELY funny, I love hanging out with myself, my taste in movie is immaculate, chemistry

Weaknesses: im a bit dull and stupid in general, can’t make friends really easily, adhd haver, can’t do calculus so well, take extreme amount of stress (my doc said I’m missing my period bc of my stress level I need to calm tf down), scaredy cat

I ship you with Stefan Salvatore!

Stefan will support you in your dreams of becoming a teach or professor. He thoroughly enjoys the never ending questions he receives and how attentive you are when he gives his answers. What better way to learn about history or old school teachings than someone that has been there.

(Now I don’t know much about ADHD, but here is my take, ignore if wrong). Stefan has all the patience in the world, he honestly has all the time in the world. He will apply this to your stream of consciousness that seems to flow from one idea to the next. He is a great listener and enjoys the journey between where you started and where you end up. He is more than happy to keep you on track if that is what you need, otherwise you are a free woman. It’s your world and he is just living in it

You know who also has a hard time making friends? Stefan. He is a renowned hermit who enjoys his own company. This will work perfectly for you as both your needs align. There is no guilt when asking for alone time or space because he feels the same as you and completely understand why you need to refresh.

I ship you with Tony Stark!

You mentioned that one of your strengths is chemistry, which Tony likes to add his spin to. Now he would never discredit your intellect but he will make pick up lines and jokes. He may have mentioned that you and him have great chemistry and has even hypothesised what could have if the two of you interact with each other

(Now I don’t know much about ADHD, but here is my take, ignore if wrong). You two are a force to be reckoned with. The Avengers believe that you have a secret language that only you or Tony can understand. Where he stops, you begin and vice versa. I feel this is what makes you a great team, always bouncing ideas, the energy levels, the understanding of one another.

You say that your movie choices are impeccable, well Tony will be the judge of that. With his love of film, he will happily take onboard your suggestions, even create a movie marathon date just for it. You want to have this in-depth conversations about them? Tony is your man. He will spend all night locked in a thoughtful debate with you on all things film.

1k Follower Celebration

[sisterssafespace]

Assalamualaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatahu sister. Jazakallah khair for creating such a beautiful account where sisters can communicate their problems with each other without revealing their identity. Subhanallah! What a technological world we live in! I hope you are okay.

You have also helped me a lot in the past when I had certain doubts and had no person to consult to. Thank you for that. May Allah swt put baraka in your time. Ameen.

I am in my 20's and I wanted to ask this very serious and very very important question to you sister that how am I suppose to find a potential spouse, a husband ?

The problem with me is that I sit in my room 24/7 as my uni classes are off while day dreaming about my "future hubby" that how he is gonna be like? And I often find myself falling into this deception that it's all in my mind. I get scared sometimes and ask Allah swt in sujood to grant me caring pious husband who will be a blessing for me and not a trial. I believe in Allah swt's plan and I have my trust strong too. But sometimes I feel like may be there is no such husband exists (what am I asking for). May be I should stay single and live with my mother and sisters forever (as I love them little too much)

I often find myself asking the question that how am I gonna live without my family once I'm married. Obviously I want both, my family and husband. I am the youngest in my family and my mother spoiled me a lot. But i promise you I'm not a brat. :"D

I also get recommended proposals by my oldest sisi (who is alhamdulillah married) but I back off immediately from that decision of getting married.

Please if you help me out then may be I can start looking for those particular qualities in a husband.

P.s: I am also kinda a bit insecure about the idea of getting married because I have a hearing disability which i didn't had in the past. I got it few years ago due to getting multiple surgies. (Long story short) Now I wear hearing aids. :( My mum often asks me "Who's gonna marry you?" (Not in an offensive way but caring)

I am sorry for frying your brain cells. Stay safe sis.

و عليكم السلام و رحمة اللّٰه و بركاته 🍃

Please please please kindly accept my apology for the delay 🥺🥺

* hugs *

Okay so, I received both asks, read them thoroughly and here are the ideas that gathered in my mind while I read:

a) Patience: Allahuma barik you sound like you have strong faith and that you do trust in Allah's plan, with that trust you need to work on your patience habibty, patience is onr of the most challenging and the toughest skills we have to learn in this duniya, and that is why the reward for the patient is priceless. As human beings in general ( and dreamy girls ) we sometimes want things to happen to us right now, especially if you add in some peer pressure or societal pressure, and the frustration starts to build up .. but it won't solve anything, it will only stress you more. Again, one of the greatest tests we are put through is learning how to building patient and waiting for our rizq, because a spouse is in fact a rizq for the believer, a gift and a blessing from Allah swt, and your rizq will never miss you, in the sense that what is written for you will never go to someone else, what is yours will find you.. which takes me to the second point:

b) Allah's timing: You did mention that you believe in Allah's plan, now you have to also believe in Allah's timing, because yes in deed Allah swt knows what's best for us and has a plan for us, but His divine plan works according to His divine timing, not our humanly timing. An event will happen to you WHEN Allah swt decides that that's the right time for it to happen.. and very often, we don't understand the timeframe, we don't understand why things aren't happening for us right now or why Allah swt is not giving us what we asked and prayed for right now, but when it eventually happens, we'll understand, but for now all we have to do is remain patient, and pray that in shaa Allah it will be worth the wait.

While we remain patient, what can we do? This is my point c:

c) Work on Building and accomplishing other aspects of your life meanwhile: Meaning, while you are waiting to meet the one, you have other things to work on, because the life of a Muslim girl - a slave of Allah swt - is more than just a husband and marriage, you have to work on yourself, learn more and more about our rich religion, if you have learned the Quran Allahuma barik you can learn tafseer or Hadith or other islamic sciences, you can learn things related to your studies or your career, you can learn some interpersonal skills, a new language, develop other skills like cooking or drawing or crocheting or anything you like.. if you're still studying maybe work hard in that, engage in the civil activities, serve your community, be present in your masjid, there is just so much you can do, and it will take your focus on the husband issue all while making you a better person in shaa Allah..

d) The qualities: As for the qualities that should be in a good husband, that is sorta subjective honey, for example, what I would consider as a good quality might not be of preference for you. But there are some characteristics that are universally sought I think: honesty, commitment, empathy, compassion, devotion - all with a good sense of the deen in shaa Allah.

p.s. personal tip: choose someone you don't feel bored around, someone you don't have a problem spending a sick day in bed with, and most importantly someone who makes you feel safe, because the world is scary enough, tiring enough, at least you get to go home to someone who would know how to comfort you and ease your anxieties..

Last but not least, about the hearing thing, I am sorry you feel like it's a defect, it is in fact something that Allah swt gave you as a challenge, you can definitely make it a strength my dear, someone who really appreciates you will think of it as a strength, like " oh MashaAllah look at her, she is still shining and making her way through life even with that challenge.. she is such a strong amazing girl.. " which, you absolutely are!

Look honey, you are what you make of yourself and what you make of what you have. If you treat or perceive yourself as incomplete, if you carry yourself as if something is wrong with you then that's the image people will get about you, but if you carry yourself with all the content and the confidence of someone who is relying on and trusting Allah swt then that's going to be radiating around you 🤍

So I pray that Allah swt ties upon your heart and strengthen your heart to be able to patiently wait for what's written for you, and I pray Allah swt grant you the pious humble gentle kind romantic devoted compassionate husband you dream of 🤍

We can have a further conversation my dear, I just rushed the answer because I know you are waiting for the reply, but please let me know what you think,

- A.Z. 🤍🍃

[truelymarry]

Why Matchmaking Services for the best Marriage Experience

Matchmaking means matching two people together for the purpose of marriage. Our older elders know a lot more things than the modern generation. They know how life was when the internet does not exist. In those days was the traditional matchmaking where couples do not meet online face to face. In our bygone era matchmaking was done by older men and women, who went all around to find those unmarried people and find a suitable partner for them. They were excellent at their work because they kept their ears to the ground and know all movements of unmarried men and women. This was an old profession but all though we can claim that modern matchmakers have got their roots in this old traditional matchmaking only.

Today, the internet has permeated all aspects of our lives, Thus modern matchmaking services have taken over traditional matchmaking services, though there is no comparison to which is the best because traditional matchmaking has helped millions frame a perfect life,Nevertheless, modern individuals prefer matchmaking services as all these services be it online and offline offer a wide arena of opportunities to explore which has helped individuals in specific preferences choose the best potential matching theirs without any compromising and adjusting factor.

Today,s matchmaking services are booming because it is human involved, technologically advanced, and have many algorithms to find out which door you open will you get a positive result. Individuals today are choosing matchmaking services because if we take one of hundred people,s have different preferences. We all desire to bump into our desired man or woman is an ideal way to a perfect life, because we all believe that finding love should be an effortless way rather then finding it with stress. This is how our matchmaking services got overlooked. Matchmaking services can be viewed as equal to a close friend suggesting a good alliance for you, But matchmaking services are much more than these.Let's have a look

PERSONAL TOUCH

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[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt.  You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours.  But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to.  You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did.  Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints.  Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does.  Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it.  But truthfully, you didn’t want to.  You were worried about him—still are, actually.  But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  He’s been through way worse, and you know it.  You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers.  He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening.  Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure.  All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation.  After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield.  It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips.  The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards.  To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster.  “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you.  “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code.  My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound.  “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment.  “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it?  You blink.  No, it doesn’t.  You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name.  You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever.  “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not.  “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show.  Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here.  Something could’ve happened.  Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it.  Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina.  Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot.  “They’re fodder.  Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.”  He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass.  “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions.  Tied specifically to Guild contracts.”  Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare.  “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties.  Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him.  “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace.  “Not sure I’d care too much if you did.  It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed.  Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company.  He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied.  Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence.  Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy.  It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this.  Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve.  Karga is a nice guy, right?  He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando.  And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too.  How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder?  You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?”  You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?”  He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice.  Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly.  You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way.  You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity.  “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it.  “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you.  If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice.  If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it.  You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal.  “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head.  “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out.  “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold.  It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to.  It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando.  You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave.  You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides.  He said he wants to help you?  This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?”  He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head.  The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?”  You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours.  “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously.  “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances.  You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment.  “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away.  He helped you out, you’re halfway through this.  Now comes the exchange.  Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you.  “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far.  Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late?  He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face.  “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table.  There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task.  “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…”  Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it.  This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here.  He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it.  “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you.  “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay.  Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much.  Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again.  Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.”  You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you.  “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay.  Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly… 

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it.  Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck.  It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward.  You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?”  You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs.  “Of course you don’t.  Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit.  This is not at all how you expected any of this would go.  You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request.  There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary.  Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum.  “You said you’re here on his behalf.  You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits.  It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table.  You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here.  It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!”  He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.  Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t.  You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you.  You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach.  He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him?  Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried.  Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before.  Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp.  The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him.  “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend.  The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air.  Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now.  You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.  It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe.  “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer.  It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet.  Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense.  You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him.  You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!”  A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab.  Right in fucking front of him.  “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t.  You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out.  Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now.  You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it.  Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried.  You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual.  You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing.  Was there a confrontation, you wonder?  Is he okay?  He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though.  As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you.  Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view.  The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace.  He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?”  He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down.  “Are you alright?  Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say.  How are you going to tell him?  He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say?  You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh…  I-I’m sorry, I just…”  But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him.  “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?”  He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him.  “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

[epiclamer]

hi so I'm not sure if you take asks rn but here we go

in honour of me getting my first testosterone shot as a trans person today like eight hours ago;

The hero is struggling with their day, as soon as they wake up, they feel uncomfortable in their skin, with their feminine or masculine clothes(you choose) & every time they walk past that stylist or barbershop, they want to get a haircut. Their body feels wrong.

Meanwhile, villain is strongly open and out to the public, being non-binary. They know everything about the LGBTQ+ community.

The heroes costume is a very masculine or feminine costume and is extremely distressing for the hero, and villain picks up on the uncomfortableness.

Let the comforting begin, I guess? that's all I got

Eyyyy, congrats!! I don’t know much about the transgender community but I love and support you completely!! I hope your transition to wherever you’re headed does amazing and you learn to feel comfortable in your own body! You will always be welcome here and I hope everything is working out!

(No reposts but reblogs appreciated <3)

Reassemble

Hero ran a hand down his chest in an effort to straighten out the obvious bump in his suit. Even wearing a binder his hero suit had added padding into the chest which didn’t allow him to disguise anything. He had already taken up the matter with the head of the hero agency, but other than a few dismissive nods and odd stares he hadn’t received any response on the matter.

Hero had to admit, it made him feel stupid. It made him feel stupid for ever believing that the most perfect agency in the world would be accepting of him. After all, he was the only trans person in a whole system that thrived off everyone being one and the same. And now that he had been trying to commence his transition for years with no support from anyone, he realized that the agency had no intention to integrate inclusivity to their society.

Meanwhile, Villain was one of the most well-respect villains of all time. Thoroughly admired and envied by their underlings despite being non-binary. But in the world of villains that didn’t seem to be considered a “problem” like it was with the heroes.

Villainy was looking awfully attractive right now.

“Something the matter?” A voice startled Hero out of his spiral of thoughts. He whirled around only to find Villain not more than a few feet behind him leaning casually against a wall. Villain smirked, pushing their back off the wall and stepping a bit closer to their nemesis.

Hero tried to take a step back but faltered when his foot struck a pile of garbage against the other side of the narrow alleyway. Villain raised an eyebrow at him in question and chuckled slightly at watching the hero almost tumble into a dump pile.

Once Hero had caught his balance and fixed his stance Villain began to speak. “Uncomfortable? Suit too tight?” At first, Hero wasn’t quite sure how they knew. Of course, Villain had plenty of abilities but mind reading? Was that new? But after a second of trying to figure out how Villain discovered Hero’s discomfort he realized that in the heat of the moment he had covered his chest with his arms in an attempt to hide the padding in the suit.

“I-I uhh… i-its just-”

“Relax, Hero. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Villain paused, allowing Hero a second to calm down and take a breath before they continued. “Although, I have noticed you out of the bunch and I was going to ask you if you needed a new suit. I mean, with the fact that you’ve been looking like you’re lacking confidence in that one lately.”

They placed the blow so kindly, not like any of the other heroes that had told him to suck it up and deal with it. He had been told countless times that it was “just a suit” and that since his legally appointed gender was female, he would just have to fix that before anything could happen. As little as a suit change might have been it was still important to Hero and his current suit was making him uncomfortable.

When Hero didn’t respond Villain sighed and slid off the jacket that came with their suit, offering it out to Hero in one hand. “Here, take this for now and let’s head back to my base and make you a new suit.”

Hero’s eyes landed on the coat and the tension in his stance visibly eased at the idea of covering his chest. But taking this coat and heading back with Villain to their base would make him a traitor and even more of an outcast. Getting a new suit would ruin his reputation as a hero and act as an immediate ban from the organization in full.

Fuck it.

Hero was tired of those snobs anyways.

[starryevermore]

shards of a daydream ✧ steve rogers & bucky barnes

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Hiii! Can I please request a royal!au with Steve or Bucky (maybe both? Idk it's up to u) with soooooo muchhhh Angsttttt? I have no idea for the story tho! - anon

pairing: servant!steve rogers x princess!reader; prince!bucky barnes x princess!reader

summary: steve was the one you loved, but prince james was the one you were to marry.

word count: 1,541

warnings?: angst, pet name (my dove) not proofread

This should have been the happiest day of your life. In some ways, it was. Marrying Prince James, the heir to the throne, the man who will be king, was something any woman in the kingdom dreamed of. And yet, you found yourself wishing that, perhaps, you lived in a world where you weren’t his betrothed.

It wasn’t that James was a bad guy. It’s just...you always thought of him as Bucky, the boy you played with when you were little. Back when you weren’t forced into stuffy meetings and crowded balls, when you could run and play. When you weren’t reminded to “act like a lady”, to always be on your best behavior, to keep your mouth shut so you wouldn’t step on any toes. Heaven forbid that you speak your mind.

When you were told that James had asked for your hand, you bit your tongue. Said that you were overjoyed and that you would accept his proposal. But really, you were dying inside. James was the perfect man—had the best title in all the land, from a good family, wealthy, powerful. He was every woman’s dream. Every woman’s dream, except for yours. 

A part of you felt shameful for falling for a servant, if only because you knew it could never be. You had no brothers. You couldn’t afford to step out of line. You had to think of your younger sisters. Anything you did would affect their marriage prospects, and you would forever feel guilty if you were the reason their future proposals were squandered.

But Steve...He was everything you wanted. He was brave and strong. He stood up for what he believed in. He didn’t care for bullies. In fact, that was what drew you to him in the first place. You were younger, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, and snuck down to the kitchens for a midnight snack. One of the other servants hadn’t realized who you were and began to berate you for taking food. But Steve stepped in without hesitation, knocking the other servant back down a few pegs. Then, when the other servant was thoroughly shamed, Steve turned to you and offered to fix you anything you liked. 

After that, you were always finding excuses to come down to the kitchens, to talk to Steve, to just see him one more time. For nearly a decade, you found excuses to see him again, telling yourself each time it was the last, that you would let him down gently so as to not break his heart down the road. But, every time you went, he pulled you back in. It was easy to fall in love with Steve. It felt as natural as breathing. And he loved you, too. Though you both knew it could never be, you would spend hours talking about a future where you could run away with him, go far away from the palace, and live a life where you two only needed each other and that was enough. 

Those daydreams shattered, though, when you told him of your engagement. 

“You’ve already said yes?” he asked. When you nodded, unable to meet his eyes, he said, “What, you couldn’t have asked to think about it? To talk to me first?”

“There is no thinking when you receive a proposal from the crown prince. If I asked to think on it, my father would have told James I said yes even if I didn’t. You know how he is. It wouldn’t have made any difference.”

Steve sniffed, looking like he was near tears but was trying his damned hardest to keep it together. “So, what does this mean for us?”

“The wedding is to take place before the end of the year. The King and Queen, they want the ceremony soon, as James’s coronation is to take place early next year. I’m to be spending more time at their palace, learning how to be a queen.” You looked up at him, trying to meet his eyes, but he only stared just beyond you. “I’m afraid I have to end whatever this is between us.”

“I must mean nothing to you then.”

“Steve, you know that’s not true. You mean everything to me. But, it’s not just my life that’s effected by all of this. I have my family to think of.”

“If I mean anything to you, you would runaway with me.”

“That’s a child’s dream, and you know it. If I runaway, my father will send his men after us. The King will send his men after us. I’ll be brought back, and you’ll be tried for kidnapping and, and treason. You’d be hung. They won’t care for the truth, they will only want punishment, discipline, consequences.”

“I’d rather be dead than live a life where I have to see you be with another man.”

“Don’t say that. Please, Steve, don’t say that,” you begged. 

“Why? It’s true! Y/N, you know I am in love with you. Is that not enough?”

“You’re not listening. Of course it’s enough for me. If it was just me, I would have left a long time ago. But my sisters, my family, they would pay for my actions. And I couldn't live with myself if I ruined their lives.”

“So you’ll ruin mine.”

“I, I’m not trying. You can still be happy, you find love elsewhere. I want you to find love elsewhere.”

“I can’t love anyone after you.”

“And I can’t see you again after today. I have a future now, one that will take me from here.”

“This is it, then?” When you nodded, he let out a shuddering breath, then said, “Then I hope James breaks your heart the way you’re breaking mine.”

You didn’t see Steve after that. You were busy planning the wedding with the Queen. Taking on more responsibilities. Trying on dresses, figuring out floral arrangements, learning the ropes of being the future Queen. But all you could think about was the heartbroken look on Steve’s face when you left him alone in the kitchen and how you would give anything to turn back time, do things differently, even never beginning your relationship with him in the first place, if it meant that he would happy without you.

James was a welcomed distraction, though. He had truly amazed you. He was witty. Made you laugh. Brought you flowers and wrote you letters. Told you every time he saw you that he couldn’t wait to be your husband. He looked at you the same way Steve once looked at you. He was in love with you. And though you didn’t love him now, he was the man you were to marry and you would learn to love him eventually. 

It had been a beautiful ceremony. It was what you had always dreamed of. The beautiful gown, the perfect music, the most exquisite decorations. It was everything you could have asked for. Except, perhaps, the perfect man.

“I always knew you would be the one I’d marry,” James confessed, spinning you ‘round the ballroom. “And now that I have, I don’t want to be anything but your devout husband.”

“You have a kingdom to run,” you reminded. 

“I have many months before I take the throne. Until then, I will spend every waking moment proving to you that I am worthy of your love.”

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

“But I do,” he said. “I know that your heart belongs to another. I don’t know who he is, but he is the luckiest man in all the kingdom to have your love. But I am a selfish man, my dove, and I want that love for myself.”

“I don’t love anyone but you.”

And yet, you both knew it was a lie. You both knew that your heart hadn’t quite been into this, that you had been dazed and distracted, your mind millions and millions of miles away. You put on a good face, but anyone who got too close could see the cracks hiding just beneath the surface. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, my dove. I will let you mourn your lost love for the rest of the evening but, when the night comes to an end, you will be mine,” he said. “I’ve been patient, I’ve been kind. But I can’t wait any longer. I can show you I’m worthy of your affection, but I can’t do that when you won’t give me the chance. And I’ll never get that chance while you long for another.”

“I can love you. And I will. I just...I got too wrapped up in a daydream.” You looked across the room, your eyes catching Steve’s as he carried a tray of drinks, his displeasure painted clearly on his face. “But it matters not. I’m yours now, every part of me. I promise.”

“And I promise you that you will never regret allowing me to have your heart.”

You looked away from Steve and turned your focus back on James. Huh, they had nearly identical blue eyes. Maybe if you stared into James’s eyes long enough, you could delude yourself into thinking that they were Steve’s. “Cross your heart?” you asked. 

“And hope to die.”

[sakusasbunny]

𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

“You’d always been such a troubled girl, haven’t you? Don’t worry, nii-chan will fix you”

pairing: sakusa x reader

cw: incest, spanking, degradation, manipulation, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, gaslighting (lmk if there’s anything i missed)

wc: ~1.6 k

a/n: i just wanted to say thank you so much again for 500+ followers!!! it means a lot, ily! (repost bc tumblr’s a bitch and didn’t show me in tags :))

m.list

“N-no! Stop I-” you struggled against Sakusa’s grasp, his big hands wrapping around your waist and bending you over his knee. Your cries were muffled as he shoved you into the couch. One hand restrained your arms behind your back as the other hiked your skirt up, bunching the material around your waist to reveal the cotton of your underwear.

“P-please, nii-chan, I didn’t mean to. I’m sor-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence as a heavy hand cracked down on your ass. Tears brimmed your eyes as a scream tore through your throat.

Sounds of your cries echoed around the room as one excruciating slap after another was delivered to your ass, pushing your face further into the couch.

“Ngh… Nii-chan…” your voice came out meekly, “No more, please… It hurts.”

“Does it now?” Sakusa’s large hand gently caressed the curve of your ass, soothing the soft flesh red from impact. “You should have thought of that before acting like such-” smack “a fucking-” smack “brat.” smack.

Inarticulate pleas forced its way out of your mouth, begging him to stop. Fat droplets of tears streamed down your face. You could do nothing else but cry out in pain as you took your punishment.

It was simple, really. All you had to do was follow his house rules while you stayed in his apartment. Cleaning, making dinner, doting on him after a stressful day at work. It was all so simple. Perhaps he’d overestimated you; after all, you were still just his dumb little sister. Nothing had changed since you were kids—he's convinced himself—he would still have to look after you.

However, this was no longer acceptable. You weren’t kids anymore. Sooner or later, you’d have to learn your responsibilities to him.

Broken whimpers filled every corner of the room. Every strike was harder than the last.

“It won’t happen again, please…” you promised.

“How can I believe you, hm? You’ve been nothing but a brat since you got here,” He palmed your ass, the cool rings on his fingers soothing your burning skin, “This is the only way you’ll learn. You trust your nii-chan, don’t you?”

You faltered in your response—and that was enough for him to crack his hands across your already tender skin,  forcing a strained whimper into the couch beneath you.

Trembling breaths left your lips as you tried to keep yourself from groaning at the stinging pain crawling up your spine.

It’s too much, you thought, this is all too much.

“Your hesitation,” you could feel the warm puff of his breath on the shell of your ear as he leaned in dangerously close to you, “tells me everything I need to know. Now, get up.”

Sakusa freed your wrists from his grasp and you struggled to push yourself up, your arms too sore and numb from being restrained to hold up any sort of weight. He watched as you brought yourself up on two shaky legs, presenting yourself in front of him.

It was embarrassing.

His narrowed eyes trailed down and examined your body. Your blouse, which had been neatly tucked into your skirt, was now  wrinkled and disheveled as you lunged forward on the couch. Red abrasions bloomed across the supple skin of your face, a semi-permanent blush adorning your cheeks. The fabric of the couch had been too rough as your skin brushed against it.

Sakusa pushed himself off his spot on the couch and made his way towards you.

You flinched as he raised a hand, preparing for the impact that never came. Instead, a gentle hand cupped your face and rubbed soothing circles at the irritated skin of your cheeks. It felt nice. You’d all but forgotten how delicate he could be, nuzzling into his palm as you accepted his small embrace.

It didn’t last, however, as his hand dropped back down to his side. Only the ghost of his touch lingered on your skin before fading into the cold.

“After all I’ve done for you, is this how you repay me, hm? After I welcome you into my home with open arms, could you not follow such simple instructions that even a trained dog could do them?”

His words were harsh, nothing like the hand that previously caressed your cheek. Each word that left his lips cut deeper than the last.

It was a feeling you were unfamiliar with—one so painful that it overshadowed the stinging pain from when he had pinned you down and abused your soft skin. The ache had already faded to a dull throb.

You felt the crushing weight of the atmosphere around you. His disappointment was apparent and it felt unbearable as his dark eyes peered at you, radiating uncompromising scrutiny. Your head hung low in shame in a fruitless effort to avoid his fixed gaze. The only thing you could do was watch your tears as they fell to the floor.

“I really shouldn’t even bother with you anymore,” Sakusa let out an exasperated sigh, “What’s the point in keeping someone around who’s absolutely useless to me?”

That was the final blow to your fragile stage.

Your head shot up and even more tears clouded your vision.

No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t do this to you. He can’t just leave you all by yourself. You needed him! You were nothing without him. You would mean nothing without him.

He had been your entire world, you realized. You always thought it was his world that revolved around you, an unshakeable presence that never strayed far, but as he tried to rip himself out of your life, you discovered that you’d been wrong.

You had always needed him. You jumped into his arms with every good news you received, in an obvious plea for his approval. You ran into his arms with every problem that faced you knowing that he was the only one who could bring you any meaningful comfort. He’d kiss you so sweetly, lay you down, and make it go away. Bring you pleasure that you were sure no other man but your brother could give you. No one knew you like he did.  

You would always be the one to seek him out.

You dropped to your knees and clung to his legs as hysterical cries erupted from your mouth.

“N-nii-san, ple-please, you can’t. Please don’t do this to me.” You pleaded as you looked up at him with bleary eyes. Tears stained his pant legs as you pressed the side of your face to his thighs, clutching at the fabric with desperate hands.

“I-I’ll do anything! I’ll be good for you, I pr- I promise,” Your words came out frantic as you spoke in between hiccups, “Just please don’t leave me, please, please, please. I need you!”

Sakusa felt his heart clench as you begged for him. Of course, he had no real intention of leaving you but he thoroughly enjoyed seeing how miserable you had been at the thought.

He almost felt bad, really, he did. But that didn’t stop the glimmer of amusement that hid behind his hardened gaze or the cruel smile that spread across his face. He watched as you nuzzled your face into the fabric of his pants, clinging onto him for dear life. So afraid that if you loosened your grip for just a little bit that he’d disappear from your grasp.

He enjoyed how much you seemed to idolize him. It may have been a cruel ploy, using your love for him as a means to bend your will, but he believed it to be necessary. It was just as you said, you needed him. He just wanted to help you realize it.

You’d been defying him too much recently. First, talking back to him, and lately, refusing to follow his orders, even ignoring a curfew he’d set out for you. He had received a phone call from you at an ungodly hour one night, too drunk to even form a sentence and that had been the last straw. What if something had happened to you? He couldn’t have that. Not to his precious little sister, no.

But he couldn’t really put all the blame on you. You were only a product of your environment. Your parents had always been too lenient on you. His father and mother had spoiled you rotten, never really disciplining you and only ever throwing money at all of your problems instead of teaching you how to fix them. He supposed he had them to thank for making you all too dependent on him but he needed you to be obedient for him.

So he’d decided to take it upon himself to teach you.

Did you not see? Everything he did for you was out of pure love! Did you think he wanted to hurt you? To hear your pretty screams as he held you down and spanked you? He took no pleasure in punishing you. No… All he wanted was for you to be safe with him. And what’s a better way to show you than cutting you off? Convincing you that you needed him, that you couldn’t live without him?

He threaded his fingers through your hair as he brushed the strands away from your face. Caressing your cheek with his thumb, he gently motioned for you to look up at him.

Long trails of black stained your flushed cheeks as your mascara ran down your face. He loved seeing you like this. Big, innocent eyes looking up at him, glazed over with adoration only a sister can have for her big brother. So desperate. So needy. So ruined. And all for him. Only for him.

Sakusa wanted to keep you like this forever.

“You’d always been such a troubled girl haven’t you?” It was a rhetorical question, one that he’d already known the answer to, but you nodded eagerly anyway, ecstatic at the soft tone he’s taken with you.

“Don’t worry, nii-chan will fix you.”

[demonslayedher]

Dream Analysis of Mugen Ressha

Spoilers for the movie, while it does not depart from the plot of the manga, they made adaptational choices which I may refer to within.

While Enmu has control over what kind of dream his victims see, ultimately, he would have no way of knowing all of the details of his victims' lives, so we can assume that he is prompting his victims to fill in a lot of the details themselves. These are the worlds they surround themselves with consciously, but their untouchable unconscious spaces say just as much.

I've said some of this before, but these dream sequences give us so much to say about Inosuke, Zenitsu, Kyojuro, and Tanjiro.

Into the dream: Did that "Rengoku-aniki" thing really happen???? It's animated like a fever dream (or drawn like a typical Gotouge-being-Gotouge panel), but both the movie and the manga leave this inconclusive. It can be interpreted two ways: 1. The two other demons were there all along as decoys, set to appear only when Enmu's blood technique slowly started to take effect so that they'd let their guard down. In this way, we'd know that the boys had a true way of witnessing Kyojuro's prowess and a true bonding moment, thereby making his death hit all the harder later. This would also mean that one of the cars was totally unusable for passengers, and many of the passengers were already thoroughly spooked before falling into sleep. It would also imply that they were all super excited, thoroughly relieved, returned to their seats, and then just passed out.

2. The moment the tickets were clipped, Enmu's very, very, very realistic dreams took immediate effect, but he still needed time before it took effect enough that their guards would go down. If this is the case, then it implies the following: 1. Enmu's illusions can be shared 2. Everyone syncs extremely well together to have all been sucked in by the same illusion (it's possible it was only Tanjiro's, but since we get in everyone's heads a little in this part, I believe they all experienced the same thing). Reacting in ways so true to how they would in waking like, they learned as much about each other as truthfully as they would have if they were fighting while awake. 3. The "Rengoku-aniki" thing is the moment they're falling into a deeper stage of sleep, when any bizarre thing will make sense. They've lost any sense of holding back and are embracing the emotions as they hit them. Even if that was all a dream, the bond formed was very real. But then, as they fall deep, they fall into their own headspaces. Inosuke: I love how bombastic this dream is. It moves at a very fast pace, and everything revolves around Inosuke. He is physically much larger than Ponjiro, Chuuitsu, and Pyonko, who clearly follow him as their leader, the most powerful person in this cave exploring world full of wonder and excitement. True to life, these underlings can at times be frustrating or stupid, but there is no one else Inosuke would rather have at his side to take on a hugely impressive foe. It's a relatively simplistic world, what Inosuke really cares about is his place in it, and who is there.

Taking it a step deeper, he should not be able to manifest in his self-conscious space, but Gotouge attributes his and Zenitsu's ability to do this and protect their cores from intruders to their strong senses of self. What's telling is that his subconscious space is practically identical to his conscious dream space; like there is no breakage between one stage of reality and the next. In its Zen-like simplicity Inosuke's mind is never at odds with itself, its interpretation of reality is fluid and seamless. However, being at this deeper state brings us to a deeper state of self actualization, with Inosuke manifesting closer to the ideal beast he views himself as.

Now, with Inosuke being so fully invested in what he sees as reality, he's still got a carry-over effect from dream after waking up, which one could interpret as not having fully shaken the effects of Enmu's blood technique. After all, Zenitsu simply never broke out of it, Tanjiro had to kill himself in his dreams each time to fully snap out of it, and Kyojuro was the only one powerful enough to have broken through its effects through his own willpower. When Tanjiro says the train is a demon, he buzzes with "I was right!" (a conviction that only got stronger in his dream), and Inosuke's declarations of being the boss and Tanjiro being his underling are indignantly plentiful and he fully believes what he is saying every time he brings it up, even if he's aware that he's no longer in the cave exploring dream. But, given that Inosuke is so at peace with his own version of reality, it's also just as likely that his conviction of being The Boss was also only compounded by the dream, and all that dream did was give him a more fun setting in which to play around in. But, what was so fun about the dream, what made him sleep-giggle with pleasure, was that everyone else was finally getting with the program and recognizing him as the boss, as they should. Finally. It's so frustrating in real life that he has to keep reminding them to get it right. Get it, Santaro?? GOOD. Zenitsu: What I love here is the contrast between subconscious and conscious space. Both of them have the same theme melody, but played in very, very different ways. They also both play with the same core desire in very different ways as well. Is it so much to ask that he can just spend some time alone with the girl he loves?? If we jump straight to the pitch black unconscious space, he specifies to the intruder that only Nezuko is allowed there. Not just girls in general, not a close friend like Tanjiro, only the one girl he loves, and even then, you'd have to love someone a lot to invite them into the deepest, darkest corners of your soul. And it is a very, very, very, very dark corner. Zenitsu's spent most of his life building that dark, pessimistic personality, compounded by the treatment he's always received throughout his life and what he believes about himself at his core. He's ugly and depraved there, and very defensive. Because he holds himself in such darkness, that makes him desire the bright, happy, completely idealistic world of his conscious dream world. It's rich with detail and warm and he knows it well, that places is the first place he ever felt someone have hope for him; it's Jiichan's home, that sunny place with delicious peaches and full of clovers and lush greenery and a charming stream. Of course he'd want to show it all to Nezuko, she deserves to see such a happy, pretty place! And, while the world is idealized and happy, Nezuko is e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y cute and actually wants to hang out with him too. She's willing no hold his hand, none of the girls who dated (read: used) Zenitsu in the past were ever willing to hold his hand. He even gets to show her that he can be cool, and she likes it!! She looks him in the eyes and is totally honest about enjoying his company!!

He just wants someone to want him back. He wants to belong in the sunshine too. So, even if he had it in him to wake up from Enmu's blood technique, who can blame him for staying there? (You know, besides Tanjiro, who has been desperately screaming for them all to wake up and help him protect the passengers. Zzzzz, five more minutes, Tanjiro, zzzzzzz----) Kyojuro: This... isn't really a happy dream. Kyojuro has accepted a lot of sad parts of his reality so wholeheartedly that he doesn't seek the comfort of a dream in which his mother is still alive, or a dream in which his father is proud of him. Instead, what Kyojuro was looking for was the chance to go back and say more to Senjuro. This implies that on the real day he knelt in that room, while his father faced away and read the book* while Kyojuro told him all about how he defeated Lower Moon Two and became a Pillar, and was met with his father's heartbreakingly unenthusiastic reply, he later went outside and...

...didn't say any words of comfort to Senjuro.

This regret, that he didn't do more for his brother whom he knew was hurting in his own silent ways this whole time, was what sat most bothersomely in Kyojuro's otherwise peacefully self-assured psyche (or fired-up psyche, if you go by his subconscious space) . It makes sense that in his dying wishes, the first thing he requests is that Tanjiro do this in his stead. *Speaking of that book, Kyojuro had forgotten about it until his memories pulled together to create the details of the dream, which was why he thought to mention it to Tanjiro later. This shows that Enmu is not an architect of people's dreams, he only sets them in motion. How believable they are depends on each victim. (Totally unrelated, I love the design of the Rengoku estate's garden??? It's primarily evergreen and unflowering trees, meaning it stays relatively steadfast throughout the year, a garden designed in samurai villa taste. Plus the details of the house also fit really well, I think??? Would need to review research of buke-yashiki architecture to say more.) Tanjiro: ...*deep breath* This boy really, really wants to go home. Like, the climax of the movie is amazing and all, but it's the scenes with Tanjiro's family that make me cry. Ugh, where do I start. Enmu probably just grabs on to whatever thread of a desire a person has, and then he just tugs on it and says "this way, let's go really far in this direction, show me where it goes, hmm, okay, nice, lovely. Have fun here, I've now seen enough to write my own angsty version for later." So... so I'm just going to work backwards a moment. Enmu screwed up here, thinking he could really read the depth of Tanjiro's family and his feelings for them. He thought he could make a convincing version of these "characters" cry and shove Tanjiro around and speak meanly to him and make him feel shame. And the cut to that dream, OH MY GOSH, truly horrific sound and color change. But Tanjiro's sees through it so fast that he wakes up immediately and uses that anger at how Enmu wrote them to cut off his "head." You screwed up, Enmu, you blew it, maybe other people would very so blown down by the shock that they wouldn't question how unreal that dream sequence is, but Tanjiro has honed his fighting spirit so much that it's been nagging him even throughout his happy dream. And he really, really, really wants to stay in that happy dream. Like, even though he's on guard at the beginning, so much so that he only focuses on the familiar feeling of a demon being around and does not notice the familiar landscape AT ALL. But the moment Hanako and Shigeru step in, convincingly made from Tanjiro's memories and unedited by Enmu, Tanjiro throws that all away in an instant. As he says when he's trying, after trying and trying and trying to rip himself away from the dream, he was never even supposed to had left this world. He was never supposed to had touched anything like a sword, they were all supposed to stay there together, living their simple life. If things hadn't gone wrong that one night. Tanjiro cares deeply about his mission, he's adopted his training deeply, he has serious desire to improve, which is why his subconsciously keeps trying to call himself back to reality, but it's so hard, because this is where he wants to be, and it's even harder because it feels so real. It's a little peeve of mine when families with lots of little siblings are written to be too angelic and idealistic, and there is some of that with the "let's make sembei, yaaaay" scene, but... but that's actually pretty true. I'm giving myself away with how close this hits to home, but it's a dynamic in a lot of large families, especially large families pretty happy to stay to themselves and people who live the same sort of conservative, traditional lifestyle, to foster in the older siblings some pride in taking care of the little ones and helping create that happy world for them, even if taking care of little kids can be rough. It's not to say that things are always happy and fluffy, they're not, and that's not to say even

happy kids don't resent being in a large family sometimes. But there's plenty of moments in daily life, especially in the presence of small children, that you get swept up into a sillier, happy, caretaker side of yourself, and since you all grow up with these silly moments together, you're going to naturally fall into into some silly, scripted-feeling moments of "then I'll be in charge of eating the sembei!" "no faaaaair!". So, I'll give the sembei scene a pass because that IS a moment that happens in years of moments with the same posse of kiddos around you all the time. But it's also so striking to me how each of Tanjiro's siblings, however idealized, has their own personality. The traits are so subtle but consistent and Tanjiro knows all of them. They pick up on things about each other, they grow realistically annoyed and surprised and concerned and scared like they would if they were real instead of only Tanjiro's memories of them. Those kids feel so real to me, even if they are annoyingly overidealized in some parts as Tanjiro is letting himself get swept away. And just when he's managing to part from it to go face reality, Enmu makes more attack: he brings in Nezuko, trying to make it feel like there's no point in Tanjiro running at all. She's fine. There's nothing left for him to fight for. Everything's fine. And all over again, Tanjiro just stops. He KNOWS it's not real, but he's hurting so much to hear her voice again that he just sto-o-o-o-ps. And his desire to stay with the others catches up to him all over again, and he's tempted all over again to stay, EVEN KNOWING IT'S NOT REAL and there are very, very, very pressing matters to attend to. Even if it was all a little happy and idealized, more than anything, it felt like life always did. It's telling that when Tanjiro finally, FINALLY pulls away from that that time, he doesn't look back, and the family stops chasing him. This is Tanjiro accepting reality, however much it hurts. He's already had a couple years to accept this, but it was all overwhelming to get such a vivid taste of it again.

Tanjiro wants to do well to his organization and honor Urokodaki's training and avenge the fallen and prevent anyone else from being hurt and see an end to Kibutsuji Muzan and make Nezuko human again, but more than anything, he wants that simple life. And it's so, so heartwarming that at the end of the manga, he gets it.

It's not the same. It'll never be the same.

He never wanted a life with a sword, but he's been working so hard at it anyway.

[polishksiezniczka]

Camerlengo Patrick McKenna Smut ABCs | Camerlengo x Female Reader

Some smut for our favorite priest ❤

As I was writing this, I couldn’t help but think that our favorite ~il camerlengo~ shares the trifecta of smut with Obi-Wan Kenobi: religious devotion, dramatic robes and pure, raw sexual energy. 🔥

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Patrick is oh so attentive and considerate. He strokes your body softly, listening as your heartbeats gradually slow and fall in sync together. He’ll softly whisper declarations of love to you in his luscious accent, making you flush even more.

Bonus: When you’re in each other’s arms bathing in the afterglow, he adores it when you carefully play with his crucifix necklace (you better believe he wears it during sex after you *accidentally* let slip how turned on you get when he wears it).

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Patrick loves to hold you using his upper body strength—his arms are deliciously strong and toned, but not in an overly-muscular way. He can’t help but groan and roll his head back when you cling to them for dear life during the throes of passion, your nails lightly digging into his skin.  

It’s difficult for him to choose—you’re too perfect to pick just one element. If he had to, he’d choose your hair, your neck, or your breasts.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Because he was brought up in the Church, he doesn’t really do that sort of thing. Not to mention he views the practice as somewhat degrading to you.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs).

Obviously, you. He’s a priest and supposed to be “married” to the Church!

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Patrick is somewhat experienced. While serving in the army he had a few exploits, but he’s still relatively inexperienced. Not that you could ever tell though—he’s the best lover you’ve ever had.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying.)

Missionary! (HAHAHA…I’m going to hell for this.)

Patrick loves any sort of position where he’s able to see you fully. He treats sex as if it were a sacred rite: he wants to be able to watch the desire cloud your eyes, thoroughly kiss your soft lips, devour the creamy flesh of your torso, and do nothing less than worship you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

It depends on the situation. Patrick will usually take things pretty seriously—intensely pleasuring you, maintaining fervent eye contact, going slow and sensual—but sometimes you find yourselves in a giddy mood, especially after something good has happened to one of you. Then his playful side will come out: little nips at your ears and neck, gentle tickling of your sides, low chuckles, and a lot more teasing than normal. You delight in rendezvous like these, batting your eyes and telling him how much you want him.  

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

OH GOD. You know how well Patrick takes care of himself. His hair is impeccable, always neatly combed and styled. You adore running your fingers through it and lightly scratching his scalp, though you’re careful not to muss it up too much.

The sight of his bare chest makes your heart flutter every time you see it. You love to card your fingers through the lovely patch of curly ginger hair which grows there, a huge turn-on for Patrick. The same hair starts again just below his navel, creeping down his stomach and past his waistband. It’s another part of him that never fails to make you swoon and unconsciously lick your lips.  

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Patrick is so romantic. He constantly whispers you how much he loves you, how much you mean to him, and how he can never be without you. Despite the unimaginable pleasure he provides you, his words sometimes make you teary-eyed during the moment—something you find extremely embarrassing but he adores.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Patrick suffers from SERIOUS Catholic guiltiness when it comes to masturbation. He’s done it before (when he was younger especially) but would never admit so to you. He only resorts to pleasuring himself when you’re apart for extended periods of time and always feels the need to confess to his sins of “taking his flesh” afterward.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise: Patrick’s need to praise you is insatiable and he does it constantly when you’re together. He loves to tell you how good you feel, how perfect you are, how sweet you smell, or how well you respond to him as he leans close to your ear, kissing and sucking. Although he can be reticent to accept compliments himself, you can tell how much it affects him when you whisper how only he can bring you this amount of love, pleasure, and satisfaction.

Priest: Patrick goes mad when you play into your priest kink and loves it when you call him “Father,” especially because you don’t often do so. As gentle as he is, this drives him wild, animalistic almost.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

On the bed or couch, especially with your hair splayed out across a pillow. You recently introduced him to shower sex, something he enjoys far more than he expected to. And of course, always somewhere private.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Your soft, innocent touches that lead to lingering thoughts and desires. When you run your hands across his chest and through his hair. Whispering how much you love and want him.

Oddly enough, your modesty also makes him hot under the collar (literally). The idea that you conceal your beautiful figure to others and only allow him to see and adore it awakens a deep and primal lust in Patrick.  

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t swear that often and never uses the Lord’s name in vain. He also would never do anything that could hurt you or in some way degrade you.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He strongly prefers to give. He loves to huskily tell you how much you taste like sin when he’s between your thighs and caressing you with his mouth.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual—it’s called lovemaking for a reason.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

You and Patrick don’t really engage in these because of the nature of your relationship—there are few moments when you can spend time together during the day. Patrick doesn’t like the idea either, as he can’t properly worship your body as much as he believes you deserve and derives so much pleasure from taking his time with you. He is never one to complain about stolen kisses, though.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Again, due to his position and all the publicity, Patrick prefers to keep risks to a minimum. He never would demand anything of you, but he requests that your liaisons be kept private out of concern for you and your relationship.

Once, however, you admitted a shameful desire of yours, and he gave in. So, late one night you made love in a confessional. Although he felt like he would be cursed with eternal damnation, he couldn’t help but admit how arousing it was.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Patrick’s stamina is intense; he never seems to tire, even after the care and attention he puts into each and every round. You teasingly attribute this voraciousness to all his pent-up lust while in seminary. But when you’re exhausted, he completely respects this and would never push you beyond your physical limits.  

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No; why would he defile perfection by using anything other than his body?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This side of Patrick really comes out when he’s feeling frisky or playful. He relishes that he can turn you into a puddle of goo with just one look—your eyes glaze over, your breath hitches, and you suddenly have difficulty maintaining eye contact. He’ll then begin to touch and kiss you slowly, almost chastely, until you’re a whimpering, sobbing mess beneath him.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Volume-wise Patrick tends to be on the softer side, though he can surprise you. What he sometimes lacks in volume he makes up for in quality. Patrick makes the most delicious and sinful sounds you can imagine: gasps at your expert ministrations, moans when you kiss him deeply. Your personal favorite? The sound of him purring into your ear as he showers you with praise and words of affection.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

The man’s scent alone makes you goddamn feral. It’s clean and masculine, with just a hint of spice. You love to bury your face in his neck and chest, inhaling him as you litter his skin with reminders of your devotion.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Patrick is incredibly well-endowed. In fact the first few times you were together, you were in slight pain (much to Patrick’s agony) and felt sore for days afterward. Oh but Patrick made it all better: drawing you warm baths, scooping you up, and tenderly massaging every inch of your body with his large hands. 😏

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

On the higher end, but it’s completely attached to you.  

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

When you’re in each other’s arms, he feels completely relaxed and can usually fall asleep within a few minutes, but he likes to wait for you drift off to sleep and then silently watch you in your most peaceful state. Your breathing steadies, your brow relaxes, and your hair softly falls about your face, still glowing from physical exertion. As sleep begins to take hold of him, he whispers that you look just like an angel.

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