#and today there are so many thoughts being thunk about all of them

[marblecarved]

it's that time again where most of my muse is focused on my austen characters,

[crow-stars]

❝BIG COLD CASTLE, WARM LITTLE HEART❞

❦summary; the experience of warmth is so precious in somewhere always so cold ♪the characters in this story; gn!reader, malleus draconia ✎word count; 784 ❀what do the ghosts say?; romantic, reader and malleus are maried, he wants his cuddles after a long day, more of me pushing my cat malleus agenda, very fluff ☛the author's notes; nothing to note... ☪look at the catalogue?

The castle that Malleus resided in always seemed to be cold. 

It gave a chill down the spine of anyone who visited for the first time and only continues to do so for many. The ones used to one have learned to ignore the cold, Malleus especially. The feeling of the cold never disappeared either, it was something that residents within the castle got used to. 

For most, people thought it was fitting. The King of Briar Valley with a stare that could send fear down anyone’s body, living somewhere that fit the exact atmosphere that he exuded. He was supposed to strike fear into the hearts of those who dare to cross him. 

Though such things couldn’t be further from the truth, for Malleus yearned for warmth as much as one could. 

He wished he could fill the castle with the warmth and joy that he yearned for when he was younger. But, for now, Malleus was able to get that warmth from you. 

Everyday, without fail, Malleus would leave his duties at the same time every night. It didn’t matter if something else came up, he would always return back to his chambers where you would always await, arms open to the fae.

Tonight was just the same, Malleus’ imposing figure striding through the halls of the castle, his face that same neutral expression on his face. He passed by many servants who bowed to him in respect, yet he didn’t pay much mind to them, one intent in his mind. He finally approaches his chambers, opening the door and closing it behind him with a resounding thunk. 

When Malleus was finally in his room, his safe place, Malleus’ eyes landed on you, sitting on the bed, covered already by the plush blankets. You looked up at him from what you were doing and, already, Malleus could feel his heart swell with affection for you.

He didn’t even bother to change out of his royal attire, instead heading straight to the bed. Malleus all but threw himself onto you, head resting on your lap and curled up against you. It makes gentle laughter slip past you, the type of laugh that Malleus adores hearing from you. 

“Oh, I missed you...” 

“Was your day that bad?” Your hand went to run through his hair, finger toying with the ends of his locks. Your other hand was already in Malleus’ grasp, being held tightly in his left hand. The ring on his ring finger brushed lightly against your skin, the ring Malleus declared he would never take off unless someone ripped it from his cold, dead hands. The declaration made you laugh, at first, though as time went on it was pretty clear he was serious. 

And you weren’t even sure if fae wore rings to show they were wed either. You’re pretty sure that one of the only reasons he insisted on rings was to integrate a bit of your own culture into his life, perhaps to feel more connected to you. It’s an undeniably sweet gesture that Lilia would always coo and tease the king about it.

Malleus let out another heavy sigh and shook his head, nuzzling further into your body. You exuded a heat that Malleus could find in no one else, a familiar warmth that was like sitting next to the hearth of a fire, yet one that seeped further than his skin and into his heart. 

“Everything is well today. Perhaps I just missed more than usual, my treasure.” Your hand ran through Malleus’ hair, earning a pleased rumble from Malleus in return. His head pushed further into your hand, silently asking for more of the affection that only you can give him. 

His response makes you chuckle in response, twirling a lock of hair between two fingers before continuing to run your hand through his hair. “You always miss me.” 

Malleus looked up at you, a light smile spread across his lips. The look in his eyes could only be described as adoring, a softness that was reserved only when he looks at you present. “Indeed I do. That doesn’t stop how I feel.” His left hand squeezed yours and you returned the gesture, smiling back at Malleus. 

Oh, how he loved to see you smile, specifically to see you smile because of him. It made him feel so soft, so warm in his chest he felt like he was going to be engulfed in flames and reduced to nothing, yet he would gladly welcome being burned if it meant it was because of you. 

You were his warmth among the cold castle that Malleus lived in and he couldn’t ask for it to be anyone else.

[steddieasitgoes]

written for @steddiemas Day 1: Deck the Halls read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Steve’s annoyed.

More than annoyed, really.

He’s supposed to be at the Munson’s, sitting between Wayne and Eddie, watching the Hoosiers play. Well, trying to watch the game, at least. Eddie has a habit of dozing off before the first quarter ends, head thunking against Steve’s shoulder so he can’t move for the rest of the game.

But no.

His mom just had to call and demand he set up their stupid Christmas tree before she and his dad get home tonight because the annual Harrington Holiday House party is this weekend, and she doesn’t have time to do it herself. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s trusting him enough to decorate the thing. He can count on one hand how many times he was allowed to hang an ornament on the statement piece in their living room.

He can’t even celebrate the decorating victory, though, because he’s still trying to assemble the goddamn thing. Nine-foot trees really aren’t meant to be set up by one person. At least, that’s what Steve’s learning as he tries to balance the next segment of the tree over his shoulder as he climbs up the ladder.

Focused on not falling, Steve doesn’t hear the front door open or the stomps of boots coming into the room. It isn’t until Eddie tuts does Steve startles, nearly toppling over.

“Woah, there big boy,” Eddie teases, reaching out to steady the ladder. “Don’t fall.”

“Don’t scare me then,” Steve snaps. It takes a moment, but he manages to get the next piece into the slot before carefully climbing down the ladder.

“Christ, someone’s feisty today,” Eddie says, hands up in surrender. “I guess it’s a good thing you bailed on me and Wayne to uh…” He glances at the half-assembled tree in the middle of the room. “What are you doing exactly?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Building a stupid Christmas tree.”

“I’m sorry, you what?” Eddie asks, shaking his head. “You can’t build trees. You grow trees.”

Steve snorts. “It’s an artificial tree, Eds. My mom called as I was headed out to your place. Said I needed to get the stupid thing up and fluffed before she got home tonight because she needs a full three days to decorate the damn thing for the annual Harrington Holiday House party.”

“This thing is blasphemous!” Eddie says, circling it like a predator stalking its prey. “I thought rich people love Christmas trees. Don’t you like custom order the biggest one to show off your wealth?”

“Uh, no? My mom says real trees make too much of a mess.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie says, abandoning the tree as he stalks towards Steve. “You mean to tell me you’ve never had a real tree before? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“You’re being weird,” Steve says, shaking Eddie’s hands off his shoulder.

“I am not being weird. You’re being weird. You’ve never had a Christmas tree! Do you even know what they smell like? Steve, you haven’t lived until you’ve smelt a freshly cut down Christmas tree!”

“Jesus, I didn’t know you were so passionate about this,” Steve snorts.

“You think this is bad. Wait until I tell Wayne. He’s going to flip out!”

“Wayne has never flipped out in his life.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first for everything.” Eddie crosses his arms and then immediately uncrosses them, clapping his hands instead. “That’s it. You’re coming with us this year. Don’t make plans for next Friday! I’m stealing your Christmas tree virginity.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Steve groans, wrinkling his nose. “But fine, I’ll go with you. If you help me with this thing.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair trade-off, Stevie.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really give a shit,” Steve says, bending down for the next segment of the tree. “Now grab an end.”

Steve yelps when he feels a firm hand squeeze his ass. All it takes is one deathly glare over his shoulder for Eddie to stop cackling and get serious.

🎄 🎄 🎄

“I’m going to sue your family,” Eddie whines, collapsing on the couch a few hours later.

“Don’t be a baby,” Steve scolds before dashing off into the living room to grab a couple of beers.

“Excuse me! That thing attacked me! Multiple times! Look at the evidence,” Eddie shouts, yanking up the sleeves of his Hellfire shirt to examine a dozen or so scratch marks up and down his forearms. “And don’t even get me started on my hands! How am I supposed to play guitar, Steven!”

“I told you to wear gloves,” Steve shrugs, returning to the room. He passes Eddie the cold can of beer before sinking into the couch beside him.

“I shouldn’t need gloves because you shouldn’t need to fluff a tree! They already come fluffed because they’re not rotting away in a box all year.”

“You poor thing,” Steve playfully tuts. “Guess I can’t hold your hand now since they’re so beaten up.”

“I never said that,” Eddie squawks as he yanks Steve’s hand into his own.

They sit in silence after that. Nursing their beers as the Christmas tree stands in its makeshift glory in front of them. Steve can tell which side he fluffed and which side Eddie did. The giant gap between the top two layers is obvious, and he knows he’s going to have to climb the ladder and fix it before his mom gets home, but that’s a problem for future Steve. Right now, he wants to sit here with his boyfriend even if his boyfriend is gearing up for another faux Christmas tree rant.

“Don’t tell me your mom is one of those people who only puts those stupid decorative ball things on the tree, too.”

“What do you think?” Steve says, hiding his smile behind the can of beer.

“Jesus H. Christ!”

🎄 🎄 🎄

It takes a bit of convincing and a formal invite from Wayne, but Steve keeps up his end of their deal, joining the Munsons on their quest for the perfect Christmas tree for the trailer.

Eddie has a habit of embellishing when he tells stories, but Merrill’s farm lives up to all the hype. As done, the process of selecting and chopping down the perfect tree. Steve gets stuck being the tie-breaking vote when Wayne and Eddie end up arguing over which tree to bring home. Naturally, Eddie throws a minor fit when Steve sides with Wayne, whining that he likes him better than his own boyfriend, which has Wayne rolling his eyes.

Steve gets to make the first chop but passes the ax off quickly. He doesn’t want to impede on their tradition any more than he has. Besides, axes have never been his thing. He prefers to swing bats instead.

“See, isn’t this much better than building a tree?” Eddie asks, slinging an arm over Steve’s shoulder as they stand off the side while Wayne pays.

“It definitely smells better.” Steve inhales deeply, scents of pine and hints of peppermint flooding his senses. Someone should bottle this stuff up and sell it as a cologne, he thinks. He’d definitely wear it.

“It’s easier, too.”

Steve scoffs. “Speak for yourself! You’re not the one who helped Wayne drag it all the way up here.”

Eddie laughs, eyes sparking mischievously. “Wait until you have to help him load it into the truck. That’s always the worst part.”

Steve eyes his boyfriend through squinted eyes. He ducks out of Eddie’s grasp and settles his hands on his hips. “You set me up! You just brought me here so you wouldn’t have to do manual work!”

“You wound me, Harrington,” Eddie gasps, clutching a hand over his heart as he staggers backward. “How can you think so lowly of me.”

“Because I know you, Munson,” Steve teases.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Eddie says, slinking over to Steve. “Maybe I had ulterior motives, but it's only fair after what I suffered helping you with that abomination you call a tree. At least now you’ve experienced a true Christmas tree experience.”

Steve can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as Eddie beams proudly at him.

“Ready to go, boys?” Wayne asks, rejoining them. They both nod, watching as Wayne makes his way over to the heavier side of the tree.

“You don’t have to carry it, Wayne,” Steve says, mischievous flooding his own veins. “Eddie and I will carry it to the car.”

“You bastard!”

“Hey,” Wayne scolds, swatting Eddie’s shoulder. “No swearin’ ‘round kids. I ain’t raise you like that.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he watches Eddie sigh dramatically before carefully shoving Wayne away from the tree. He waits for Eddie to follow his lead, squatting down before he counts them off. On three, they hoist the tree over their shoulders and start heading back out to the car.

🎄 🎄 🎄

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks later, passing Steve a mug full of Wayne’s signature hot chocolate. “Is it better than your tree?”

Steve knows the answer immediately, but he takes a moment. Wants to make Eddie squirm as he admires the tree in front of him. It’s not perfect. It’s a little crooked, and there are hundreds of pine needles littering the floor. The lights are bright, though, and the branches are full of homemade and sentimental ornaments that span decades. A homemade star sits on top in lieu of the traditional angel. A star, Eddie tells him, he and his mom made by themselves the year before she got sick.

It’s perfectly imperfect.

His own traditional, straight out of the pages of a Home and Garden magazine doesn’t stand a chance against this one.

“Yeah, Eds. It’s better than my tree.”

“Victory!” Eddie shouts, nearly spilling his hot chocolate all over himself.

🎄 🎄 🎄

A month later, Steve’s belly is full of the Munson Christmas feast, but instead of lazily lounging on the couch enjoying his food baby, he’s carefully taking ornaments off of the dead Christmas tree that nearly caught fire twice since he’s been here.

“I take it back,” Steve says, carefully taking an ornament off of the dead tree. “Artificial trees are better.”

“They are not!” Eddie whines, wrapping the ornaments Steve hands him in tissue paper.

“I don’t know, Eds. I’ve never had to take down a tree on Christmas before!” he grumbles, reaching for another ornament. “This sucks.”

“It’s all your fault. If you chose my tree, it would have lived for another week! I just know it.”

“Sure it would have,” Steve snorts.

“Look on the bright side, at least we have firewood for the New Year's Eve bond fire now. We can’t do that with your stupid tree.”

“Nope, because I get to use my tree again next year, and you have to buy a new one. Think that’s another point for fake trees.”

Eddie screeches, wrapping his arms around Steve’s middle and tugging him off the ladder and onto the couch. Despite their full stomachs and tired eyes, they wrestle and laugh as Wayne shakes his head from the doorway, a light cigarette perched between his lips.

“Cut it out, you too,” he scolds when things get more heated between them. “Need it out before it really goes up in flames.”

[itsgrimeytime]

drunk on you (part four) || Rick Grimes (TWD) × gn!reader (no apocalypse!AU)

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

series taglist: @ryoujoking

Part 1, 2, 3

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Summary: You'd known Rick forever, as far back as freshman year. He was a guy you (if you were honest) had a crush on; there was just something in his stance and the low drawl of his voice. You'd say that feeling only got worse from there. Before you could blink, he was married and had a kid; and suddenly, despite your best efforts, you felt very out of place. You faded out of his life, and he yours. So when Rick shows up at your door (drunk out of his mind) about 5 years after the last time you spoke to him, you have a lot of questions.

TWs: exes, mention of cheating (not Rick don't worry babes), talk of marriage, vague allusion to sex, and a teeny bit of jealousy.

[[A/N: This is just some domestic fluff. Okay but like what if 5 is just an epilogue? Many thoughts to be thunk. Also, can you tell I'm a child of divorce🧍‍♀️. Enjoy :))]]

It was early morning, and you were tight to Rick's side -probably so much that he couldn't even move. But that wasn't your problem, and he never said anything about it. So, you kept doing it.

He must've felt you shift, because he spoke then.

"Ya awake?" He asked -voice gruff and slurred. It still sent a shiver down your spine, his accent much stronger -tone so low and scratchy. There was just something about his voice in the mornings (or in general, really).

You mumbled into his skin, shifting your head further onto his chest, "No."

He laughed, arm wrapped around your back -squeezing you closer. You hummed at the contact.

"Baby," he urged -still smiling, you could tell in his voice, "-I can't feel my legs, we gotta get up."

You frowned, with ease sliding your right leg in between his -interlocking them, "Not anymore."

"Hate to break it to ya," he hummed, brushing his fingers up and down your spine -if he wanted you up, he should stop being so soothing, "-but I still can't feel 'em."

You sighed out, big and long -pressing a kiss to his chest (right over his heart) and sitting up. Rubbing at your eyes and fixing your shirt, you leaned against the bed frame.

Rick looked at you for a moment, before smiling, "You're so cute, ya know 'at?"

You yawned, stretching out your arms, stating -frankly, "You tell me a lot."

"Yeah, well," he pursed his lips, "-Imma keep doin' it."

"I know," you responded -leaning over and kissing him solidly.

You'd initially just wanted one, but Rick held you there a moment -hands cupping your face. Lips darting forward a few times, he chased them. It was routine for him -almost like brushing your teeth. You realized he really liked to kiss you, and probably, realistically, had a quota -the thought nearly made you laugh.

"You keep doing that and we won't make it out of the bed," you teased -landing one more on his lips.

Rick laughed, you loved that sound.

Flicking to your phone, you scanned the date and time -frowning. It was a workday.

"Ugh," you groaned, throwing yourself back into the bed, "-I work today. Save me, Grimes."

He was on his side now, looking down at you - that gaze you knew very well. He had so many stares that said the same thing -it was nice; he didn't have to say a word but he still did. All the time.

Complimented you like he couldn't help it, like it was always on his tongue.

He offered, half-serious you could tell, "What if ya quit, and I got a job again? Took care of you and Carl."

"Rick, as much as that sounds like heaven, and it does-" you hummed, hands moving up to cup his face -thumbs saying back and forth over his cheekbones, "-I love my job, I'm not quitting."

He turned to kiss your palm, gently.

"Plus," you added on, "-you make a great housewife."

Rick rolled his eyes, the smile spread across his lips much more telling, "Ya are too much, sometimes, you know 'at?"

"I think," you smiled, sitting up and rubbing your hands over his shoulders, "-I'm just right."

"For me," he added, "-Just right for me."

You smiled, holding his face in your hands and leaning forward to kiss his forehead. You almost couldn't stop yourself with him, you wanted to hold him or kiss him nearly everywhere. Maybe because you spent all those years not and wanted to make up for lost time, but you didn't really know for sure.

"Sap," you hummed, patting his cheek -a little patronizingly.

And then, Rick laughed again.

Before you could do much else, you heard some shuffling in the living room -footsteps pattering along the floor. Straight to your room. You moved in preparation, as you did every morning.

Just on cue, Carl barreled through the doorway -jumping his Dad into a tackle.

"'Ere's my guy," Rick laughed out -breathless (you imagined the hit made him a little breathless), squeezing his son against his chest.

When Carl finally let go, you brushed some of his hair down -it was far too mussed for it to do anything but you just wanted to, "Did you sleep good, Carl?"

"Great," he smiled -big and toothy, "-I had a dream about evil dinosaurs taking over, I saved the world-"

"Betcha did, buddy," Rick commented, shifting his son further down the bed, "-let's go get some breakfast."

"Get?" You questioned.

"Yeah," Rick hummed, "-'ere's a place a friend recommended a few weeks ago, been meaning to try it. If ya want to."

"A friend?" You questioned now fully facing him, "-tell me more."

"Yeah, Dad," Carl affirmed, "-since when do you have friends?"

You snorted at that.

Rick huffed out, a little in defense, but answered anyway, "'Went when ya were workin' and you were at your Mom's to some local park. Guy had a dog, thin' tackled me to the ground."

"And you became friends with him?" Carl asked, confused.

"Adults are weird like that, sweetie," you patted his shoulder, "-we take what friends we can get. And you-"

You turned toward Rick, pecking him on his cheek, "-I'm very proud."

He smiled that twinkly one again, eyes so blue and so... in love. You were sure that you looked about the same.

"You guys are gross," Carl stuck his tongue out in disgust, running out of the room without another breath. Kids.

"No, but seriously," you turned to him -one last time, "-I'm really proud of you."

He smiled, a softer one then, like the praise meant the world to him -and you wondered briefly if it did, "I know."

It was a few days after that now -the weekend, where you found yourself, and Rick, shopping. It wasn't like you dragged him everywhere you went, he just always wanted to follow you around.

Bonnie said it was like he was a 'lil' lovesick puppy' and you were really starting to agree with her.

He was looking at you now, eyes twinkling as he pushed the cart -slow and sure steps following each one you took.

"What kind does Carl like again?" You asked absent-mindedly, hands darting between a few packages, "-I could've sworn it was blueberry, but these don't-"

"'S blueberry," he hummed, and you spun to him -eyes flickered over his (he was looking at you way too in love to be at a grocery store).

"Are you sure-" you asked, motioning to the box, "-is this just new packaging, or-"

"Baby," he laughed, walking away from the front of the cart and taking the box into his hands, "-stop stressin' yourself out, 's the right one-"

He paused for a minute, looking it over.

"Yeah," you snatched the box out of his hands -with a teasing smile, "-What were you saying exactly?"

Rick laughed, leaning forward to kiss you -quickly, "'M sorry, you were right. Doesn't look right. Is 'ere any with blueberry in-"

"Y/N," a voice rang out, "-is that you?"

You stalled in place, you knew that voice from forever ago. Was that-

You turned around, your ex-boyfriend from your senior year. It really was. He was older now, obviously, taller, his hair still cut the same way and his fashion sense somehow worse. Which you didn't know how that could happen, because he was a teenager. How did it get worse?

"Hey," you offered -awkwardly, "-crazy seeing you here."

Rick spun around at your tone, eyes settling very quickly on the guy -he knew him too. The smile on his face flattened.

Your breakup hadn't been the best, he'd cheated on you and asked the person to prom instead of you. Shane and Rick ended up taking you, but it hurt all the same. He'd never even formally broken up with you, now that you think about it-

"Rick!" He exclaimed, but you could tell it was a little for show, "-What are the chances? It's like we're holding our own little reunion here."

Rick was silent, he did hold grudges for pretty long, so you wouldn't be surprised if he still had one. You peeked over at him, and saw an unfamiliar face -straight lined mouth, and blue eyes steely.

"What are you," you started -politely, "-doing here?"

"I work around here," he clarified, and you relaxed slightly -normal, "-I'd heard you were in the area though and wanted to catch up!"

There it was.

"I didn't-" he started, "-I wasn't looking in grocery stores, I was going to try and talk to you through socials-"

His eyes landed on Rick for a moment, and he seemed to think for a moment, "Didn't expect you here though, buddy! Last I heard you were still in town. Are you visiting or something-"

Rick was deathly quiet.

"Actually," you laughed, sort of awkwardly, "-we live together."

"Oh, cool!" The guy hummed, "-That's always-"

"I'm 'eir boyfriend," Rick interrupted, hand shooting out to find yours -which he did fairly quickly. His tone was low, his accent strong, and your ex seemed to notice it -eyes darting to your connected hands.

Something fluttered along your mind -boyfriend. Have you said that yet? Was that the first time?

"Oh, shit," he stressed out -genuine surprise in his tone, "-You finally got the memo, Grimes?"

Rick's jaw tightened, and you squeezed your connected hands once. Trying to calm him down, you'd forgotten how protective he was -even when you were friends.

You remember him physically shielding you from exes, showing up to your house when you called and said they wouldn't leave you alone. Shane was always more physical, offering to punch them in the face or even doing it without warning -Rick was more of a presence. Something commanding in how he held himself.

"Yeah," he answered, shortly, "-got together aboutta year an' a half ago."

You hadn't even realized it had been that long, Rick was so ingrained into your day. It was like you couldn't picture life before him, even though you knew it was happy. It just shied in comparison to what you lived now.

"Wow, that's incredible," he smiled -somewhat genuinely, "-I know you've had a thing for him for a while, so I'm happy for you. Glad you guys could figure it out."

You shifted, uncomfortably -had he known when you were dating too?

"Thanks," you offered -simply. The grudge that had been instilled in you long ago was long gone, labeled as 'high school stuff'. Felt like the end of the world then, but in the grand scheme of things, was inconsequential.

Your relationship with him was special though, helped distract you and you even thought maybe your feelings for Rick had shifted. Later, you knew they hadn't but the heartbreak of what you did have with your ex didn't help any either.

"And, just to get it off my chest," he added -a little more serious, "-I'm sorry for how we ended things, wasn't fair to you."

Huh, you thought.

"No need," you assured, "-it was high school, we were young, didn't know any better."

He smiled then, seemingly happy with the exchange, "Well, I've gotta go, but I wish you guys the best, really. Remember me when the wedding comes, yeah?"

You stilled.

Rick laughed though, something in him lightening up, "I'll try."

"All I can ask for."

After that, Rick continued sorting through the snacks -trying to find the right one. ("Maybe 'ey just don't 'ave it, baby, we can try the next store if ya want.") You'd said something about it not being worth it, you could ask him later next week -see exactly which one he liked.

You were there, physically, for the rest of the trip, but something in your mind was running at 100 miles an hour.

Rick had thought about marriage? With you?

It didn't come up until you got home, you and Rick carrying bags in and sorting through them in the kitchen. As a pair, you were a well-oiled machine, and something in your chest warmed at seeing him so comfortable. He was so used to it now.

It was his home too, after all. You just still couldn't wrap your head around that.

"Baby?" He interrupted your train of thought, shaking a box of macaroni in front of your face -asking where to put it, you realized.

"Far cabinet on the right," you answered, but his eyes didn't move from you -he could tell something was off. Always could.

He set the box on the counter, pulling you from the bag you were working on -tilting your head to face him. You followed without hesitation, somewhat on instinct.

"Ya alright?" He echoed -concerned, you could tell by the pull of his brow, "-'ve been so spacy since the grocery store."

"What, yeah," you hummed, blinking away the thought process -or trying to, anyway.

Rick raised an eyebrow. He could always see right through you. You didn't know how he did that-

"You," you bit your lip -eyes darting to the bags on the floor, noting how much you had left, "-Have you really thought about marrying me?"

He laughed a little then, pulling you forward and kissing you solidly -you let him, "Ya had me worried 'ere, baby."

"Rick," you said -pointedly.

"I know, I know," he hummed, smoothing his thumb along your cheek, "'s just an easy answer."

You paused, heart on your tongue -maybe even a little pathetically, "Really?"

"'Course," he stressed -grin spread across his lips, "-I love ya, don't I? Why wouldn't I think 'bout our future?"

"Well, our future is one thing," you echoed, "-but marriage... You've thought about it. That's... That's a big deal."

"Is it?" He teased.

"Rick."

"Okay, yeah," he exhaled, getting serious, hands staying cupped on your cheeks, "-I've thought 'bout it. A lot. I got this picture of a white house with a big ol' yard and a garden. Two rockin' chairs on the front porch, the works."

"Really?" Your heart felt like it was in your throat, and it was the only word you could come up with.

"Yeah," he smiled, warm, something softer in his eyes now -affectionate, "-'s just a dream though, gotta work out some kinks."

"Like what?"

"Well, for one," he hummed, "-your job. Ya love it 'ere, I don't wanna take 'at away from ya. Two, location, 'M not too sure 'ey got any white houses for sale out 'ere-"

It slipped out before you could think about it, "'Could always build one."

Rick paused, smiling at you in a certain type of way, before deciding, "I'd build ya a house."

You laughed.

"Ya want one?" He asked -somewhat genuinely, "-I'll build you a house, if ya want one, baby."

"Rick," you laughed, "-be serious."

"I am," he spoke -voice certain, serious, "-I'll give ya anythin' you want."

"Rick, come on, that's-"

You looked at him, really looked at him. His blue eyes said all they needed to.

"Come on," you echoed out -in disbelief, "-you cannot just build a house for me. Do you even know how to do that?"

"Sure I do," he clarified, "-my Dad taught me a lot."

"Not about building houses," you laughed -a bit in shock.

He seemed so serious. you'd been in committed relationships before, but a house? Someone building you a house?

He really couldn't be serious.

"Taught me about buildin'," he offered -tone so stable, unshakeable, "-and whose to say I can't get any help?"

"You are not building me a house, Rick," you laughed out -still reeling, "-we're not even engaged-"

Rick looked at you, solidly, all of his attention -it made the laughter cut short from your lips. There was intention there, in his eyes -something so vulnerable, so open. It was like he was saying everything at once and nothing at all.

You don't know what about it told you, but something did.

He had a ring.

"You... You don't-" you spoke -disbelief coating your words. It felt like nothing was coming to your lips, or everything was. You couldn't decide, "-Rick."

"'Was just instinct," he replied honestly, "-saw it and it just... it was yours."

"Rick," you stressed again but it was weak -something bubbling up your throat, "-we've... we've only been dating a year and a half."

"'Ve known each other a lot longer," he reasoned, "-'supposed to really know someone ya marry. And I really know you."

You fell silent.

"And, as much as I hate it sometimes," he let out a long breath, "-you really know me too."

"Rick," you muttered out -it was all you could say.

"If ya want more time, I get it," he quickly said, making sure you were looking at him -tilting your chin up with his hand, "-I can wait. But I'm ready, 'ave been."

Your eyes were teary now, as you stared at him. Taking him in. Not only had he thought about marrying you, but he had a ring and a plan and a dream with you in it.

You just said all you could think of.

"You better not be proposing to me over grocery bags in our kitchen right now."

Rick laughed then, a rumble through his chest, "Don't 'ave to be. Unless you want it."

You tried to wipe at your eyes, but his thumbs swiped the tears away instead, "What the hell are we supposed to tell people? 'He just offered to build me a house in our kitchen'?"

"You 'aven't even seen the ring yet," he laughed, but something in him different -excited, happy, beyond happy.

"God," you suddenly startled, somewhat ignoring his words, "-what are we going to tell Bonnie?"

Rick stared at you again -telling.

"She knows?"

"Told her when I found it," he hummed -pulling your face forward to kiss your forehead, "-asked her 'at I should do. 'If it feels right, it feels right.'"

"You are such a momma's boy, Grimes."

"'Ey," he spoke -defensive, with no bite. He was smiling too big for you to take him seriously.

"You know I'm right," you gloated, before settling into another thought, "-Shane's going to be so pissed he wasn't involved."

"In what?"

"The proposal," you answered -as if it was obvious.

"So, this is the proposal?" He asked, smiling biting through his lips, "-Ya want me to be proposin'?"

You pursed your lips, trying to hold back the creeping smile, "I haven't even seen the ring yet."

"I said 'at," he laughed -just so very delighted, "-you weren't listenin' to me."

"Show it to me," you grinned, bouncing on your toes, "-I wanna see."

"I don't 'ave it on me," he laughed at your insistence, "-I hid it away."

"So?" You asked, something in your stomach swirling, "-Go get it then."

"Bossy," he hummed, throwing up his hands in surrender -roaming down past the living room. It was the opposite way of your bedroom.

Where did he-

He abruptly turned into a doorway.

Carl's room.

It was smart, you never would have looked there. Not that you'd be looking anyway, a few minutes ago you didn't even know he'd thought about marrying you-

A lot was happening, but you somehow weren't scared. Not really. You knew Rick, like the back of your hand, and living with him had been so natural, so easy. So much so, that he almost didn't even have to ask to move in. It felt right, even when you argued, you knew it was for a purpose -never letting it further than it needed to be. You had both learned what a mature solution was and knew how to handle it all. He'd never stormed out angry and neither had you. Ever.

You'd thought before that maybe if you had been together when you were younger, it might not have worked. You might have broken up, but the time and the experience, you got it right. With Rick, this was... right.

You'd never felt more stable with somebody. And you weren't sure what your life would be like without him in it. Wasn't that what marriage was about? Adapting, learning, knowing, loving.

Your relationship with Rick was the most serious you'd ever been in, even before the marriage topic. You'd just known, if this went anywhere it would go far.

And maybe you hadn't hoped as far as marriage, but you had pictured years at least.

You heard his footsteps before you saw him, the slow drag of his feet -you knew it well, could recognize him by his footsteps. ("You really know me too.")

And there was a pounding in your chest then, but you weren't scared. It was anticipation, excitement.

Rick wandered up to you, the little box held tightly in his hand -something in him nervous, you could tell. It made your head spin, you couldn't stand still. It felt like your heart was running at 100 miles an hour, as you stared at his hand.

It was a tiny wooden box, nothing too special. But still, your heart clamored into your throat -darting between him and the box, back and forth, back and forth-

"Ya want me on one knee?" He asked -playfully, but something was biting at him. Nerves.

You laughed, fidgeting with your hands, "Yeah, of course. Aren't you going to do it properly? Aren't you a gentleman?"

"'S 'at mean you want this? Now?"

You pursed your lips, hiding a smile, "Isn't that the whole point of asking?"

Rick shook his head -smiling, and as promised -got on one knee.

It was suddenly very real. You'd always imagined this moment, in a fairytale sort of way. Where the music swells, and maybe you're in front of a national monument, or maybe he had just saved your life, or maybe he'd just given you this big speech about how he can't live without you-

But this, this was very simple.

It was just Rick, still in his pajama pants and with a little bit of a bedhead, knelt down in-between plastic grocery bags. There was no lavish dinners, no beautiful sunset. You hadn't even actually eaten breakfast yet-

But even still, your heart leap in your throat and your eyes got all misty.

"Shit," you mumbled out, tears ready to pour, "-you were... this is real."

Rick laughed, something so affectionate in his eyes, "I 'aven't even opened the box yet, baby, and you're already cryin'."

"Shut up, Grimes," you groaned out -laughing, even if it sounded a little like sobs.

"Ain't I supposed to be talkin'?"

"You know what I mean," you rolled your eyes, sniffling.

Rick smiled again, and it was bright and bubbly -your whole chest felt like it was about to explode. You never could imagine how this felt, how your life would lead to this -the person you love, offering themselves up forever. Forever.

"I love you," he started, and you could feel the waterworks, "-even tho' I'm a little late, I love ya so fully 'at I think I can't move forward anymore without you. You're not in my life, you're a piece of me. A piece of me 'at I can't lose, ever, and I don't want to."

Your took a shaky breath in.

"I want ya forever," he continued, and you could see the shine of tears in his eyes, "-I want all of this forever. I want you wakin' up beside me in the mornin' and the last face I see at night until we're old and gray. I'll build ya a fuckin' house, and we'll rock on the front porch together until the sun goes down-"

You laughed, a little wet and teary but a laugh all the same.

Rick was slower now, tone heavy with intent, "And I never imagined me and you like this all those years ago, but I... I can't think of anythin' more perfect now."

"Rick," you whispered out, the breaths in your chest hollow.

"Marry me," he echoed out, almost pleading, "-We were a few years too late, and I don't want ya waitin' on me anymore. So, marry me."

"Yes," you nearly spilled out before he could finish, "-holy shit, yes. I'll marry you."

Rick grinned, big and wide.

"Even if you just proposed to me over some grocery bags-"

"Oh, shut up," he laughed, standing up and pulling the ring from its box.

Your laughter was cut short, in all this commotion, you hadn't even noticed the ring. All you could look at was Rick, and you just loved him so much your eyes wouldn't move.

And now it was pinched between his fingers -shiny, beautiful. Nothing too big, something simple.

You hadn't thought about a ring, but it was somehow everything you wanted.

"You like it?"

His blue eyes were trained on you -just looking. Hopeful, nervous, maybe? Like he'd really wanted you to like it. Something in you warmed.

"Yeah," you whispered -eyes still a little misty.

He smiled, big and bright -so very happy, "Yeah?"

"You did a good job, Grimes," you wiped at your eyes -extending your hand out.

Rick smiled, you don't know if he ever stopped, carefully taking your hand and pushing the ring onto your finger. His calloused fingertips held you so gently that it made your head spin -always did.

"You just called yourself my boyfriend for the first time," you mumbled out -gently.

"Hmm, baby?" Rick asked, eyes looking at your hand -the ring, "-Didn't hear ya."

"At the grocery store," you hummed, sniffling, "-you said you were my boyfriend for the first time."

Rick paused a moment, before laughing, gently moving his hands to cradle your face, "'At's cute."

"What?" You offered, "-I'm serious, Rick."

"Baby, I tell everyone," he contradicted, rubbing his thumbs over your skin, "-it'd be the first thin' out my mouth if I wasn't introducin' myself."

"When?" You asked -genuinely, "-Because you never-"

"All the time," he reiterated, "-called my Momma the day I moved in, told 'er. Some guy starts approachin' ya? Boyfriend. An old friend from high school? Oh, we're together now. 'At-"

He cupped your face, gently -like he thought you were the cutest thing in the world, "-must've been the first time you were listenin'."

"Well," you hummed, hands coming up to intertwine behind his neck -fingers twisting into his curls, "-you were about to jump the guy, so I was pretty hyperaware-"

"I was not aboutta jump 'im," Rick laughed, moving his hands to your waist in response -instinctively.

"You were," you echoed, twirling his hair in between your fingers, "-I know you. When he said you 'got the memo'? You were going to kick his ass, right there in the grocery store."

"'Was kinda fucked up for 'im to say," he conceded -barely muttering it.

You rolled your eyes, just looking at him -smiling big and wide, "What am I going to do with you, Grimes?"

"Marry me," he answered, smiling big like he won some sort of prize, "-You're gonna marry me."

"You're such a sap, Grimes," you swatted his shoulders, playfully.

"Can't keep callin' me 'at," he hummed, eyes a little hooded -you knew the look.

"Why?"

"You're gonna be a Grimes," he explained -a simple little smile smoothed across his mouth, "-What are ya goin' to do then?"

"First off," you started, "-whose to say you're not taking my name-"

Rick hummed, a grin bright on his face like you talking about it made him deliriously happy. And the way he was looking at you right now, you would bet he was.

"Secondly, doesn't mean I can't still call you Grimes. You're still the original one."

"I'd take your name," he said -absentmindedly, fingers gently pressed into the skin of your waist -making you sway, "-ya want me to take your name?"

"Rick," you laughed, "-we can't do that to Bonnie."

"Just sayin'."

"And," you interrupted, flicking your eyes down to your hands -a little embarrassed, "-I've been doodling 'Y/N Grimes' into notebook margins since I was 16 so-"

Rick grinned, bright -something in him nearly giddy, "Really? 'S 'at why I could never use your notes?"

You frowned -embarrassed, "No."

"Oh my god," he gushed, all smiley and so excited, "-do ya still 'ave some of 'em? Please tell me ya do-"

"Rick, seriously? You want me to dig up old notebooks-"

"'S just so cute, baby," he teased, genuine, "-I gotta see it."

You huffed out a breath like you didn't know exactly where they were. Or like you didn't know you'd kept them in the closet, just to hopefully laugh at someday when you did move on-

Or maybe like you didn't keep them to read when you missed him.

"Did ya doodle lil' hearts too?"

"You're not funny, Grimes," you shot back but there was no bite.

"Not jokin'," he drawled, eyes so intently on yours, "-I wanna see 'em in my head. Maybe I'll get one tattooed on my heart-"

"Rick-" you shoved him but not far enough for you to completely let go.

Your steps fumbled forward, and the crinkle of the bags -brought your attention back to the floor. Right, you had just gone grocery shopping.

"Shit," you huffed, "-we need to put this stuff up, can't let anything thaw-"

"'S not gonna thaw," Rick countered.

"I'm being serious," you stressed, "-we can't just leave this all here."

"We could," he neatly replied.

"Rick-" and then you looked at him. He was looking at you in a certain type of way, you knew exactly the type of way.

"We should celebrate," he hummed, eyes low to match your lips, "-just got engaged."

"Rick," you chided, "-seriously."

"I'm perfectly serious, baby," he said it the way he always did. The way he did the first time, and even still you felt a jump in your pulse.

You weren't faltering, not this time. If he wanted to play dirty, so would you.

You stood ever-so-slightly on your tippy-toes -holding his eyes, you trailed your fingers along his shoulders. His eyes held onto you like he was lost at shore and you were the lighthouse -like you held everything in your hands. Maybe a little like you were the everything.

You stood a breath away from him, a smooth sort of smirk ran across your lips -his breaths were hollow in his chest. Payback.

"What's a few more minutes, baby?"

You saw his eyes flicker with a few different things then, and with a breath, you abruptly pulled back.

Rick blinked, the hazy out of his eyes -watching you start gathering up the bags, "Really? Usin' my own words against me?"

"Hey," you shoved his shoulder, teasing, "-at least you know how I felt, baby."

He grinned too big to be mad, hands coming up to cup your face. You knew exactly where that was going-

You sidestepped out of his grip, "Help me with the bags, Grimes."

He frowned, leaning against the counter -time for a different tactic.

"Okay, fine-" you huffed out, putting your hands on your hips, "-if we can at least get the frozen things put-"

Rick scooped the bags (with the frozen foods) up with a grace unknown to you, and a speed you could hardly follow. Carelessly tossing them into the freezer, still in the bags, he slammed the top shut with the flick of a wrist.

He looked back up at you -blue, blue eyes.

"-up," you finished a little breathlessly -a bit in amazement, "-How did you do that?"

"'S a powerful motivator," he offered up -accent low.

Without so much as a breath, he beelined toward you. And before you could even blink, he had gathered you up in his arms -carrying you toward your room.

"Rick-" you laughed.

He kissed the rest of your words out of your mouth.

Eh, they weren't that important anyway.

[imaginespazzi]

Azzi's muscles in that one group pic tho omg, a lot of unholy thoughts were being thunk!

I'm ngl to you, I have had multiple breakdowns over that picture today. And not just Azzi like (though I could write sonnets about her in this picture), so many people in it are just so- I'll take them all idc idc

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer OT3 Week, Day One: Meet Cute!

Hi all! As per @ot3-week the tumblr, this week -- March 17th through the 23rd -- is OT3 Week the week! So what better way to celebrate than with a week of Valicer fics? :D We start today in the Modern!AU verse (the one where Victor, Alice, and Smiler all meet and get together as modern-day college students, most often seen in my Not-Incorrect Quote collections) with the "Meet cute" prompt -- and what cuter way to meet than the classic Crash-Into Hello? Though only two of the polycule officially met that way -- one was just observing...

--

It has to be them – right?

Alice frowned as she gathered up the various books and notebooks so necessary to her life as a college student, turning the question around in her head as her fellow students hurried out the door. I mean – there can’t be that many people out there going by “Smiler,” she continued to herself, eyes flicking to the person in question as they too gathered their things. It doesn’t feel like a common nickname, at any rate.

“It’s not a nickname at all – it isn’t Nick,” Hatter declared, tapping the ground with his cane. “Unless that’s what the professor had on his screen, in which case that is the nickname – and if that’s the case, this person seems to have disavowed it, given how insistent they were on being called ‘Smiler.’”

Oh hush – you’re focusing on the wrong thing entirely, as usual, Alice though, rolling her eyes as she stuffed a textbook in her backpack. Ugh, really hoping this doesn’t telescope my spine before my next class...anyway, I just think it would be even more of a coincidence to run into someone going by Smiler who wasn’t the curator of that website my boyfriend likes so much than one who was. Especially one taking a psychology class with lots of focus on altered mental states.

“And yet, not impossible,” Cheshire said, appearing beside her. “Which is why you haven’t actually brought the subject up to them for confirmation, I purrsume.”

That, and it would be incredibly awkward – “Oh, hi, I’m not a fan of your website because I don’t get why people would like being hypnotized because of this one asshole psychiatrist who tried to get me to forget he was the one who killed my entire family, but my boyfriend really loves your work, to the point where he’s embarrassed to tell me how often he actually visits your site.” How the hell is anyone supposed to respond to that? Alice shook her head and hoisted her backpack up onto her shoulders. No, better to stay quiet for the time being. It’s not like it’s a huge deal anyway – as previously stated, I’m not the one listening to those inductions. I’ll mention it to Victor later, see what he thinks, and then we’ll see about getting to know this Smiler better. If we decide to do that at all.

Backpack secured, she headed out of the classroom and into the hallway – ironically, right behind Smiler themselves, who fortunately only had bright yellow eyes for their phone. Alice stuck close to the wall to avoid the hustle and bustle of bodies going to and fro as people hurried to their next class, or toward the common area, or outside to get a breath of fresh spring air. Right – common area, to get a jump start on my homework, Alice decided, mentally planning out the best route. And then off to my history class, and then I should be –

“Alice!”

Alice jerked her head up to see Victor fast approaching, smiling and waving at her. “I thought I’d come down and keep you company!” he called as he neared. “My science class was – oh!”

Thunk! Victor jerked backward as he smacked headlong into the equally-distracted Smiler. Their shoulder bag slipped as they juggled their phone, and a couple of textbooks came tumbling out, sliding across the floor. “I’m so s-sorry!” Victor gasped, immediately dropping to his hands and knees to retrieve the lost property before it could get kicked away. “I-I should have p-paid more attention to w-where I was going.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Smiler said, living up to their name as they got their bag resettled properly on their shoulder. “I wasn’t paying attention either. Accidents happen – it’s no big deal!”

Victor froze mid-reach toward the second book, eyes wide. “Ah – uh – um – y-y-yes,” he managed after a moment, blinking rapidly. “I – s-still.” He grabbed the book, then handed it and its sibling over, staring at Smiler with an expression that hinted he didn’t quite believe they were real. “S-sorry.”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Smiler assured him, happily oblivious to Victor’s shock. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. See you around!”

And with that, they were off, rejoining the flow of humanity around them with ease. Alice watched them go, then walked up to Victor as he slowly got himself off the floor. “Well – that answers that question,” she said.

“Huh?” Victor said, still staring at the spot where Smiler had been.

“Whether the Smiler who just appeared in my psychology class is the same one that’s been melting your brain on the regular,” Alice clarified. “I had an inkling, but...”

Victor went bright pink. “I – ah – yes,” he finally got out, rubbing the back of his neck. “I – wow, I t-thought for sure they used s-some sort of voice changer...”

Alice snorted. “How about we discuss it somewhere a little more private?” she offered, taking his hand. “So not everyone has to see you burning your face off during this conversation?”

Victor gave her fingers a squeeze, swallowing hard. “Please.”

[thus-spoke-lo]

okay okay okay okay I saw your Law post that mentioned omorashi and I am SO MASSIVELY SHY about it but I've had so many OP omo thoughts but I've told literally no one that I'm into it so I'm just fjdndnjdjjdjsndnxj

So uh I'm on anon now but please feel free to bless the TL with more omo scenarios. I was so pleasantly shocked to see it because there are literally almost no fics or stories or art or scenarios for OP 👉👈 anyway I'm fjdjnsjxjejd so thank you 💓

I probablyyyy will write something at some point bc like you said, surprisingly little omo content for OP? Like come on, I know y’all are out there.

That being said, have a little Crocodile omo thought I’ve thunk as I’ve been typing:

Just thinking of sitting in with him during a meeting, propped in his lap while very important men talk and laugh on his office. And he’s been plying you with water and a little bit of alcohol the whole time, and you figure it’s just because he likes it when you get a little tipsy in front of guests and hang all over him, giving him an excuse to show you off and make them jealous of what a lucky man he is.

But not today. Today, he has something else in mind.

You squirm in his lap as you start to feel your bladder threaten you, and you wait until his guests are talking amongst themselves before you lean up and whisper in his ear that you need to excuse yourself for a moment, you promise you’ll be right back.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart,” Crocodile growls back. “Don’t you know how rude that would be? You’re gonna wait right here until we’re done.”

“But—but I can’t hold it,” you whimper. “Please, I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Now now—you’re gonna have to hold it, doll,” he says, in that low, rumbling voice that means you don’t get a choice in the matter. “You don’t want to ruin my nice suit do you? Or have these men see that my perfect pet can’t control themselves?”

“No, of course not.” You feel warmth in your ears and cheeks, just the slightest hint of shame creeping up your body as you feel yourself growing more and more heated every time he denies you, the feeling of fullness mixed with arousal making you shift in place.

“That’s better.” He takes the rounded end of his hook and presses it against your stomach, adding more pressure until you’re practically writhing in his lap, feeling like you’re about to burst as his cock presses up against you through his trousers. “Now let’s see how long you can wait, sweetheart. I know these men love to hear themselves talk, I think we’ll be here quite a while.”

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

it's so funny to see fans being like, 'in season 3 when we get lestat's pov we'll see what really happened' as if each of these characters having different memories of the events isn't like, a key part of the entire franchise.

humans alter their own memories all the time; we soften things, forget little details that made us uncomfortable. we do it to survive. everyone's memories are a little biased. and vampires are monsters, but they are narrative tools to explore the depth of human emotion. so obviously we're gonna explore how we remember things differently.

also, trauma fucks with memory, and these vampires have been through a lot, so we have that to add. so does a lot of other mental illness, of which they have plenty.

(just from personal experience; i barely remember my teenage years. i was so depressed i literally blocked off years of memories. not by trying to or anything. it just hurt to think about, so i didn't. and when the thoughts came up i pushed them back. rinse and repeat until it's all just a vague amorphous blob. i'm not sharing for pity points; i'm just explaining that memory is a malleable thing. and that's irl, where there aren't vampires that can mind-wipe you.)

the point isn't to show one 'true' version of events, but to show you how that particular character remembers it or chooses to retell it. bc the way they do so is indicative of their current frame of mind.

and i personally am glad that my silly, campy vampire show also gives me something to think about. so many shows today require no thought at all. and that's fine; i love some brain popcorn sometimes. (i watched all 15 seasons of supernatural, where fandom was actively encouraged not to think. and then called crazy when the thing we thunk was a thing actually was. but that is not what i'm here to talk about) shows are starting to have this tendency of hand feeding us information unnecessarily bc idk, television writers think viewers are dumb or something. but i'm so glad to have a show that gives us something to gnaw on, to really dig into and interpret ourselves.

[fully-caulked-wagon]

Some of my favourite lines/passages from my shitty Aidungeon Zosan fanfics Part 7

Pretend that part 6 never said '(final)'. Pretend right now. Fic 4 (Again cause I've added like, 11,000 words to it since I posted the first fic 4 part.):

If his legs twitch in anticipation of a fight anymore than they are now, he's sure he'll come down with a severe case of the dancing plague. Dancing, being code for 28 rage-induced kicks to the cranium of dickhead sheriffs. - Don't ask me why I decided to reference a meme as dead as '28 stab wounds' cause I honestly don't know. Sanji startles slightly, running a hand through the back of his hair and sighing, "Right. Right. Yeah. See ya, I guess. If I die, make sure I'm buried by the lovely hands of Nami-Swan and Robin dear. And don't touch my kitchen." Zoro huffs and rolls his eyes, "If you die, we're throwing you straight in the bin." - "When I die, just throw me in the trash!" - Danny Devito Sanji stretches his arms high above his head and cracks his neck, "I'll be back before the Mosshead even has the chance to get lost in his own thoughts." "Oi!" - This is like, right after the previous excerpt, I just wanted to separate them. "Fucking Christ. Stupid fucking Marimo and his dumbass being right." - What a fool, what a nincompoop, what a buffoon, what an imbecile, what an ignoramus. Also - Jesus Christ canonically in One Piece verse, question mark exclamation mark? In fairness, he doesn't have to sneak through too many thin alleyways - none other than today, in fact. Getting shit talked by the mosshead, on the other hand? Not so mercifully infrequent. - Oof. Usopp is sat rigidly in his seat with a small smile on his face as the mosshead stacks the most miniscule fucking deck of cards Sanji has ever seen atop Usopp's nose - it somehow managing to have reached monstrous heights - while the scent of a stroke Sanji's almost convinced he's having wafts from the plate of 'buttered toast' Cal is munching on on the sidelines. - I just liked the phrase 'the scent of a stroke', honestly. Might be one of those things where it's only funny to me, idk. "Usopp thought you were dead!" Maria follows up calmly, "Zoro wished you were dead." - Double oof. Sanji's about however long it would take to read the full list of vegetables Luffy would willingly eat over meat - that is to say, a second at best, from growling. - This whole fic is just one big test of Sanji's patience, ngl. Sanji sighs and lets his head hit the table, a hollow 'thunk' ringing in his ears, the ringing growing stronger as the mosshead snorts in an unattractive and not at all endearing way, "That sound was your skull, shit Cook." "That sound was your brain trying to come up with original insults, jackass, shut up." "Scathing." "You don't even know what that means." - Triple oof. Sanji thanks the impending dread that fills the room for stopping him from blatantly swooning. - Ah, existential doom. A fickle mistress. Franky gives a low whistle, "Hot. ...I think." - There's a lot of things that are questionably hot in this world. Franky will fuck every last one of them. Sanji can feel his fucking ears turning red, damn this stupid perceptive bastard, "Che. I was just trying to figure out if your brain was small enough for a metal pole to go in one ear and out the other without making contact." "Bastard." - Goddamn shrubbery and their fucking observation haki. On his right there's a door labelled 'bathroom' that, once he opens it briefly to glance inside, gives way to a small room that can only really be called a bathroom on the technicality that the thing in the corner is probably a bath and the amount of space the area takes up is probably enough to be considered a room. - Ah, hotels. (Technically it's an inn, but shh.) Robin freezes in place once they reach the saloon, tilting her head slightly as she inquires to Franky, "By any chance, have you been rattling?" Franky simply smirks and opens up the door to his stomach fridge and extends a tiny hand in to fish out a pair of sea stone handcuffs, spinning it around on one finger and chuckling, "Maybe." - Dude just rattles sometimes, don't worry about it. Robin places a hand to her cheek, "Oh my. Perhaps this passageway has a connection to the future? It would be a shame if we passed through, and our bodies slowly aged and shrivelled up until we were nothing but bones and bolts." Franky sweats slightly, replying slightly shakily, "Yeah, that's uh... That's- Th... Please stop being so ominous. It's SUPER freakin' me out." - Yo. That would suck, I think. Franky chuckles, calming down somewhat, "Yeah, well, not in this case. I don't exactly find the slow, agonising aging of my body until I rot away particularly sexy - sorry." Robin hums, "That's fair, I suppose." - This is again almost immediately after the previous excerpt but yada yada. A couple beats of silence pass and Franky leans down and mutters, "Do I need to eeny-meeny-miny-moe this again, or...? I'm down for charging blindly in a random direction too if you are." - Again. Implying he's done that before. I refuse to think about the implications of that.

[teacherintransition]

I Got More Behind Me Than I Got in Front of Me

Muerte, décès, morte, tod, смерть, death!

Now, everyone in a good mood?

For over two years, I’ve been engaged in an ongoing exploration of my personal path of adjusting to changing my life in retirement and finding meaning in this new adventure. Without too much paraphrasing, I’ve come across folks who, when confronted with my choice, responded, “retirement… you’ll probably be dead in five years.” W ��T …F? You think I’m kidding; but I kid you not gentle reader, there are people like that who roam our fair lands. You may feel such individuals deserve a beating, but listen as I tell that pity is probably the more appropriate response. It must be terrible to feel that the distraction of toil is the only thing keeping away the grim reaper.

There’s probably a number of reasons this uniquely American mindset exists: keeping up with the Jones’s, religious upbringing, trauma, the Puritan work ethic, guilt…etc.. I experienced that mindset…oh yes, I started working at the tender age of thirteen and worked every work day until my retirement at fifty four. Even as a teacher with sixty hour work weeks, I worked every summer until I shattered my leg in ‘06; I even ran theatre camps after that injury. I got my creds baby, oh yeah, I’ve put in the hours. So, what changed my perspective you ask? I dunno, a lot of things I guess. There was some serious questioning of my spiritual and world view that came from tragic events; there was the loss of some significant people in my life at an early age; and I guess I actually picked up some wisdom. Who’d have thunked that?

I cannot deny certain facts though, the big sleep gets ever closer …that’s a fact …Jack! You WILL begin to lose your cultural lodestones as you age. In just a week we lost Jeff Beck, Van Connor, David Crosby and Lisa Marie Presley. If you’re Gen X…it was an emotional kick in the gut! You realize that there are lot less fewer birthdays in your future than you’re in your past. I remember at the beginning of a summer break a few years ago, a friend and colleague commented how she hoped summers would last forever! I replied that I did love summer and if I was lucky I’d have about forty more of them. You would’ve thought I told her that Santa Clause wasn’t real! “OH MY GOD…how can you think that way? I’m so depressed now.” Hell, that’s just the way it is…what can you do? I understand the sentiment… it’s not an “oh boy” moment; and my religious upbringing did foster a terror of the final curtain.

Do I fear death? I used to a lot… now not so much. I’ve got a Buddhist, eastern vibe going on and that’s as much as I’ll say about that. Here, right now, how do I deal with the unavoidable shuffling off of this mortal coil? I’m about to get philosophical right now, so buckle up! I lost a good friend who drowned when we were ten; terrible fear and anxiety followed. Another friend died at nineteen …the fear and torment followed again. You know the routine; we are going to keep losing friends and family and if you’re not careful, each one will take joy away from you. You’ll get consumed with the unfairness of it. I quote from Clint Eastwood’s character, Will Munny, from The Unforgiven, “fair ain’t got nuthin to do with it.” Well, there you go, not much more to say after that. All we are left with a growing sense of impending doom? No, change your mind and your ass will follow. Our life is as long as it’s supposed to be. Don’t go to fairness, or being cheated, or that’s wrong… that’s a losing proposition dude. You might as well try to keep the tide back with a broom. What is …is.

What’s a bigger tragedy: dying at the age of nineteen or living to be eighty and everyday being an exercise in avoiding joy because of some indoctrinated fear? I know what I think. No one knows how many birthdays or Christmas’s you have left, so why the hell do we bother worrying about them. You have today, thats it compadre…just today. If you’re fifteen, all you have is today. If you’re eighty five, all you have is today. Try getting out of that one. With this late in life realization and with the knowledge I had financially prepared for myself and my family; I decided that whatever day was my last, it wouldn’t be spent workin’ for the man! That’s all I got for you …it’s what gets my by. Maybe because I’ve lost so many friends, family and heroes that my connection to this world has lessened…I’m sure that’s part of it. I mean who really wants to live forever? We have right now and if we’re lucky or smart, we have treasured people to spend it with while here. Don’t get tied down with the “what ifs” or “what about’s” …fill your heart with the what is. You can’t avoid the grim reaper, but you can punch him in the teeth when you see him. Have a great day!

[blainesebastian]

long distance (ccg universe)

words: 1,704 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request): austin’s about to leave for about a month for something and you’re feeling a little emotional about it even though you totally support him and get a little weepy about it and just basically him reassuring you before he leaves  notes: all the austin butler love bumped me into 3k+ followers-- so thank you everyone xoxo appreciate every single one of you!  notes2: this is part of the ‘coffee cart girl’ universe but can be read alone. masterlist on my sidebar! :)  warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff

Regardless of how strong the foundation is between you and Austin, how much you’ve been through in your relationship, you’re never quite ready for a bigger separation. You’ve done smaller things—he’s a busy man, you know that, kinda comes with the entire package deal of dating an actor. One week here or there where he’s just completely unavailable, only able to check in with you via Facetime or phone calls in a hotel room. You know better than to get upset at this point, keeping so many emotions to yourself, because the last thing you want to do is upset Austin because that’s all it ever ends up doing. You support him, of course, but you don’t want him feeling guilty by association.

Regardless, weeks are easier to get through than a month—that’s what you’re dealing with today, coming to grips that Austin is getting on a plane and leaving for another country, almost like a tour of interviews, events, parties…all without you. It’s not like he hasn’t invited you, he has, you just…can’t picture leaving home for that long span of time, even though you’re hoping it’ll go fast. With everything going on with the filming of your script, you want to be on set, present, there to see the entire thing unfold. Austin completely understands that and wishes he could be there for you instead of packing to leave.

Sitting on his bed cross-legged, you watch him load up a suitcase, carefully folding clothes, shoes and fancier outfits into layers. He’s quiet and you already know that means he’s got a lot on his mind, your eyes traveling along the lines of his body, up to the soft pinch between his eyebrows and the soft curls of his dirty blonde hair.

“You’re gonna get wrinkles like that.” You tease and you seem to snap his attention away from his thoughts. He blinks at you before a ghost of a smile appears on his lips, “Worrying?”

“I don’t like leavin’ you.” Austin says, standing at his full height to survey what he has left to put in his suitcase.

“Well that’s good because otherwise that might be a red flag,” You pick up a pair of socks to toss at him and he annoyingly catches them before letting them drop into his suitcase.

“With everythin’ you got going on with the script and movie, all the hard work you’re puttin’ in,” He shakes his head, zipping up his luggage. You don’t think he’s done with it exactly but it looks like he doesn’t want to work on it anymore, pushing it off the bed until it hits the floor with a thunk. “I wanted to be here for all that.”

You swallow over a lump in your throat, attempting to be strong about this because he does not need to see you all weepy. He’s already touch-n-go with the whole situation anyways and there’s really no decision about it, he has to go, it’s part of his job. Just like you have to stay to oversee what’s developing for you. Just the way the universe works sometimes and you definitely don’t want to sound like you’re somehow ungrateful, especially when it comes to the opportunities you have to turn your written work into something real.

Would it be even better if Austin was here? Of course. But this is long from being over…and he’ll be back before you know it. Right?

You watch him crawl into bed and lie down on his stomach in front of you, propping himself up onto his elbows. His fingers play with a hole in your jeans at the knee and you can’t help but lean down and press your nose and lips into his hair. There’s a soft kiss there, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, skin.

You’re not gonna cry, you can be strong about this—you repeat the words over and over in your head like a mantra.

“You know better than anyone how much goes into filming something,” You say quietly, pulling back a little, “You won’t miss too much. I’m sorry I can’t come with you.”

Austin shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your knee, which is so weird but intimate that it makes you chuckle. Picking up your hand, you run it through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp a little.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to shake away the sensation, “I mean, you’re gonna be so busy anyways—fancy parties, tux events, meeting new people, talking about exciting projects—gonna forget all about everythin’ I’m doing here.”

“Don’t say that,” Austin tips his head up to look at you, eyes so blue and gentle, “I know you’re kiddin’ but…I can hear it in your tone, you’re worried I actually might.”

You sometimes forget how well he actually knows you, how he can pick up on those small things. It’s something that means a lot to you that he does, he never lets your emotions slip between the cracks, the communication in your relationship is so strong.

It’s why you know that…even if you need reminders, or even if it’s scary, that this long-distance thing is gonna end up okay.

“Well,” You muse, playing with one of his curls, “It’s gonna be hard to forget about me anyways because I’m gonna like—Facetime you every day,” You tease, though not too far from the truth, “That squirrel that visits on your balcony all the time? Gonna make sure I call you for that.”

Austin grins, leaning up off the bed to move a bit towards you, “Oh all the time?” He raises his eyebrows, “Like—what about when we’re gettin’ in the shower, how bout that?” He asks, playfully attempting to lift the bottom of your shirt up.

You smack his hand away but it’s impossible to stop him from laying on you, a series of giggles leaving your lips as he maps his body along yours, pressing you down into the mattress.

“I suppose something like that could be arranged.” You shrug, “We’ll see.”

He cuts off your last word with a kiss. There’s nothing else to do but count down time on a calendar.

--

For the most part, you’ve had your general concerns and freak-outs in private, and both you and Austin have talked through a lot to prepare for him leaving. You trust him, you’re not worried about that or the distance or the fact that it’ll be difficult but you’ll find time to talk to one another at least once a day. It’s not any of that. It’s…the missing him part that keeps sneaking up on you.

And you were doing a great job managing those feelings until you pulled up to the airport to drop Austin off.

Richard, Austin’s bodyguard that he’s had for a while now through different projects, is set to meet him right inside before security. So you’ve got a few minutes left to yourselves as you slide out of the car and help him organize his suitcases onto the sidewalk outside the glass doors he has to walk through. You might have offered to go in with him but…honestly the extra time doesn’t mean it’s any less hard, you still have to separate, and you’re not in the mood to put up with any fans that might recognize him.

“Well uh,” You clear your throat, wringing your hands together in front of yourself, “See you soon?” Because you can’t get the word goodbye out from underneath your tongue.

He smiles a little but you can tell he’s having trouble too, voice a bit of a thicker drawl as he says, “Yeah, it’ll fly by—alright? Be back here before you know it.”

God, you clamp down on your tongue between your teeth so hard so you don’t start crying and yet the ugliest sound comes out of your mouth. So fucking embarrassing because all you wanted to do is stay strong for him and now you’re doing this?

“Oh babe,” Austin laughs gently, not at you but definitely in empathy, “C’mere, stop.”

“Oh my god,” You sniffle, covering your face with one of your hands as Austin wraps his arms around you in a tight hug. His one hand threads through your hair as the other traces circles into your back, “I swore I was not gonna do this—just leave me on the sidewalk, go to your flight.”

He smirks, pressing a long kiss to your hairline, “It’s okay,” He murmurs, “We’re gonna be fine, alright?”

“It’s not that,” You shake your head, glancing up at him.

Austin looks at you a long moment, nodding, his hands cupping both of your cheeks and wiping away tear tracks with his thumbs. “I already miss you too.” Because of course he knows, your heart fluttering to hear he feels the exact same way.

There are a few moments where he just holds you, keeps you close, threads his fingers through your hair and removes as many tears as he can from your cheeks. There are many kisses shared, as many as you can before he eventually takes a step back. The heat from his touch lingers.

“Hey,” Austin says as he picks up one of his bags, “Don’t be fallin’ in love with anyone bringing you coffee on set, alright?”

A genuine laugh leaves your lips, “I’ll try my best so that doesn’t happen.”

Austin winks at you, picking up his other bag before taking a soft breath. There’s this lingering, he doesn’t want to go, and he leans forward to kiss you one more time. “I love you.”

You share a soft smile, “I love you too.” Before he turns to walk into the airport.

You stand there for a long few moments, watching him disappear, waiting even longer to will your body to move. Sniffling, you wipe your face before getting back into your car, squeezing the steering wheel before nodding. There’s a soft smile tugging the corners of your mouth as you think about Austin and straighten your shoulders—

The emotions might be hard, strong, sometimes painful, but you know that’s what is going to make him coming home and back to you that much sweeter.

--

Thanks for reading!! :)

[pixelmensupremacy]

Touch it

A/N: Thoughts were being thunk, whilst watching the second re4r trailer.

Word count: 1.3k

WARNINGS: Public sex, Oral(male receiving), GN!reader, teasing, dirty talk, pure filth, not proof read

Time passed at an atrociously slow pace.

The road, which lead to the subject that (Y/N) and Leon were assigned to rescue, was ridiculously long-much longer than they anticipated. Considering other all of their previous assignments, (Y/N) thought they had gotten used to traveling long distances. Apparently, they were wrong. They let out a sigh of boredom; in the past hour, they had ran out of any activities to keep their busy- not that they had many to begin with. Counting trees and unsuccessfully attempting to start a conversation with the two cops in the front seat proved to be everything but exciting.

They glanced over to their partner; he looked out of the car window, mindlessly studying his repetitious surroundings. For how long he stared at the endless number of trees, they had no clue, but to their, it seemed as if time had stopped and they were sucked into an endless tunnel that was the desolate forest. Now that they thought about it, maybe they should have taken that book.

With nothing left to do they resorted to annoying Leon- their all-time favorite activity. Thoroughly, they inspected him from head to toe in search of something to nitpick, though they couldn't find anything. What a pity. As much as didn't like to admit it he looked exceptionally good today.

His baby-blue eyes glistened under the soft beams of the autumn sun, hidden behind his golden stands, resembling the colorful carpet that was the fallen leaves. Beneath the dirty blond curtain, were his plump lips that caused a lump to form in their throat. Underneath his sharp jawline, the black fabric of his turtleneck hugged every curve of his body, adding to the look of a marble sculpture, flawlessly chiseled by the greatest of sculptors. Lost in the perfection that was his body, they traced the outline of his abdomen muscles with their wandering gaze until his arms fell into their field of vision, leaving his last, but definitely not least, asset out of sight. How disappointing.

"My eyes are up there." Heat rose to their cheeks as they were brought out of their fantasies. They weren’t staring now, did they?

"Don't flatter yourself, Kennedy. I was just checking if you were asleep."

"I'm not buying your bullshit, (Y/N). I know you were checking me out." They fell silent, unable to deny the truth. "For a moment I was afraid you'll start drooling." He added in a smug voice that caused excitement to tingle their core.

"Only in your imagination." They didn't back down, in a desperate attempt to cover up their embarrassment.

"Your body tells a different story." He shifted in his seat, prompting his body so he was fully facing them.

Suddenly, the air seemed to thicken, causing (Y/N) to take a deep breath in. Leon’s intense gaze bore into their, mischief flickered behind the now deeper blue of his irises; that look of his wasn’t one they were unfamiliar with. In fact, they knew from experience that this gaze portends something big, bound to happen. The ride wouldn’t be so boring after all.

“Show me, sweetheart, what were you fantasizing about?”

What a cocky bastard! They thought to themselves as they watched him, giving them the most suggestive smirk in existence, whilst he sat there with his legs spread, providing them with a good view of what he had to give.

But how could they deny such an alluring offer?

Reluctantly they looked at the two cops in the front then at Leon, who winked at their as if to reassure them they won’t get caught. The two policemen were engaged in a heated debate- most likely regarding politics- and they didn’t seem to be interested in the agents' activities whatsoever. The perfect opportunity has fallen right in their lap.

“What are you waiting for, (L/N)?” Leon raised his brow at them.

(Y/N) sighed. Fuck it.

Bending over, they placed their hands on Leon’s thighs, slowly rubbing into them as they steadily worked their way up to his inner thighs. Leon spread his legs further, allowing their easier access. Their mouth watered at the sight of a sizeable tent that had formed underneath his slacks. They chuckled at the sight; it never failed to amaze them how little effort it took to get him worked up eager and ready for them to take him in. And so were they, though they didn’t want rush and instead relish the pretty sounds that would accidentally fall down his parted plump lips and how his whole expression changes when they would touch him where he needed their most. It was a sight for sore eyes- one they couldn’t get enough of.

Taking their sweet time, they toyed at the belt buckle all the while they stared at Leon, only to be met with his lustful eyes; the familiar soft baby blue was replaced with sheer deep lust. It was what they wanted to see.

In a second his slacks were undone and (Y/N) eagerly freed his cock out of his boxers; Leon hissed through gritted teeth as the cold air enveloped his heated skin, though much to his delight, the warmth of (Y/N)’s hand covered him. Aptly, they pumped his hardened dick all the while taking in consideration the flushed, rubbing it and collecting the precum as makeshift lube.

“Is this what you are thinking about? Getting naughty on the job?” Leon asked in a smug voice, his bottom lip was caught between his teeth in attempt to hold back a loud moan.

“It appears you are just as ‘naughty’ as I am.” They teased as they let go of his cock only to flick the tip. Leon’s head fell back for a moment; the exquisite mixture of pain and pleasure made him dizzy.

“Is that all you got?” He stroked them with a daring look, paired with equally smug grin.

“I’m far from done with you, Kennedy.” They said as they lowered their head on his throbbing dick. At first, they began with gentle, featherlight kisses and licks. They showered his dick with equal attention; lapping at the leaking tip, then trailing their tongue around it before tracing the pumping vein all the way to the bottom, where their hands thoroughly massaged his balls.

Leon had completely melted in their hands; his pupils blown wide, leaving his irises into a fine trace of what was the gorgeous blue, whilst deep red dusted his fair skin. His fingers rested on (Y/N)’s head, barely resisting the urge to shove his dick in their hot mouth right there and then. (Y/N) was aware of it all.

Wrapping their lips around the tip, they slowly pushed down, filling their mouth to the brim. With one hand they supported their weight as the other took care of what they couldn’t fit. A whimper escaped past Leon’s lips; his hand groped at the seat underneath him as if to ground himself, though to no avail- the sensation was too intoxicating for him be anything but that.

The way their hot tongue felt against him and how they would swallow around him drove him crazy, but what got him on the edge was when they suddenly whined around him- for a split second the thought he would cum.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart.” He encouraged; his fingers tangled in their hair, further motivating them to keep going. And so they did.

Picking up their pace, (Y/N) strived to grant that wish of his. Tears formed at the corners of their eyes; they were running out of breath, causing them to whine. Right then, ropes of cum coated their mouth; they swallowed as they sat up, trying to catch their breath. Beside them, Leon was panting; his hair was stuck to his forehead, which was covered in beads of sweat that had formed there, meanwhile his parted lips glistered under the fading sunlight. It got (Y/N) thinking, maybe they liked him better this way- all hot and messy from their little adventure.

“We’re almost there, loverbirds.”

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.    

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

[riotwritesthings]

Location Matters

WinterIron, E, 2.6k - PWP, semi-public sex, anal fingering, begging, dirty talk, edging, orgasm delay

Ayyy welcome to the first day of Smutober! Yes that’s right, I’m going with Smutober, Kinktober didn’t quite feel right when I’m much more focused on just writing smut than getting through a list of unique kinks. And I’m not following any prompt list at all, just my heart. And I have no idea how many fics I’ll actually be able to get out this month, I have been having a Bad Brain Time, as the kids say, but I’m gonna do what I can and it’s better than nothing right?! Anywho I’m here to break rules and write smut so lets get to it!!

~~~

“Please,” Tony sobs as he arches his back harder, fingers scrabbling at the shelves in front of him and he really can’t bring himself to care about the several packets of pasta that go tumbling to the ground.

Even if he didn’t consider dry pasta a terrible abomination, Tony has way better things to focus on anyways. Like the solid line of heat that is Bucky pressed in close against him, pinning Tony securely between Bucky’s broad chest and the corner of the shelves as two of Bucky’s calloused fingers slowly press into him.

Tony knows they’re being more than a little ridiculous. They are grown adults with their own bedroom, but here they are in the common kitchen of the compound, barely hidden away in the walk-in pantry with Bucky’s hand shoved down his pants like horny teenagers. He can feel Bucky’s cock nudging hard and thick against the back of his thigh and Tony is well on his way to fully hard himself, rocking back against Bucky’s hand and trying to force him to move faster.

“Fuck, I- you- I need—“ Tony gasps out, voice breaking off into a moan when Bucky’s fingers press a little deeper. His grip on the shelves slips again as he can’t decide between turning to face Bucky or just trying to force himself back onto Bucky’s fingers, trying to get more, and Tony ends up just kind of twitching and thrashing in place.

“Patience, baby,” Bucky rumbles, his lips moving over the skin beneath Tony’s ear and that’s probably Tony’s least favorite thing to hear but oh he loves the way Bucky says it, low and rumbling and burning with intensity.

Bucky shifts his wrist a little and it works Tony’s worn pajamas down a little lower past the curve of his ass, but not enough to free his cock from the clinging fabric. When Tony rocks his hips in place, trying get any friction, or Bucky’s fingers pressing into him deeper, or anything, all he gets is the faint drag of soft flannel over his leaking cock. Tony lets out a desperate groan and tries to buck his hips harder, but Bucky just moves with him, not letting Tony have more than the not-enough stretch of two of Bucky’s fingertips barely working him open. Which, after Bucky thoroughly fucked him into the couch earlier today, it’s not nearly enough.

“What do you mean patience, we are in the kitchen,” Tony finally manages to get out, and his voice might be rough and breathy but he still thinks it’s a decent point.

Sure, it was some ungodly hour of the morning when they finished their latest Star Trek binge and first stumbled down here looking for snacks, but Tony has honestly lost track of time entirely at this point. He has no idea how long it’s been since Bucky kicked the pantry door shut behind them and crowded Tony up against the shelves and or all he knows the damn early birds in the house will be along any second, yanking the door open looking for the pancake mix or something and getting a whole-ass eyeful. Literally.

But in the next second all thought is pushed from Tony’s mind when Bucky’s fingers finally press deeper, nudging over his prostate as they twist inside him. Tony had more good points to make, he swears he did, but he forgets all of them as Bucky begins to finger him in earnest, pressing kisses to Tony’s throat and mouthing filthy paise into his skin, bringing Tony right up to the edge with the almost brutal efficiency that he’s basically perfected.

“’S this what you wanted, baby? Want me to really work you open, make you feel it?” Bucky demands roughly, his lips sliding up to Tony’s jaw and all Tony can manage is a shaking whine, trying desperately to shove himself back onto Bucky’s fingers. “Yeah, always take it so fuckin’ sweet, feel so perfect wrapped around me, clenching an’ shakin’, still tryin’ to fuck yourself back on my fingers even when you can’t barely move.”

As if to prove his point Bucky presses Tony in harder against the shelves, pinning him in place as every twist and thrust of Bucky’s fingers set off new shockwaves of pleasure through Tony’s whole body, pushing him higher. Bucky alternates between deep thrusts that make Tony ache for more and relentless jabs to his prostate that are driving Tony out of his mind.

“Please, please,” Tony begs, shaking as Bucky’s fingers stroke over his prostate again, tension winding tighter in his gut and he’s so close. He’s sobbing out every breath as Bucky’s fingers bear down harder and Tony clenches around them, arching back into the pressure as his balls draw up tight and the knot of pleasure inside him twists tighter, tighter—

And then Bucky’s fingers disappear, withdrawing from him entirely and Tony is left dangling right at the edge without anything to push him over, clenching around nothing and feeling so empty. He can’t even rock his hips in place for the light drag of his pajamas over his cock, Bucky’s free hand tight on his hip to hold him in place and it only accentuates the waves of pleasure still sparking along Tony’s nerves, not quite enough.

“What the fuck,” Tony groans, “you hate me, you hate me and you want me to die like this, is that it?!”

“Tha’s what you always say when I try to take my time with you,” Bucky points out with a low, rumbling laugh as he drags his fingers too-lightly over Tony’s loose hole.

“And I’m still convinced it’s true!” Tony replies, his voice caught somewhere between a snap and a whine. He has more to say, but he’s interrupted by Bucky pressing back into him with three fingers this time, stretching him that little bit wider and he’s so loose, so desperate, that there’s not even a burn. All Tony feels is the stretch of it as Bucky’s fingers sink all the way into him, until Tony can feel him everywhere.

Bucky’s fingers thrust in and out of him in an unsteady rhythm, working him up without ever giving him enough to push him to the edge again and Tony buries his face in his folded arms to try and muffle the sob that bursts out of him. His legs are doing nothing to support him at this point, it’s only Bucky’s hand on his hip and Bucky’s chest pressed flush against his shoulder blades and Bucky’s fingers buried deep inside him, holding him up and taking him apart.

He can’t think past the waves of pleasure that rush through him every time Bucky just barely nudges his prostate, the shudders that run through him when Bucky withdraws his fingers just enough to tug at his stretched rim, making sure Tony feels it. And just when Tony thinks the knot in his gut can’t wind any tighter, that he’s about to come with nothing more than the maddeningly inconsistent press and twist of Bucky’s thick fingers inside him, playing with him, the pressure abruptly disappears and leaves him achingly empty.

“Oh, you absolute bastard,” Tony groans, thunking his head against the shelf in front of him and then sucking in a sharp breath when Bucky laughs roughly and drags his fingertips in light circles around Tony’s hole. “Would you just-“ Tony cuts off into a breathy whine when Bucky’s fingers just barely start to press into him again, trying to arch his back harder like he can force Bucky’s fingers back inside him despite the way Bucky has him thoroughly pinned in place, completely helpless as Bucky’s fingers continue dragging wetly around and around his clenching hole, until Tony’s every breath is coming out as a pleading whine.

When Bucky finally pushes his fingers back in he does it slowly, so slowly, making sure Tony can feel every shift and press, working him back right back to the edge with steady, inescapable thrusts of his fingers and then pushing him higher. Until Tony has no idea how he hasn’t already broken and he can’t even try to rock back into it anymore, can’t move, can only take it.

“Fuck, love the way you shake for me,” Bucky growls, all hot breath and teeth against the line of Tony’s throat as he crooks his fingers a little harder, and then has to crowd in against Tony a little more to help keep him upright as Tony’s legs give out entirely.

Tony’s legs might be useless noodles at this point but that doesn’t stop them from shaking with overstimulation, his hips jerking and twitching in place with every deep press of Bucky’s fingers. Tony’s entire body is shaking like he’s been hit with a live wire and he’s crying out every breath, his fingers going numb from how tightly he’s gripping the edge of the shelf.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this, blissed out an’ shaking’ with it, can barely even hold yourself up,” Bucky growls, pressing down harder on Tony’s prostate and Tony’s entire body jolts hard, his hands sliding off the shelf and his bare feet sliding against the floor.

After a second of scrambling Tony manages to cross his arms across the shelf, burying his face against his forearms to try and muffle his wail. Partially because he’s so close and fuck Tony might just die if they get interrupted before Bucky finally lets him cum, if it’s not soon, and also because he doesn’t want to miss the honestly filthy words spilling out of Bucky’s mouth.

“C’mon sugar, wanna feel you come on my fingers,” Bucky says, a low rumbling growl against the curve of Tony’s shoulder, “always clench down so damn tight around me, sound so gorgeous, wanna hear you sobbin’ for me.” He thrusts his fingers in hard again and then twists, stretching Tony’s loose rim a little more and even that is enough to have Tony’s entire body jolting, another ragged cry tearing out of him. “Fuckin’ love this, don’t you baby?” Bucky demands roughly, “bein’ worked open and stuffed full? Pinned and helpless an’ just takin it, lettin’ me play with you however I want until you’re beggin’ for it just- like- this?”

The final couple words are punctuated with a too-brief drag of Bucky’s fingertips over his prostate, sending bolts of pleasure through him that are right on the edge of too-much and god it’s not enough. Tony is only vaguely aware that he’s trying to beg, but keeping track of the broken attempts at words and ragged sounds spilling past his slack lips is far less important than the sensations rushing through him.

Tony would much rather focus on trying to shove himself back to meet the press of Bucky’s fingers, no matter how little he’s actually accomplishing, right up until Bucky presses in impossibly closer and Tony is left completely immobile. Bucky’s metal fingers disappear from his hip to instead tangle in his hair, yanking Tony’s head back with one hard tug and Tony has no hope of muffling or containing the loud cry that escapes him. All he knows is the deep, insistent press of Bucky inside him, the burning pleasure and ache as his spine is pulled into a sharp arch and Bucky’s fingers seem to press impossibly deeper.

“Fuck-“ Tony chokes out, panting brokenly for air and then whining when even that simple motion lights up his entire body, like he’s just one giant struck nerve and his face is wet with sweat or tears or both as he finally manages to gasp out “please—“

“I can feel how fucking close you are, sweet thing, how much you need it,” Bucky says, lips trailing up Tony’s neck and when Tony tries to wiggle in his hold, to rock himself down onto Bucky’s fingers, anything, Bucky’s teeth catch at the corner of his jaw to hold him in place. “Don’t you wanna come for me baby?” Bucky demands once Tony goes relatively still in his hold, hard tremors still running through him as Bucky’s fingers continue to thrust and press and twist inside him. “Don’t you wanna make a fuckin’ mess of yourself for me? Let me watch you wobble back to our room, legs still shaking’ and cum coolin’ on your skin, flushed and dazed and gorgeous, wanna let me lick you clean and put you to bed still sloppy and reekin’ like sex?”

“I- I- ahh—“ Tony wants to say that god does he want that, he’s so close, but every drag of Bucky’s fingers is melting every thought out of his head and Tony is nearly screaming out every exhale and he can’t stop, shaking too hard to properly fuck himself back onto Bucky’s hand and fuck he’s so close—

“C’mon Tony, give it to me,” Bucky snarls, rocking his hips against Tony and circling his fingers hard over Tony’s prostate and that’s it.

Tony’s loud cry cuts off as his voice breaks, and instead he’s left making hoarse, breathy noises as he comes, wave after wave of pleasure rushing over him, dragging him under. He can barely hear anything past his own pulse throbbing in his ears, his orgasm dragging on and on with every relentless shove of Bucky’s fingers still working into him until Tony’s brain finally whites out to the sound of his own hitching, wailing moan.

When Tony zones back in, both of Bucky’s arms are wound around his waist, holding him steady as Tony continues twitching with fading aftershocks. His pants are back in place, although the front of them is indeed a mess of his own cooling cum, and Tony has to forcibly remind himself why just falling asleep right here is a bad idea.

And it’s not because he can feel Bucky’s cock still pressed hard and warm against his hip, no matter how distracting of a realization that is.

“What time is it?” Tony asks roughly, because his mind might be a little (a lot) blown, and he really wants to do something about the way Bucky is rocking minutely against him while he lets Tony catch his breath, but not as much as Tony wants to not get another lecture about public indecency. It always makes him feel a little too much like he’s back in college.

There’s a tellingly long silence before Bucky clears his throat and says, “Uh… we should probably get back to our own room pretty soon.”

The hoarse, gravely sound of Bucky’s voice has heat valiantly trying to swell in Tony’s gut again, but Tony forces himself to focus on arguing “You should probably carry me back to our room, because what even are legs. I don’t think I have them, I certainly cannot feel them.”

Bucky laughs but seems all too happy to oblige in scooping Tony up off the ground, even if it is more in an up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes way than Tony would really prefer. He’s about to complain, but then Bucky’s hand settles over the curve of his ass and Tony decides he can live with it, and at least this will keep the rapidly cooling cum soaked through the front of his pajamas from rubbing against his skin.

It’s not until they’re in the elevator that Tony’s brain comes back online enough for him to remember all of Bucky’s filthy promises, and Tony grins at the small of Bucky’s back as he says, “I guess if you really want I’ll try wobbling around like a drunken baby giraffe when we reach our floor, but frankly I’m more invested in the ‘licking’ part of your plan.”

Bucky hums, equal parts amused and thoughtful, and Tony’s breath catches hard as Bucky shifts his grip a little, his fingers easily dipping between Tony’s cheeks through his thin pajamas.

[t0wnspersonb]

Kiss it Better (Tsukishima Kei x Reader)

Anonymous said:

Hello I just read your fics about Kuroo, Akaashi and Bokuto and I really liked them 💞 So I was wondering if you could write a fluff fic where tsukki gets embarassed trying to make the first move you can also just add things to your liking If you don‘t want to that‘s totally okay I‘ll be waiting for your upcoming fics thank youuuu 🧡

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Omg that’s so funny because my next story was literally going to be just that! I had a lot of fun writing this one and might do a part two with some *cough* smut *cough* just like Kuroo, everyone is lowkey a Tsukishima girl. I hope you like this anon! 

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Word Count: 2,293

Summary: Tsukishima has always liked you, but you’ve never noticed his advances. A trip to the nurses office might change your mind. 

~~~~~~~~

You liked to think that you were friends with the tall blonde sitting behind you in class. 

 But sometimes…

 Thunk. 

 Sometimes…

 Thunk.

 Sometimes you really wanted to fucking strangle him.

 Thunk. 

 “Can you stop kicking my chair!?” you hissed, staring at the smirking middle blocker.

 “My foot slipped.” he replied coyly, causing your scowl to deepen. 

 Before you could retort back to him the bell rang, signaling the end of class. You started packing up your stuff, grumbling to yourself about how rude Tsukishima was.

 “Don’t you want to walk to the clubs together?” He called out to your leaving form. 

 You huffed turning around to see him and Yamaguchi looking at you.

 There were times when Tsukishima didn’t annoy you, and those were the times you would walk with them to your after school club activities. 

 You were part of the photography club, which was on the way to the gymnasium that held their volleyball practice. 

 But again, you only walked with them when Tsukishima wasn’t being an annoying little prick.

 Today definitely wasn’t one of those days. He had been bugging you all day. It went from his annoying comments to him poking at you harshly, and then to kicking your chair.

 You weren’t sure if it was because he was bored and had nothing better to do, or if it was because he actually didn’t think of you as a friend. Or because he was just simply an asshole.

 Maybe it was a combination of all three, you didn’t know.

 “No way.” you sniffed, sticking out your tongue to him. “I don’t want to walk with you anywhere today. If it was just Yama-kun then I would. But not if you’re there. Stupid.”

Tsukishima visibly looked annoyed at your statement. 

 “Y/n-chan.” Yamaguchi called out, raising his hands up as he looked at both annoyed expressions. “You guys should try and get along yeah?”

 “Be quiet Yamaguchi.” Tsukishima sighed, moving to walk past you. “If she wants to be childish then just let her. I’m surprised she even got into this class.”

 “I’m surprised Yama-kun is even your friend.” you fired back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I bet you aren’t even good at volleyball.”

 Tsukishima paused, and then before you could even register what had happened, he was leaning down, incredibly close to your face and to your body. You could physically feel his body heat radiating into your own. His hand resting on the doorframe, preventing you from leaving the room.

 “Why don’t you come by and find out?” he said slowly, ignoring the panicked squeak that escaped Yamaguchi’s lips. His gold eyes were piercing into your own, but you couldn’t see any anger in them at what you had said, you couldn’t see an ounce of annoyance either. But there was something else there, something you couldn’t place.

 Ignoring your hammering heart and the heat creeping up into your face, you shoved his arm away scowling. “Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll take pictures of you sucking and have an article published in the school newspaper about you being a terrible person and sucking at volleyball!” you huffed stalking away from the tall first year angrily.

 You ignored the calls of Yamaguchi and just focused on heading towards your club.

 Today was definitely one of those days where you wanted nothing to do with Tsukishima.

 The relationship you had with the middle blocker was incredibly strange. One minute you guys were perfectly fine with each other, and next - well it was exactly what had just happened.

 Tsukishima scoffed as he watched your retreating figure. But he couldn’t deny the fact that your reactions were incredibly lame, but incredibly cute.

 “You shouldn’t tease her like that Tsukki.” Yamaguchi sighed. “She’s never going to like you back if you keep making her mad like that.”

 Tsukishima didn’t say anything as they continued their way to the gym. 

 Everyone knew that he liked you. It was incredibly obvious, and Tsukishima always made sure to make it incredibly obvious.

But it wasn't obvious to you.

 The one person that it mattered to the most.

 You were frustrating and amusing, stubborn and incredibly smart, quick-witted and incredibly beautiful.

 The entire package.

 And Tsukishima wanted you to be his.

 But you were too fucking dense to realize that.

 And quite frankly, he was getting sick of it. For as smart as you were, you were incredibly thick when it came to stuff like that it appeared.

 It frustrated him to no end.

 Usually what he depicted as playful flirting you thought as him just being downright mean.

 It was a constant cycle, neverending. 

 It was ridiculous.

 Actually scratch that. 

 This was ridiculous.

 It had been a couple of days since that last encounter, Tsukishima deciding his chances at winning you over would probably be better if he stopped his teasing for a little bit.

 But right now you were nodding your head rapidly in understanding as Hinata talked to you. You were there during one of their practices, to take photos of them. A project that you had to do for your photography club. Takeda-sensei had given you permission to be there to snap pictures of the team.

 “- And then I go boom!” Hinata exclaimed bouncing around.

 You smiled at his antics. “That sounds incredible Hinata! Do you think I can take a picture of you doing your crazy jump?” you asked, holding up the camera for emphasis.

 But before he could utter an answer, Tsukishima interrupted. “We have to start practice, you can just take pictures then.” he said to you, glancing at you briefly. 

You rolled your eyes at his aloofness and apologized to Hinata who was protesting loudly at what Tsukishima had said. “He’s right Hinata, I don’t want to impede on your guys’ practice so just pretend like I’m not here and I’ll take as many pictures as possible.”

 Reluctantly he agreed and everyone continued the practices Ukai had asked them to do before splitting up into different teams. They were doing a match.

 You were honestly in awe as you watched them play. You didn’t think that volleyball could be so… amazing. You had teased both Yamaguchi and Tsukishima about how boring the sport was.

 You were so wrong.

 You had almost forgotten to take pictures, you were so captivated.

 But what had surprised you the most, was Tsukishima. You had never seen him so… concentrated? So serious? So… so attractive?

 You felt your face flush, shaking your head to rid yourself of the thought. That was ridiculous. You had never been attracted to the middle blocker, you found him annoying, a completely arrogant, unnecessarily tall asshole, and… and he was incredibly good looking.

 What was wrong with you? How could you even think of something like that? How could you - “Watch out!” your eyes went wide as a volleyball came hurtling at you with rapid speed.

 Your eyes squeezed shut, readying yourself for the impact.

 Only it never came. You heard a loud grunt and opened your eyes to see Tsukishima clenching at his fingers, the ball rolling away from his feet.

 He… he protected you from the ball. 

 Tsukishima’s pointer finger throbbed in pain, he knew it wasn’t broken, but the nail had torn just a bit, blood seeping out of his wound.

 He wasn’t sure what possessed him to move, he knew that Nishinoya was closer to you, he knew that he was heading towards the ball to stop it from hitting you. But his body just moved after he called out his warning.

 “Oi Tsukishima are you okay?” Tanaka asked running up to him, several of his teammates surrounding him.

 He removed his hand to reveal his bloody nail, causing you to gasp lightly.

“I need to stop the bleeding. I’ll go to the nurse.” Tsukishima said quietly.

 “Let me help you.” You blurted out immediately, causing all eyes to be on you now. “It’s my fault you got injured.”

 The tall blonde nodded, and both of you left the gym quietly.

 “He’s got it bad huh?” Tanaka smirked, staring after you guys.

 “I hope he can confess properly.” Yamaguchi sighed.

 ***

 The walk to the infirmary was incredibly quiet, awkward almost. But it was just your luck that the nurse was nowhere to be found.

 “You can go. I can take care of it from here.” Tsukishima said quietly.

 You shook your head. “No. You got hurt because of me. At least let me help.” You started to take out the necessary equipment to help disinfect and wrap his finger. “Go ahead and sit down.” you said gesturing to the bed.

 Tsukishima didn’t bother arguing, silently sitting at the edge of the bed and watching you closely.

 Even sitting down, he was still incredibly tall. The top of his head just below your chin. You held your hand out his expectantly, he sighed quietly before placing his much larger hand in yours.

 Carefully you cleaned up the blood and began wiping down the wound with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. The smell stingy your nose, but the atmosphere around the both of you was quiet, calm almost.

 His hand dwarfed your own, his fingers long and elegant, and surprisingly soft against your own touch.

 Tsukishima couldn’t deny the fact that he was enjoying this immensely. You stood incredibly close to him, slightly between his parted legs as you worked. He could smell the soft perfume on your skin and the laundry detergent you used on your clothes.

 It was a wonderful smell.

 Maybe… maybe now would be a good time to tell you… right?

 “I’m sorry Tsukishima.” you said quietly, wrapping his finger. “If I wasn’t there you wouldn’t be in this position.”

 “It’s fine. It’s nothing serious.” he said, equally quiet.

 “Does it hurt?” you asked, tilting your head to the side slightly as you stared into his gold eyes.

 Tsukishima could feel the blush rising in his face, you were just too cute. The way you looked concerned about him. He liked that. He liked that a lot.

 “It might hurt less if you kiss it better.” he said. He couldn’t resist, this situation was incredibly ideal to him.

 You looked incredibly confused for a moment before taking his hand and gently pressing your lips against the tip of his injured finger.

 Tsukishima felt like his heart was about to leap out of his chest, his face burning at the sweet gesture. And even though his finger was wrapped up, he just knew that your lips were incredibly soft. His other hand came up to press against his face, the backside of his hand covering the lower part of his face in embarrassment. 

 “What’s wrong?” you asked frowning, you had just done what he had said. Your heart was racing for some reason though, you weren’t sure why. 

 Tsukishima couldn’t take this anymore. He grabbed your wrist and tugged, pulling you into his chest, and then flipping you over onto the bed, his upper body hovering over yours.

 Your face was completely red, you thought your heart was about to pop, he was way too close and his face held nothing but seriousness.

 What did you do?

 “Tsukishima-” “Quiet.” he demanded.

 You snapped your jaw shut.

 You watched him take a deep breath in before speaking. “You are the most infuriating person I know. You’re stupid and you don’t pay attention to what’s going on right in front of your face.”

 Your nostrils flared slightly in anger. “Well right back at you asshole!” you grumbled back.

 He rolled his eyes and moved his face closer to your own, causing you to quiet down once more.

“But despite how incredibly dense you are, you’re smart, you’re witty, you’re stubborn, you’re hardworking, you’re pretty -”

 You have never been more confused in your entire life. Did he just insult you and then compliment you? Did he just call you pretty?

 “ - and I literally can’t take this anymore.” he pushed up his glasses just a bit. “I’ve given you so many hints, made it so ridiculously obvious, and you still don’t understand you dimwit.”

 You frowned further at his insults. 

 “I like you.” He said, “I’ve liked you for a while now. You just have never noticed. I want you to go out with me.”

 He couldn’t handle the shy expression on your face after his confession. The soft look on your face, and the dark red blush coating your cheeks. His eyes flickered towards your lips, and he started to lean closer. Your soft hands came up and gently rested against his chest, but you never pushed him away. Your eyes fluttered shut as you prepared yourself for what was about to come next.

 You could feel his breath hitting your face gently, causing your lips to part as you readied yourself -

 “Tsukishima! Everyone wanted me to go check on you and -” the door opened suddenly, and Hinata stood staring at the scene before him.

 Tsukishima whipped his head around with a hard glare at the orange haired male who had gone pale, and then had turned dramatically red at the sight before him.

 You couldn’t help but cover your face in embarrassment at the position you and Tsukishima were in. 

 “I-I’m so sorry for interrupting!” Hinata screamed and slammed the door.

 Tsukishima sighed, deflating slightly before removing himself from on top of you. He ignored the blush in his face as he stood up, looking back at you still laying on the bed.

 So incredibly tempting.

 “Wait for me after practice. We can walk home together.” He said simply before leaving the infirmary.

 Did you… did you just get yourself a boyfriend?

 You hoped so.

[swbumblebee]

Qui-Gon Jinn cupped the precious mug of tea beneath his large hands, sitting alone at the table in the small temple flat he shared with his Padawan. He closed his eyes and breathed in the vapors whilst the rest of the temple sprang into action for the day ahead.

Not today for the Jinn/Kenobi pair. It had been a long night for the Jedi Master, listening helplessly to Obi-Wan sniffing, wheezing and coughing his way through the night in the room next to his own.

After narrowly avoiding a slipper to the face the third time he popped his head around the door (“For goodness sake Master I am FINE! Maybe I’m just allergic to fusspots?���) the Jedi Master made the executive decision that there would be no lessons this morning, testing the limits of his fine Force control by turning the alarm on his apprentice’s chrono off as he quickly exited the room and escaped the teenager’s ire.

Yes. A much-needed lie in and then a day in bed (remaining exactly where Qui-Gon could keep an eye on him) with pain killers and cough medicine would do his ill Padawan a world of good.

He sat back, rather pleased with his plan, when a spark of panic ignited his training bond with Obi-Wan, and a few thuds later saw the boy springing out of his room, tunics all over the place, hair askew and a frantic look on his face.

Ah.

He hadn’t factored in his Padawan’s dedication to his studies.

“Master! Master what time is it? I’m so late!” the young man cried, grabbing random objects and stuffing them into his bag in a frenzy.

Qui-Gon stood up slowly.

“Obi-Wan I’ve spoken to your tutors-“

His panicked student heard nothing. He was frantically searching for something; lifting cushions off the sofa, shifting piles of flimsi and kicking aside discarded robes.

“Master have you seen my history pad? I had it – I had it last night I’m sure!” his apprentice was a one boy hurricane as he rushed around their flat, ducking under the table in his quest.

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes towards the heavens.

“Obi-Wan you’re not going-“

“Yes!” so focused on his victory from under their table, the teenager continued to tune him out. “Sorry Master there’s a guest speaker – I just need to check I’ve done-“

Qui-Gon sighed fondly. His boy was such a nerd.

It was time to bring out the big guns.

“Padawan!” he barked sharply, fully aware he was using his ‘Master’ voice, usually reserved for dangerous missions.

Thunk.

“Ow!”

…and immediately regretted it when his startled apprentice hit his head on the table above his crouched position.

Oh Force

He rushed towards the boy, who was slowly making his way out from under the table rubbing his head with a grimace.

“Owwww! Bloody ahhhh…Master! What was that for?” he asked, wounded.

Big watery blue eyes turned on him and Qui-Gon thought he might just be the worst being in the Galaxy.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” he jabbered, pulling the skinny boy in to look at his head, where already a lump was forming.

Qui-Gon was indeed, the worst being in the Galaxy.

Obi-Wan sighed, sniffing and wiping at his red nose that sharply contrasted against his pale pallor, shrugging out of his Masters grip.

“Master, what’s going on? Did you turn off my alarm?” he asked, an unimpressed expression on his young face that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Jedi high council.

Qui-Gon refused to be cowed.

But it was a near thing.

He opened his mouth to respond when the stern face in front of him took on a decidedly more enthusiastic expression.

“Are we going on a mission!?” Obi-Wan asked excitedly, childish glee lighting up his eyes. Before the sickly boy immediately succumbed to a chest-rattling coughing fit that had him almost bent double.

Going on a – ? Qui-Gon shook his head despairingly as he rubbed Obi-Wan’s back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

“The only place you’re going is back to bed” he corrected sternly.

“What?”

Unbelievably, the intelligent young Jedi looked at him confused. And then sneezed.

“Yes” Qui-Gon confirmed slowly as he nodded. “You, my young Padawan, have a cold.”

Predictably, he received a scowl in return.

“Master, honestly I’m fine – I promise – I have to go to lessons – Maaaaster” Obi-Wan attempted to wriggle away from the hand that was currently resting on his forehead.

Qui-Gon’s lips thinned in disapproval. The boy was way too hot, and clammy to the touch.

“No, I’m afraid not.” he declared.

“But there’s –“

“I know, I know, a guest speaker” Qui-Gon finished for him, putting an arm to his students’ skinny shoulders and turning him gently towards his room.

“Pleeease Master” the quiet, uncharacteristically whining tone of his apprentice caught him off guard, and his heart clenched just a little.

“I’m sorry Padawan, but your health must come first.”

He felt a little guilty when the young man’s shoulders slumped a little and Obi-Wan sniffed rather pathetically before, ever obedient, he gave in and allowed himself to be guided back towards his own bedroom.,  

Qui-Gon pressed his advantage in his apprentice’s silence.

“Now, please go and get in the shower, and change into some fresh sleep clothes while I make your bed.” He instructed, in a patient tone he usually reserved for lessons.

All he got was a grunt in return, blue eyes dimming slightly as Obi-Wan’s feet began to drag.

Qui-Gon had to stop himself from giving him a rather smothering bear hug. That would go down about as well as Yoda’s stew.

They were nearly at the threshold, so close to victory, when Obi-Wan stopped suddenly.

“I should tell my tutors” he said, looking up at Qui-Gon worriedly.

“I spoke with the Master Scholars office this morning” he reassured his anxious student.

Obi-Wan continued to nibble his lower lip, remaining in place despite his Master’s urging expression.

“…I should speak to them” he mumbled unsurely “apologize”

Qui-Gon looked at him sharply.

“You will do no such thing” he scolded, his tone perhaps more than he intended, but it was a consistent bad habit of his Padawan, and a major bug bear of his own, that the child seemed to feel the need apologise to the Universe for his existence.

He sighed at the startled look on his boys face.

“Obi-Wan, you are perfectly entitled to be ill, every being in the Galaxy gets ill and the sensible thing to do is to take a sick day.” He said smartly, appealing to his logical student’s intelligence.

Obi-Wan continued to worry at his lip, his head cocking in a way Qui-Gon recognized as him carefully considering a problem.

“So…I’ll just… go to bed?” he clarified awkwardly.

Qui-Gon smiled.

“Yes indeed, you’ll get in the shower and then go to bed. Where you may read, fiction, for thirty minutes whilst you have breakfast and some medicine, and then you’re going back to sleep.” He informed his charge.

There was a mutinous expression present for about a fraction of a second, before his dutiful apprentice was back.

“Yes Master” came the rather sulky acknowledgement, and Qui-Gon turned away and smiled.

---

A few short minutes later the Master found himself perched on the end of Obi-Wan’s bed, attempting to wrap another blanket around his pouting tooka of a Padawan.

He treasured these moments, he realized, as Qui-Gon watched the young man (little more than a child really) gently falling asleep (with just a little help from the Force). They were few and far between as the days rolled on, and he had a nasty feeling he’d have a Jedi Knight on his hands before he knew it.

Obi-Wan would be magnificent, he mused slightly melancholily as he reached out to tuck a stray ankle back under the covers.

Live in the moment he reminded himself.

There would doubtless still be many opportunities ahead to put his reckless, trouble magnet bull-headed boy to bed, and many arguments to come.

It was a bizarrely comforting thought.