#diving head first into this ship

[arayofliteralsunshine]

I am now convinced Brennan Lee Mulligan is a samxevan shipper. He licked her blood? He wants to be her dog?? Her good boy?!?? He knows exactly what he's doing with those shoulder pats.

[pridoo]

Arm touch...whoo!! (obkk)

[bizzyboyfriends]

WYRM'S SHIPTASTIC DECEMBER: DAY EIGHT

AJI Pepper X Burning Spice

Ship, as well as the S/i AJI Pepper Cookie, belongs to @burning-spyce

I'm not too good at drawing cookie run characters but I had a lot of dun with this one. He seems like the type that would pick you up and go away cause he wanted your attention hehe. But I ADORE your s/is design and I hope I could do it justiceeee fsuiehfsi Also you guys vibes are INCREDIBLEEEE!!!!!! Thank you for giving me the opportunity to draw you guys together!!! <3 !!!!!!

I'm still looking for people ships to draw, so if you're interested. Please take a look at this post!!

[girl-lostconnection]

The thoughts are chasing me for the last few weeks or so, so now I’m gonna share them with you.

TaskForce 141 x Helldiver!Reader

141 who are getting higher clearance to find out about the whole entirely separate military branch that operate on intergalactic fucking levels.

And then they meet the Reader — always in armour, primary weapon slinged over their shoulder, heavy boots thudding on the metal of their ship as they jog from armoury to main panel, punching in coordinates.

141 don’t think they ever saw someone work this quickly with missions that never last more than 45 minutes at most, jogging through harsh terrain to work through every mission objective.

But still it seems doable. It doesn’t seem like anything too harsh they’ve seen on Earth. Not so different really. They don’t get why the soldiers of this branch are called “helldivers”.

Reader hums, voice getting distorted due to helmet they seem to be always in. Always ready for battle.

“Cause we dive feet first into hell”, they chuckle, rolling their shoulders before locking themselves down into the pod.

141 watching with growing worry the way the pod gets fucking launched down the orbit like a bloody missile. It’s a miracle the person inside even gets out upon collision. It’s a miracle they are in any state to fight.

But there is something wrong with the whole branch. Soldiers too young, heads too hot, missions too risky and weapons that are never provided. Most of ammunition helldivers buying themselves. Spending their own money to improve the state of the ship and their own weapons.

It’s not until 141 find out the horrifying statistic that colour drains from their faces, fingers cold and static-y.

Average lifespan of Helldivers in the field is less than half a minute.

Average age is 18 to 22 years old.

Continuation

[inseobts]

could i please request reader who’s Tamaran (like starfire from teen titans), the straw hats are chilling on an island and exploring. while they gather around for dinner, reader crashes near the sunny. you know the usual; luffy’s fascinated, sanji’s simping, nami, chopper & usopp cower in fear, etc. the reader can either be romantic or platonic with the straw hats. but she’s gotta kiss one of the guys to know/understand their language. maybe Sanji and he passes out from a nose bleed?🤭 or she kisses luffy or zoro (and sanji pouts of course). after settling down, she explains herself. you can continue the rest, i’ll leave it to you😉 please and thank you!!

Alien Kiss

strawhat crew x fem!reader (platonic)

a/n: I loved this idea!! thank youuuu

words count: 1.9k

tags: platonic but with a kiss, tamaran!reader, humor, fluff, first contact, alien culture shock

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sun is setting on a small tropical island. The Straw Hat Pirates have made camp near the beach, with the Thousand Sunny anchored close to shore. A fire crackles in the center of their circle. Meat sizzles. Luffy drools. Sanji flips skewers with style.

“Man, this island’s got some good fruit!” Usopp says, tossing a mango up and catching it.

“And herbs!” Chopper adds, holding up some strange green leaves “These can help with fever!”

Robin smiles softly, reading a book under a palm tree. Franky lounges beside her, sipping cola through a curly straw. Brook hums a tune. Nami counts the day’s haul with a greedy sparkle in her eye.

Just a normal evening.

Then the sky rips open.

A streak of bright orange and pink fire cuts across the sky fast, burning, alive. The crash shakes the ground, sending birds flying into the sky.

BOOM!

“WHAAAAT WAS THAT?!” Usopp shrieks, diving behind Chopper.

“That was too close!” Nami yells, ducking.

“It came from near the ship!” Robin says, already on her feet.

“Let’s goooo!!” Luffy grins and sprints toward the beach.

The Straw Hats rush toward the impact zone, weapons and curiosity ready. Smoke rises in a glowing cloud. The ground is scorched in a ring around something… no, someone.

You.

You’re lying face-down in the sand, groaning, your long fiery hair fanned out like a burning sun. Your armor is cracked and your cape torn, but you’re alive. Barely. You lift your head slowly, golden eyes squinting at the group.

Luffy stares “Woaaaah.”

“A beautiful woman just fell from the sky!” Sanji says, hearts popping in his eyes “I must be dreaming!”

“Don’t go near her!” Nami warns, grabbing Luffy and Chopper by their collars.

“She could be dangerous!” Luffy says, trembling.

“Or need help…” Chopper murmurs, looking worried.

You sit up slowly, wincing “Mmm… Ow… Where… is the… where am I…?”

Everyone freezes. They don’t understand what you’re saying and your voice is melodic, but your words are jumbled, your language alien. You look around, confused. Then your eyes land on the blonde guy with heart eyes, closer to you.

You crawl to reach him.

“I must… do the kissing now” you think, reaching for his face.

Sanji blinks “Eh? What do you—”

SMOOCH.

Sanji’s eyes go wide. He wobbles.

Then he collapses in a dramatic swoon “She kissed meeee—!”

Thud.

Nosebleed. Unconscious.

“…That guy is so weird” Zoro mutters.

You wipe your lips and nod, now understanding their words.

“There. I speak your language now.” You stand slowly, wobbly but tall “Greetings! I am Y/N of Tamaran. I come in peace!”

Luffy bursts out laughing “She’s cool!”

“You kissed him just to speak our language?” Nami asks, still suspicious.

“Yes. It is how we learn on Tamaran,” you explain with a shrug “Is he okay?” You poke Sanji with your foot.

“He’ll live” Robin says, amused.

Brook steps forward “Do you always kiss people to learn languages? May I volunteer next?”

“Back off, skeleton” Zoro grunts.

Luffy grins, walking up to you “You fell from the sky! That was so awesome!”

“Yes. My ship exploded,” you say “But it is fine. I have survived many crashes.”

“You hungry?” he asks, like it’s the most obvious question in the world.

Your eyes light up “Very.”

The fire crackles again as the Straw Hats settle back around it, now with one extra person.

You sit between Luffy and Robin, a plate of food in front of you piled way too high. You eat like someone who hasn’t eaten in days, which is true. Luffy tries to keep up, matching you bite for bite.

“This is most delicious!” you say, cheeks stuffed, sauce on your chin.

“I like you!” Luffy says with a mouthful of meat “You eat like me!”

Robin chuckles “She might be the only one who can.”

Chopper watches from across the fire, whispering to Usopp “She kissed Sanji…”

Usopp stares, still wide-eyed “That was so fast. I didn’t even blink. It was just boom! Lip-lock!”

Nami leans forward, smirking “Okay, I have to ask. Why did you pick Sanji of all people?”

You blink “He was the closest one and also the only one who looked like he wouldn’t have killed me after it. He looked very… open.”

“Pffft—open?!” Usopp bursts into laughter.

“More like too open,” Zoro says, arms crossed “Next time try kissing a rock. Might be less dramatic.”

You tilt your head “Was that not correct? Is kissing not acceptable for the learning of tongues?”

“Not on this planet!” Nami laughs.

“I told you I should’ve gone first” Brook mutters.

Luffy scratches his head “So you kiss someone, and boom—you get to know their words?”

“Yes,” you say “It is how my people learn other languages quickly. A deep connection.”

“Sanji’s ‘deep connection’ was his blood pressure” Usopp snorts.

The cook is still lying nearby, an ice pack on his head. His nose is stuffed with tissues. He groans softly.

“She… kissed me…” he whispers.

“Wake up, Romeo,” Nami says, kicking him lightly “She kissed you out of necessity, not romance.”

“It was the language kiss!” you add. “I did not feel the butterflies in the belly.”

Sanji twitches “Not even a little…?”

“No butterflies” you say firmly, shoving another bite of food into your mouth.

Zoro snorts “You picked the worst guy to kiss.”

“I am seeing that now,” you admit, looking down at Sanji’s dazed face “Is he always like this?”

“Unfortunately” Nami says.

Luffy bursts into laughter “He’ll be fine! He just needs a few hours and maybe a cold bath!”

“I’m honored… even if it meant nothing…” Sanji whispers dramatically.

“You’ll live” Chopper says, dragging a blanket over him.

You lean back against a log, warm and full now, watching the moon rise.

“I like you people,” you say “You are strange. Loud. And full of meat.”

Luffy throws an arm around your shoulder “You’re one of us now!”

“Should we make her kiss more people so she knows more languages?” Usopp jokes.

“No!” everyone yells.

You laugh loud and bright, like a star crackling through the sky.

The night air is warm, and the sky is full of stars. Most of the crew lounges around the fire, bellies full, half-asleep.

Except for Luffy, who’s still staring at you with sparkles in his eyes.

“So wait… you can fly, right?”

You nod, licking sauce off your fingers “Of course.”

“COOOOOL!” he gasps, nearly falling backward “Can you show us?!”

You shrug “Sure.”

You hop to your feet. Everyone watches as a soft glow forms around your body, golden and warm. Your hair floats slightly, and your eyes shimmer. Then you rise off the ground like a rocket, stopping midair above the campfire.

Chopper’s jaw drops “She’s floating!”

“No way…!” Usopp stares up in awe.

You flip midair, do a small spin, and land lightly on your feet again.

“WOAH!! DO IT AGAIN!!” Luffy yells, jumping up.

“Okay” you grin and shoot upward like a comet, then streak across the beach before coming to a smooth stop midair again.

“Her flight is strong” Robin says with an impressed smile.

“She’s like a glowing bird!” Chopper squeaks.

Zoro nods once “I’ll admit… that’s pretty badass.”

You land again and dust yourself off like it’s nothing.

“I can also shoot energy blasts. And punch through steel. And lift very heavy things. But only when I am not hungry.”

“Like a superhuman alien lady warrior princess?” Usopp says, eyes wide.

“Exactly.”

Luffy grins wider than ever “JOIN MY CREW!”

The camp goes silent.

Nami nearly drops her drink “Luffy.”

“Join us!” Luffy says again, grabbing your hands “You’re strong! You can fly! You’d be awesome on the crew!”

“Luffy, idiot, maybe she doesn’t want to join.” Nami says, glaring at him “She probably has a home somewhere, or people looking for her. Maybe she wants to go back.”

You pause.

Then you shake your head.

“No. I do not wish to go back.”

Everyone turns toward you.

Luffy blinks “Huh? You don’t?”

You sit down again, quieter now “My planet… Tamaran… is not kind. I was a princess, yes. But they feared me. Treated me like a weapon. My own sister betrayed me. I was not free.”

There’s a silence.

You look up, eyes calm but serious.

“I crashed here by accident. But… meeting you all? Laughing? Eating? This feels more like home than anything I have known in years.”

Nami frowns slightly “Oh…”

“I do not know what will happen next,” you add “But I would like to stay. If you will have me.”

Luffy grins like a kid given a second dessert “You’re in!!”

“YAY!” Chopper cheers.

Sanji, now conscious and with a tissue in his nose, weakly raises a fist “Welcome… to the crew… my starlight…”

“You’ll fit right in” Robin says, amused.

“Just don’t burn the ship” Franky adds.

Brook bows “Welcome aboard, Miss Space Princess!”

You smile, full and bright. For once, not running. Not hiding. Not being used.

Zoro nods “Looks like we got another weirdo.”

You smirk “You’re welcome.”

Later that night, the waves roll gently against the shore, and the Thousand Sunny glows softly under the moonlight. The fire has died down, and the crew lounges around in that sleepy, post-feast haze.

“Hey,” Usopp says suddenly, pointing at you “Wait. You have powers. Crazy powers.”

“True” you say, still picking at a mango slice.

“So…” he squints “Did you eat a Devil Fruit or everyone in your planet is like you?”

You blink “What is a devil fruit?”

Nami raises an eyebrow “Cursed fruits that give people powers but make them sink like a rock in water.”

“Yeah,” Chopper says “Luffy, me, Robin, Brook—most of us can’t swim.”

Luffy grins and slaps his chest “Worth it!”

You tilt your head “No. I did not eat any devil fruit.”

Zoro leans forward slightly “So you can still swim?”

You nod “Of course. Want me to show you?”

Before anyone answers, you stand up and start running straight toward the water. You glow again, like a comet, and leap into the sea with a perfect dive—splash!

Everyone rushes to the edge of the beach.

Luffy’s eyes are stars “SHE’S SWIMMING!!”

In the moonlight, your figure glides through the water effortlessly, spinning and flipping like it’s nothing. You leap out and dive again, laughing as you surface.

“Okay, now she’s just showing off” Usopp mutters.

“She can fly and swim?” Chopper says, eyes wide “That’s not fair!”

“I don’t like how useful she is” Zoro says with a smirk.

Nami crosses her arms “Great. Now I’m gonna have to hear Luffy say ‘fly me in the sky’ for the next three weeks.”

“I CAN fly with her!!” Luffy shouts “Y/N!! LET’S FLY!! ACTUALLY LET'S FLY RACE!! I AM GOING TO JUMP FASTER!!!”

You swim back to shore and step out, water dripping down your armor, grinning “You will lose.”

“You don’t know that!!” he yells, already bouncing on his heels.

You glance around at the crew, still in disbelief, still amazed, still laughing. You didn’t mean to end up here. But it feels like you belong.

Sanji, wrapped in a blanket, gives a dreamy sigh “A beauty who can cook a man with her gaze and still swim… I am not worthy…”

You wrinkle your nose “Still weird.”

“Fair.”

You plop down again next to Robin, who offers you a towel.

“You really want to stay?” she asks softly.

You nod.

“I do.”

She smiles “Good.”

The stars stretch overhead, the sea sparkles, and for once, you don’t feel like you’re falling.

You feel like you’ve landed exactly where you were meant to.

[midnightfict]

What History?

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — Squid Game fans have been shipping two actors not knowing they have a history together.

A/N — aaaa, writer’s block is killing me. but the reqs i've been getting is starting to help. i promise i’m currently drafting for the other reqs.

request post

— 𓆩𓆪 —

The room was brightly lit, cameras positioned at every angle, and a familiar nervousness settled in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t new to interviews, but something about these promotional videos always made you a little jittery. Maybe it was the anticipation of how fans would react, or maybe it was the fact that sitting next to you was none other than Lee Byung-hun—your former high school boyfriend and now your co-star in Squid Game Season 2.

The two of you walked into the room together, followed by director Hwang Dong-hyuk, who greeted the crew with a casual nod.

“Alright,” a staff member announced. “We’re shooting two videos today. The first segment is watching fan edits, and the second is reading fan letters. Just react naturally, have fun, and remember—no breaking into hysterics.”

Byung-hun chuckled beside you. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You smirked. “You sound scared.”

“I might as well be. Have you seen those AI edits of me and Lee Jung-jae?”

The staff gestured for silence, signaling that the cameras were rolling. You introduced yourself to the camera, followed by Byung-hun and Dong-hyuk. The screen before you flickered to life, and the first video started playing.

The first edit was cinematic—a high-energy montage of Squid Game 2’s most intense moments. Gunfights, chase sequences, close-ups of steely gazes. It had everything. The booming orchestral soundtrack made every scene feel ten times more dramatic.

Byung-hun let out an impressed whistle. “Did we actually shoot something this cool?”

You nodded. “Because I don’t remember looking this badass.”

Dong-hyuk leaned forward, squinting. “Wait—when did you do that roll behind cover?”

You snorted. “That’s the one where I landed wrong and bruised my entire arm.”

Byung-hun grinned. “Ohhh, right. And you tried to play it off like you meant to do it.”

“I did mean to do it.”

Dong-hyuk shook his head. “That’s not what you said when you screamed in pain afterward.”

Byung-hun burst into laughter. Your light punch to his side silenced him, earning a dramatic yelp.

“Give respect to your elders!”

You gave the camera a look. “He’s so dramatic. We’re literally only one year apart.”

The next edit was a deep dive into In-ho’s past, set in black and white with emotional piano music. It contrasted his life as a police officer with his role as the Front Man, highlighting the tragedy of his choices.

Dong-hyuk hummed thoughtfully. “This fan basically made a better teaser than we did.”

Byung-hun nodded. “Can we hire them?”

You pointed at a particular shot. “This scene—this is when you had to retake your mask removal, what, twenty times?”

Byung-hun groaned. “Ugh. The mask kept getting caught on my hood. Every time I tried to look dramatic, I just looked stuck.”

Dong-hyuk chuckled. “We had to cut out three takes where you sighed right into the mask.”

Byung-hun held up his hands. “No need to expose me like that.”

Then came the brainrot edit. An animation of Squid Game characters dancing to some bizarre, upbeat song.

You had the biggest grin—too silly not to laugh. The video didn’t even make sense.

Dong-hyuk had his brows furrowed, an amused but not entirely entertained smile on his face.

Byung-hun, on the other hand, sat perfectly still, eyes locked on the screen. No one could tell what he was thinking.

When it ended, you all exchanged an awkward glance.

“I mean… I like it. It’s an interesting video,” you said, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, still laughing.

Dong-hyuk fixed his glasses. “Is this what people see when they watch my show?”

Byung-hun crossed his arms. “They didn’t do me justice. Why is the Front Man not included in this video?”

The staff smirked. “Don’t worry, there’s a Front Man edit in the next one.”

The next video was different. The music was softer, the pacing slower. It highlighted your character’s interactions with In-ho—subtle glances, moments of hesitation, scenes where your characters moved in sync. It wasn’t obvious in the actual show, but with the way the editor framed it…

It almost looked like something was going on.

Byung-hun blinked. “What’s this?”

Dong-hyuk raised an eyebrow. “They created scenes that aren’t even in the series.”

You squinted. “Are we too old to understand what this is?”

It was a ship edit.

Silence.

Then, Byung-hun let out a slow, amused chuckle. “Well. That was unexpected.”

Dong-hyuk crossed his arms. “You two do have really natural chemistry.”

You cleared your throat. “I mean, our characters have history, so—”

Byung-hun nodded. “Right, right. Former police officers.”

Dong-hyuk hummed. “Well, I had another love interest in mind for In-ho, but thinking about it… your characters being shipped makes sense. Maybe I should make it canon in Season 3.”

Both you and Byung-hun snapped your heads toward him.

“Huh?!”

The crew erupted into laughter. Dong-hyuk smiled and closed the segment with a thank-you and a Squid Game 2 promotion.

After a quick makeup touch-up, a staff member placed a stack of envelopes in front of you, Byung-hun, and Dong-hyuk.

Dong-hyuk stretched his arms and grinned. “Alright, let’s see what the fans have to say. If anyone insults my writing, I’m walking out.”

Byung-hun smirked. “I’d say you’re bluffing, but we all know you’re dramatic enough to do it.”

You laughed. “Place your bets, everyone. How many letters will be about Byung-hun’s attractiveness?”

Byung-hun scoffed. “Excuse me, I am a serious actor. Not just a handsome face.”

The cameras rolled.

You picked up the first letter and smoothed it out before reading aloud.

‘Dear Director Hwang, your storytelling is a masterpiece. Every scene feels like it has so much depth and emotion. How do you come up with such gripping narratives?’

Dong-hyuk’s face lit up. “Ah, A letter for me!”

Byung-hun immediately reached over, fingers grasping at the paper. “Skip it.”

You swatted his hand away. “No, let him have his moment.”

Dong-hyuk straightened his posture, adjusting his jacket with mock importance. “Well, since you asked… My process is simple. I think, ‘What is the most stressful, painful situation I can put my characters in?’ And then I do that.”

Byung-hun leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I knew you enjoyed torturing us.”

Dong-hyuk grinned. “Absolutely.”

Byung-hun exhaled, then grabbed the next letter from the pile, unfolding it.

‘Was filming action scenes difficult? Especially the parkour scenes.’

You didn’t hesitate. “Oh, definitely. That scene where I had to jump from bed to bed? I had bruises for days.”

Byung-hun winced at the memory. “Oh yeah, you took a pretty bad fall.”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your arms up. “And no one even said ‘cut’ when I landed wrong! I had to just lie there in pain.”

Dong-hyuk raised a hand in defense. “Okay, to be fair, it looked intentional.”

Byung-hun let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “You heard it here first, folks. The director is a masochist.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “It builds character.”

Byung-hun rubbed his temple. “I worry for your future wife.”

You sifted through the pile and grabbed the next letter.

‘To Byung-hun, was it difficult wearing the Front Man’s mask for long periods of time? It looks heavy.’

Byung-hun groaned dramatically, flopping against the back of his chair. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Dong-hyuk snorted. “He complained about it every single day.”

Byung-hun sat up, pointing at him. “Because it was a legitimate problem! The mask was so heavy, and it pressed into my face so much that I had red marks after every shoot.”

You bit back a laugh. “And let’s not forget the time it got stuck.”

Byung-hun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, please, let’s forget that.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “We have footage.”

Byung-hun immediately turned to the camera, eyes pleading. “Dear editors, if you have any mercy, don’t include that clip.”

They did.

Dong-hyuk chuckled and grabbed the next letter. “‘Director Hwang, who is your favorite character in Squid Game?’”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Yikes. That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child.”

Byung-hun smirked. “But we all know you have a favorite.”

Dong-hyuk tapped his fingers against the table, pretending to contemplate. “Well… I have a soft spot for In-ho.”

Byung-hun gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been struck. “You love me?”

Dong-hyuk’s deadpan stare didn’t waver. “I said I love In-ho. Not you.”

You burst into laughter as Byung-hun recoiled in mock betrayal. “Wow, I won’t return to Season 3 then.”

Dong-hyuk ignored him, his expression thoughtful. “I love complex characters, and In-ho has so much depth. There’s still so much left to explore with him.”

You leaned in. “So, does that mean he’s safe in Season 3?”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “I mean, it’s possible, but I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”

Byung-hun cut in, laughing. “What do you mean you don’t know? You created the story.”

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “Let’s just say… No one is ever truly safe.”

The next letter Byung-hun picked up seemed harmless at first.

‘I don’t know what it is, but…’

He stopped mid-sentence, chuckling as he glanced at the camera, then at you and Dong-hyuk. “I don’t know if I can continue reading this without someone getting mad.”

Silence fell over the room.

Curious, you snatched the letter from his hands and scanned it. A laugh bubbled out of you. “Who’s gonna get mad over this?”

Byung-hun gave you a knowing look, subtly hinting at someone you had dated during filming.

Your expression faltered for half a second before you quickly masked it with a tight smile. Keeping your mouth hidden from the camera, you mouthed, “We broke up.”

Dong-hyuk grinned and leaned forward to peek at the letter over your shoulder. “Well, well, well. They think you two have some history together because you make the characters so compelling together.”

Byung-hun cleared his throat, spitting out a joke before anyone could dwell on the comment. “Have you guys ever considered we are both just very good actors?”

Dong-hyuk stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “Seeing how everybody seems to ship you two, maybe I should create a romance movie with you both.”

You and Byung-hun turned to him in horror, simultaneously shaking your heads.

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “What? The fans love it. I should give them what they want.”

Byung-hun laughed nervously and quickly faced the camera. “Okay let's end it! Thank you for watching this video. Don’t forget to watch us on Netflix!”

After finishing the shoot, the three of you parted ways—but the internet did not.

A week after the video was published, fans went crazy. The shipping theories got worse. Your social media was flooded with comments. Multiple media outlets invited you and Byung-hun for interviews together, riding the hype.

One afternoon, before another press event, you texted him.

Want to grab coffee before the next interview?

Thought you’d never ask.

At the café, he took a sip of his drink and smirked. “Remember how broke we were from getting coffee every other day in high school?”

You groaned. “Oh god, that was what? Twenty—no, thirty years ago? High school was rough. I don’t even want to remember that.”

“You’re mean. So I meant nothing to you?” He feigned hurt, holding back a smile.

“Oh, shush. You know what I mean.” You playfully pushed his forehead as he held the door open for you. “Besides, we lasted ‘til university, no—”

Click.

A camera shutter.

You froze. He froze.

Through the café window, a crowd had formed. Some held up phones. Others were whispering excitedly.

Fuck. They found you.

Byung-hun exhaled. “Well, I guess there’s no turning back.”

Then, with a smirk, he grabbed your hand, laced his fingers through yours, and yanked you out of the sea of screaming fans.

[lottiesfawn]

People that say shipping Enid and Wednesday is "pointless" and "forcing straight characters to be gay" as if Enid Sinclair is the most obviously queer coded character.

The metaphors used to portray Enid's queerness aren't even hidden. They are so direct and upfront.

Werewolves in media are already inherently queer coded. They have been for a long time. Having a piece of yourself, something ugly, something haggard. Something that only comes out when in the dark, under the moonlight. Symbolism for how queerness must be hidden away, how it feels so ugly in a world full of hate.

Her parents, a "perfect" example of exactly what a werewolf should be, having 'wolfed out' and done what they are 'supposed to' a direct comparison to the average straight, expected, "normal" couple.

The first conversation she has with her parents is them telling her about literal conversion therapy for werewolves. Saying she'll "wolf out" in just a few weeks. selling the same false positive spiel that wilderness/conversion camps send out to families of queer people.

Her mother saying "don't you want to be normal?" Forcing her judgments on Enid, making her insecure of that piece of herself which we see even before this conversation whenever we are watching Wednesday and Enid on the balcony. Enid is so wholeheartedly herself. True and bright without the pressures of her mother. The only thing she doesn't love about her self is the piece her mother hates.

One of the first scenes we see of her mother, aggressively cutting a piece of steak, eating meat, an obvious werewolf stereotype. A stereotype of the perfect, straight, religious mother. The one so adamantly pushing Enid to expections that are unreachable for her.

Her mom's constant negative rhetoric plagues her, and we see this, her quoting her mother's words in episode 6. The same way queer people are constantly subjected to anti gay propaganda all their lives. Letting in play in their head with all that they do.

When she does finally wolf out the metaphor is flipped, before wolfing out was a burden for Enid to carry. But now it's an act of love. Cause it's on her own terms. On her own accord.

She couldve wolfed out anytime she was with her boyfriend, anytime her emotions were high, but when she does it's because of Wednesday. The one person she loves and cares for the most. That's because that is the most passionate she's ever felt. She was more passionate about making sure Wednesday was okay than anything else.

Enid sinclair is queer!!! If you can't see that you have horrible media literacy...

I could dive so much deeper omg...

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “distraction ”.

| summary | Haechan was paying attention to everything but what was coming out of your mouth now. | cw | fluff, talkative reader. | a/n | so... is it the same ship or not?

“And you know what else?” you looked at him with raised brows, your eyes glowing with excitement, happiness, and curiosity. “The Ship of Theseus.”

“The Ship of Theseus?” he repeated, a small smile dancing on his lips as he watched you.

He’d been sitting there on the couch for a while now, elbow resting on the backrest, cheek nestled in the palm of his hand, just listening to you ramble with a kind of captivated patience. In the past hour alone, he’d learned that octopuses have three hearts (each with a different function), that you shouldn’t boil water in the microwave, and that there’s a post office underwater in the Bahamas. That, and a dozen other strange little facts you’d gathered from the corners of the internet or your own imagination.

And now, somehow, you’d segued into philosophical thought experiments and “what if” hypotheticals—What if the internet shut down globally? What if black holes contained entire civilizations? What if you and he were enemies in an alternate reality? What if the person who invented ice cream… hadn’t?

No matter the topic, he loved hearing you talk. Even when you drifted into “If I were a zombie, I’d eat your brains first” territory, it was always entertaining. Time moved differently around you—faster, lighter. Especially when you were on one of your rolls, your brain and mouth fully activated, like you could talk forever.

“So here’s the thing,” you continued, eyes bright. “Theseus’s ship has thirty planks. As he travels, the planks start to rot, so he replaces them, one by one, until eventually, none of the original planks remain. So… is it still Theseus’s ship? Or is it a completely different ship?”

“Hmm, interesting question,” he hummed, pretending to ponder deeply for a few seconds before adding, “What do you think?” That was the magical sentence.

“Glad you asked!” your eyes lit up instantly, as if you’d just been waiting for the invitation to dive deeper. “We have to ask ourselves: what actually makes Theseus’s ship his ship? If we say it isn’t the same ship after replacing all the planks, then how many planks need to be changed before it becomes something else? Like, where’s the line?”

Your hands moved as you spoke, passion flooding your tone. “And think about us. Our body cells change every day. Some die, others regenerate. Does that mean we’re a completely different person over time? Or are we still ‘us’ even after all that change?”

“Hmm, difficult question,” he nodded thoughtfully, watching as you nodded back with enthusiastic agreement. “So this ties back to what you said about what makes a thing that thing, right?”

“Exactly! I’m getting there,” you giggled, visibly delighted. “So, some philosophers say that…”

He stayed quiet, listening as you rambled on, occasionally nodding or humming to show he was still with you. And he was—just not exactly in the way you'd think.

At some point during your monologue, he stopped focusing on your words and started focusing on you.

The way your brows furrowed at each contradiction, the way your smile bloomed when you hit on an idea you found satisfying, the way your hands waved through the air in wide, expressive gestures, it all captivated him. But more than that, what really got him was how free you looked. How natural. How completely yourself you were around him.

It wasn’t just about the random facts or philosophical tangents. It was the way you trusted him with every thought that passed through your mind—like you wanted to let him in on the world inside your head.

And god, he loved it.

He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, how your voice picked up speed like it couldn't wait to catch up to your thoughts. He loved the little creases that formed between your brows when you were deep in explanation, and how you'd pause only to grin when you realized he was still watching you, really watching you.

“—and that’s why some argue identity is more about continuity of function than physical components,” you continued, eyes bright, hands still moving, completely immersed in your train of thought. “But that was only one of the theories. There’s another one that…”

You trailed off when your eyes met his again.

There it was, that warm, soft gaze, like he was looking at the most precious thing in the whole world. His eyes almost pulsed, like hearts of their own, and his lips curled into an enamored smile that made your chest flutter… but also…

Yeah. That was definitely the look of someone who hadn’t heard a single word you’d said in the last five minutes.

“Hyuck… you’re not listening to me, are you?” you deadpanned, crossing your arms as you started to sulk.

He laughed, not even trying to deny it. “Yeah, I’m not.”

“At least you’re honest,” you muttered, eyebrows knitting together, a pout already forming on your lips.

“I was too distracted,” he added, and that soft tone again, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“You could’ve just said you weren’t interested,” you said, eyes dropping to the side, voice quiet and maybe even little wounded.

Another chuckle escaped him, even softer this time, as he scooted closer. Gently, he cupped your face, coaxing you to meet his gaze again.

"I am interested," he said, voice lower now, more sincere. "Just... more in you than in what you were saying.”

God, how he loved looking at you up close like this, close enough to take in every single detail of your pretty face, from the curve of your lips to the spark in your eyes.

“Plus, you can’t really be mad at me,” he added with a playful grin, pinching your cheeks lightly before gently squishing them between his hands. “I did listen to everything you said, up until a few minutes ago.”

He tilted his head, eyes softening again.

“I don’t know about Theseus’s ship,” he murmured, “but I do know you’ll be mine forever… no matter what parts change.”

You blinked a few times at the sudden declaration. If he was trying to make you less mad with such a ridiculous statement… well, damn it—it was working.

“That was so cheesy, oh my God,” you said, your tone lighter, a smile creeping onto your lips despite your best efforts. You didn’t look mad anymore. As stupid and over-the-top as it was, your heart was doing those annoying, giddy flips that you pretended not to notice.

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “What? I’m just showing you that I love you,” he said, the smirk on his face growing as he pressed another kiss, this time to your cheek.

You tried your best to hold a straight face, but the warmth of his words (and those sweet kisses) were melting away your sulk faster than you'd ever admit.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered, a small smile betraying your attempt to sound irritated.

“And yet,” he said, stealing one more kiss, this time right on your lips, “you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, yeah… lucky you.”

His grin only grew wider, because yeah, he was.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

[hamletthedane]

I know I’m joking about how Wicked Part 2 is going to be insane compared to Part 1, but it actually is so interesting when viewed as separate second part of the story -

Because hear me out - imo, the end of Act 1 sets up where the lines in the sand are for the three key characters:

Elphaba chooses to follow her morals and reject the system, even to her own isolation and destruction. Her line is her dedication to “making good.”

Glinda, her foil, openly admits that she cannot turn down the allure of the system’s power and stability, even at the sacrifice of her morals and her closest friendship. Her line is her power and popularity.

Fiyero, further foiling Glinda, is the person who would have blindly said yes to Elphaba’s offer. He is completely, unquestioningly devoted to Elphaba - even to a fault - believing that she will always be good and choose the right thing (as she “doesn’t care what others think”).* His line is his unwavering loyalty to Elphaba.

*admittedly, this is less evident at the end of Act 1, but it’s made VERY clear within the first 5min of Act 2 so I’m counting it as an Act 1 arc

But then Act 2 forces them to respect the line they’ve decided to draw in increasingly devastating ways, and eventually forces them to violate their lines or have the lines destroy them:

Elphaba’s sacrifices turn her into a complete pariah, forcing her to lose everything she had and worked for in an instant. She fights every day for what she believes in, even though she sees it’s fruitless and only leading to the destruction of everything she loves. But Elphaba stands strong even against the Wizard’s temptation of leaving behind her failing cause. However, she’s finally pushed over her edge when one of the two people who still believed in her “goodness” dies for that belief. And it drives her to throw away every good intention and dive head-first into a pursuit of power and control. She must ultimately be influenced by Glinda to once again choose self-sacrifice for the greater good, giving up her power and dreams of normality in Oz. “Now it’s up to you, for both of us”

Glinda builds great political capital and becomes one of the most important, beloved characters in the nation. But nothing is real: she’s engaged to a man who clearly doesn’t love her, she’s openly decrying a woman who she clearly still loves herself, and the system she operates in troubles her even as she benefits from it. Elphaba again tempts her to leave, and Fiyero’s clear willingness to jump ship should be an even greater temptation, but she can’t leave it behind. Not until the very end of the story does she finally recreate the Ozdust dance: acting against her own self-interest to save Elphaba and take up the fire of her cause

Fiyero, to his credit, is the only person who cannot be pushed from his line. The very first chance he gets, he follows Elphaba blindly, despite hearing all these terrible things about her. Then he willingly sacrifices himself for her and her cause, and they torture him to (a fate worse than) death for it. And even when Elphaba really does go evil, he still believes that she will ultimately choose good. His loyalty to her is not well rewarded (see: fate worse than death), but he makes his sacrifice willingly. His belief destroyed him.

What I really like about the play’s story is that from all these different starting goals and motivations, every character is forced to give up everything that is dear to them - including their fundamental selves - by the end of the story. Yet, they all three still continue to overlap and influence each other in ways that lead them all to a choice of “making good” in the end. SO excited to see that played out on screen.

[touchyluffy]

You were on watch duty when you heard his sniffles.

Looking down towards the sound, your heart shatters as you saw the straw hat angled backward as he looked towards the full moon, his red sleeve of his shirt coming up to wipe his tears, his hands gripping the balcony of the Sunny tightly.

At first, you're not sure if you should make your presence known, he came out here to be alone after all. But that thought passes quickly as you heard more of his shuttered breaths, you found yourself clamorying down the rope latter to get to him.

Luffy hears you coming behind him and breaks his gaze from the moon, for a moment the shock of you rushing towards him seems to break him from his sorrows. His face was still contorted in pain, his nose was running, but his eyes were wide and curious for what your next move would be. You didn't know either. For a moment, you could only stare at him.

You'd never seen your captain like this. He's normally so confident, strong, and goofy. He's your leader, your guide, your stability in the hardest of times. But now, he looked like a young boy, just a child. A child with his heart breaking. Pain knotted in your stomach when you saw him try to hide his tears, coming to the edge of the Sunny in the middle of the night where no one would see him. Zoro's words from so long ago suddenly rang in your head, "if you falter now, who can we trust?"

You stopped in front of him. The moment of shock passed and Luffy hid his face behind his straw hat, shielding his tears. You frowned, raising your hand and gently push the straw hat up further atop his head . His tears keep falling, his frown deepens, your heart aches. You gently wipe the tears from where they fall down his cheeks.

"I had a dream about Ace." He says and it's all he needs to say. 

You open your arms for him and he dives in them. Somehow your knees had given out as you held each other, your cheek resting against Luffy's forehead as he cried into your shirt. His body shakes, his straw hat falls to the ship's wooden floor, his shuttered breaths disrupt the quiet night. You hope he cannot hear your heart breaking.

Your hands move in slow circles across his back, your hair falling down over his shoulder, your knees bending at his waist, trying to shield him from the world with every part of your body. You whisper comforting words into his ear, hoping the words go directly into the hole in his heart that his brother left behind.

You two stay in that position for a long time, even after his shuttered breaths become even and your shirt starts to dry. He still hides his face in your chest, you still rub circles across his back and whisper reassuring words. Minutes pass by and the stars in the night glitter above the Sunny.

Eventually Luffy slowly lifts head from your chest, looking you in the eyes and giving you a smile. A smile that immediately fills your heart with all the love, strength, and friendship he's shown you since you've known him. You can't help but smile back at him, wiping the last tear trail from his cheek. He sits up in a more upright position and thanks you. You shake your head, picking up the straw hat off the floor. Holding it in your hands gently, Luffy looks from the hat to you and back again.

"Don't hide, Luffy," you say, "Don't hide." From me, goes unspoken.

You pass him the straw hat and he puts it securely on his head, back where it belongs. He stands up and offers a hand to help you up, you take it and stand before him again. Your hands stay clasped together. The warmth of his hand radiating through your body. His free hand points towards the moon excitedly, pulling you closer towards the edge of the Sunny. Your shoulder is touching his.

"Ace loved the moon." He says looking back at you, "Wanna stay out here with me for awhile?"

[writeriguess]

Stolen Jacket // Sylus x fem!reader

author's note: I’ve written quite a few fics while I was away, and I’ll be publishing them before diving into any new requests. They’re currently written with an OC that’s essentially a self-insert, so I’ll need to convert them into reader inserts first. Honestly, I never thought I’d share them because of the whole plagiarism mess, but I’ve decided to let them see the light of day after all.

Sylus grumbled under his breath as he tightened the final bolt on the engine panel, his red eyes narrowing in concentration. The ship’s maintenance had taken longer than expected, and his nerves were starting to fray. He ran a gloved hand through his messy silver hair, which always seemed to defy gravity no matter how many times he tried to smooth it down. With a sigh, he leaned back on his heels, satisfied that the systems were finally stable.

“Done,” he muttered to no one in particular, shutting the panel with a solid thud.

The ship was unusually quiet. Normally, he could hear you somewhere nearby—talking to the AI, humming softly to yourself, or just bustling about. But now, the silence felt strange. It made his instincts prick, though not out of fear. No, this was something else entirely—curiosity, maybe. Or anticipation.

Standing up and dusting his hands off, Sylus decided to look for you. It wasn’t a big ship; you couldn’t have gone far. He stalked through the corridors with easy strides, his boots echoing faintly against the metal floors. He checked the kitchen first, then the cockpit, but you were nowhere to be found.

When he finally reached the crew quarters, Sylus stopped in his tracks, his red eyes narrowing slightly at the sight before him.

You were standing near his bunk, your back turned to him as you fidgeted with the hem of his jacket—the one he usually wore for missions. It was unmistakably his, the black leather adorned with silver accents and scuffed edges from countless scrapes and close calls. The jacket was too big on you, the sleeves hanging past your hands, the material loose enough to make it look like you were drowning in it.

It wasn’t just the jacket, either. You’d clearly raided his stash, pulling on one of his shirts beneath it. The sight struck him like a punch to the chest, and for a moment, Sylus just stood there, staring.

Something about it felt intimate. His clothes, which had always been a part of his identity, now looked completely different on you. And the fact that you were wearing them so casually, completely unaware of how much it affected him…

Sylus leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest with an almost lazy smirk. “Well, well,” he drawled, his deep voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. “Is this what you’ve been up to?”

You turned around quickly, startled by his voice, though you tried to recover by flashing him a sheepish smile. “Oh. Uh, I didn’t think you’d be done so soon.”

“Clearly,” he said, his smirk widening as he straightened and walked toward you. His boots thudded softly against the floor, and his crimson eyes glinted with a mischievous light. “And here I thought you hated how this jacket smelled like engine grease and sweat.”

“I never said that!” you protested, clutching the front of the jacket as if to defend yourself.

“No?” He stopped a few feet away from you, tilting his head. His silver hair was as messy as ever, strands falling across his forehead in a way that should’ve looked unkempt but somehow made him even more infuriatingly attractive.

“I just thought…” You hesitated, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. “It was cold, and your jacket was right there, so…”

“Cold, huh?” Sylus’s voice dipped lower, the smirk on his lips softening into something more dangerous. “And the shirt? That part of your ‘cold’ excuse too?”

You opened your mouth to respond but quickly snapped it shut, unsure how to explain yourself without making it worse.

Sylus chuckled, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you. His gloved fingers reached out to brush against the sleeve of the jacket, his touch light but deliberate. “You don’t have to explain,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I get it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “You… do?”

“Mm.” His crimson gaze swept over you again, lingering on the way the jacket hung on your frame. “Seeing you like this… it’s sexy as hell.”

Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your face at his bluntness. “It’s just a jacket,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him.

“Not just a jacket,” Sylus countered, his smirk returning as he leaned closer, his voice low and teasing. “It’s my jacket. My clothes. And you’re wearing them like you own the place.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, his proximity making it impossible to think straight. “If it bothers you, I can take it off—”

“Don’t,” Sylus interrupted, his voice firm as his hand moved to the front of the jacket. His fingers brushed against yours, and his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “I like it.”

The admission was quiet but heavy, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. He tugged lightly on the collar of the jacket, his smirk softening into something warmer, almost tender.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” he murmured, his thumb brushing against the fabric. “Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you go and do something like this.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Sylus chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “It is to me.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of his words hanging between you. Then, with a smirk that was equal parts playful and possessive, Sylus leaned in closer, his breath ghosting against your ear.

“You might want to get used to this,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill down your spine. “Because I’m not letting you give that jacket back anytime soon.”

[ivystoryweaver]

Who Shot First?

Poe Dameron x Bounty Hunter!Reader

wc: 2k, gn!bounty hunter!reader Content: violence, wounds, meet cute, enemies to lovers

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Commander Dameron…

Two magic words that will make all your troubles disappear. 

You’ve just learned that Commander Poe Dameron, Resistance darling and ace pilot, is on a critical solo mission. First Order intelligence has good intel on his location and has dispatched you to retrieve him. 

You have debts - big ones. Hutt-specific, life-threatening debts. You personally take no pleasure in bounty hunting. Your debts are your father’s and he’s dead now. He was a gambler, and a lousy one, but he taught you how to read people and how to shoot. You started hunting so you wouldn’t starve. It's the only thing you know. 

You don’t even like the First Order, but your debts will be cleared if you kill the Commander. Bringing him in alive, however, will earn you enough to retire and live well more than comfortably with both the First Order and the Hutts off your back.

The intel is good and he’s easy enough to locate - decorated in fiery orange everywhere he goes - striped down the side of his X-wing - an almost sleek, black hunk of metal he treats like a prize, or so you hear.

You catch up to him on a backwater world and hear him giving a mission report to someone on his comm. The blazing sun settles on the edge of a hazy horizon. The swamps around you create a thick air that’s difficult to breathe.

Your eyes settle on his, of course, saturated orange flight suit - the back of him a pleasant view as he cocks his hip with one gloved hand resting on it. 

You halfway attempt to listen to his communication, although you couldn’t care less what important information he’s relaying back to the Resistance. With two hands, he secures his comm and lifts his helmet off his head, revealing a mess of chocolate waves.

Okay.

Tossing the helmet aside, he kneels down to speak to his little astromech droid - also sporting Poe’s signature color - and regards the little round thing as if tenderly reassuring it, or patiently entertaining the questions of a child.

Several beeps and whistles sound off as his smooth voice mumbles before he pulls off his gloves and pushes long fingers through his hair. The little droid zooms around his feet, amusing, rather than annoying him. And that’s when you see his face.

It’s not just anyone who can get a reaction out of you on a job, but his warm, earthy eyes crinkle with laughter as he affectionately refers to his little companion as ‘buddy’.

Whew. This handsome idiot must have a death wish, waltzing around in blazing orange, not minding his surroundings as he and his droid prepare his ship for departure. He would make a terrible bounty hunter, you figure.

And your mark may be handsome with kind eyes and a musical laugh, but you consider yourself a professional, so you collect your thoughts for a second before setting your weapon to stun.

Hearing a strange, mechanical noise behind you steals your attention for a moment as you wonder if the Commander is not alone with his droid.

"Are you waiting on an invitation?"

You gasp out at the sound of his voice calling out tauntingly. 

Your head whips around and you see that Commander Dameron and his droid have disappeared from their previous spot, but your ears pick up on the sound of running. That little display of affection for his droid was the two of them setting up a diversion.

Huffing impatiently and rolling your eyes at yourself, you start your chase, already cursing the swampy, boggy ground, and the fact that you’ll need new boots as soon as this mission ends.

You see streaks of their signature orange metal and fabric, and fire your weapon toward the conveniently bright target. The two of you, plus the little droid, zip around, diving behind trees, hiding behind anything you can find, taking every shot you can manage, but you’re sure you have the upper hand, since you’ve dressed for the occasion, in muted tones.

Then you see the orange hue again. Hiding. You raise your weapon, switching from stun to kill, ready to fire for real - when a blast rings out singeing your thigh. You fire off two more blasts before the pain takes over.

You cry out as pain flares up and down your entire leg, and drop to the ground, realizing you should have taken a shot the moment you spotted this guy. 

Attempting to steady your breathing, you crawl to a hiding spot, back up against a wide, ancient tree, but your journey is cut abruptly short when a blaster's barrel meets your temple.

"I won't miss a second time."

The voice you just heard speaking softly and animatedly to his droid - those eyes crinkled with kindness and laughter - are now stone cold. Dark, piercing orbs fix on you, ready to end you, you’re certain.

“You missed?” You helplessly huff, nodding toward your singed leg. “I'll be lucky to walk again."

And you see the tiniest flicker of…something pass through those earth colored eyes. Sympathy, maybe. Or he thinks you’re easy prey. Whatever that slight softness is, eases into a cocky smirk. He has you and he knows it. 

“Come on, it’s not that bad. I barely grazed you.”

Banter aside, a burned, fleshy hunk is missing from your thigh and you’re pretty sure you're about to die at the pilot’s hand. But he doesn’t finish you. Not yet.

Instead, he rolls his eyes playfully. “Give me that,” he almost chuckles, relieving you of your blaster.

You groan as he pushes your arms over your head with one hand, and shoves his blaster into your throat with the other.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he suggests with a wink. 

You might have been flattered on a different day. 

Still, this is your life, so you do struggle, briefly, but he ends that with a well-placed knee to your wound.

“Guess this is what they mean by rebel scum,” you hiss.

His eyes soften a little at your pain. Still, his smirk remains. “Now that I’ll take as a compliment.” 

He secures your hands and torso to the tree and binds your feet as well, making you squirm as the knotted tree bark digs into your back. Okay, so not instant death. Capture. Awesome…

He holsters his blaster, and with both hands, rips the fabric of your pants surrounding your blaster wound, exposing your thigh from waist to kneecap.

Is he trying to frighten or excite you? You swallow thickly, bracing for torture, cursing yourself for the way your body hums in anticipation.

“I’m a better shot than I thought,” he attempts a joke, but falters, realizing you’re really hurt.

You're floored when he rummages around in a small supply pouch, realizing he's going to clean and bandage your wound. "Don't want my prisoner to bleed out." By now, he’s managed a soft smile.

“Prisoner?” You gulp. “I’m not First Order. I-I don't know anything.”

Dark eyebrows shoot up curiously. “Bounty hunter then? How much am I worth these days?”

“Certainly not all this.” You nod at your leg.

He grins, showing you those eye crinkles up close. He’s stunning.

“You thirsty?”

You scoff, trying to figure him out. “Why do you care?”

"Don't want my prisoner to die of thirst either," he teases, brown eyes twinkling as his mouth curls. So, this is why he’s still alive. He must charm his way out of damn near everything he can’t fly or shoot his way out of.

He attempts to allow you to drink from a beat up old thermos - practically a relic. 

“Little bit of caf left in there. I think,” he muses.

“Trying to poison your prisoner?” You weakly joke, still uncertain as to whether you will live past today.

Making a face, he pulls the collar of his flight suit aside, revealing a deliciously tanned, corded neck, covered in a light sheen of sweat. You wet your lips without noticing, until you see what he’s showing you: a burn mark on his shoulder where you singed him in a near miss. 

"When would I have time to poison you?” He challenges. “I was too busy dodging your terrible shots."

“Look at that. I got you,” you gasp out half a laugh before wincing.

“I’ll patch you up,” he promises, offering you the thermos once again. “Drink.”

Reluctantly, you take a swig and almost gag. “What is this?”

“Caf,” he repeats, opening a small tin of bacta and presenting it to you. “May I?” He nods down to your wound, licking his lips.

Without another thought, he rapidly and rather expertly tends to your leg, as if he’s triaged and repaired wounds like this dozens of times.

“More poison?” You challenge him.

A playful smirk makes the corners of his eyes crinkle once again, distracting you, momentarily, from the warm bacta liquid that stings your wounded flesh. He works silently for a moment, thick fingers dexterously dancing over your flesh as dark, damp curls tumble across his forehead.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He rhetorically muses, tossing his hair out of his eyes before regarding you rather seriously. 

You draw a shaky breath: his flawless face giving you pause. Clearing your throat, you shake yourself out of whatever ridiculous haze you’ve found yourself in. He’s not that handsome. 

He is, though.

And…kind, in a way.

“What are you doing with the First Order anyway?” He almost spits, his demeanor shifting to something disdainful. “Genocidal fascist maniacs. There can’t possibly be a payday big enough for you to live with what they’ve done.”

You stiffen at his change in handling you.

“I’m not political,” you flatly return. “A job is a job. It’s not personal.”

He tuts condescendingly, his eyes flashing. “I hope the bounty was worth this hole in your leg.”

“You’re worth a lot…Commander Dameron.” You swallow hard. “I have…debts,” You reluctantly confess as he eyes you with disdain. “My father’s debts. I have no love for the First Order.”

“No hate for them either, clearly,” he bites back, securing the bandage over your wound. “There. Now…what am I going to do with you?” His eyes find yours once more as he wets his parched lips.

“I drank all the caf,” you meekly inform. “There was only a swig in there.”

He doesn’t answer and you realize your somewhat friendly banter has come to an end. “Let me go,” you softly plead. “You can…you can keep my weapons. You’ll be long gone before I could ever tell the First Order where you are - which I wouldn’t do anyway. I’m nothing to them,” you insist.

He shakes his head, unsure. “I…can’t do that.”

“Please,” you beg. “I don’t have anyone. No family. No loyalties. I’ll go - you’ll never see me again. I’m not worth the trouble. I don’t know anything.”

“You know enough,” he reasons. He leans in close, the rustic scent of him causing your breath to catch, especially when he produces a blade.

“Don’t,” you sputter. “Just leave me. You don’t have to kill me.” Suddenly, your pointless, lonely life is not something you’re so easily willing to give up.

“Sweetheart, if I was gonna kill you, I wouldn’t have bandaged you up and given you the last of my caf.” With that, he cuts your bonds, freeing you from the tree.

You rub your wrists, grateful to bring your arms down from over your head. “You consider that a peace offering?” You attempt a joke. “It tasted like dirt. I’m better off thirsty.”

“I’ll make you a fresh pot if you come back to base with me,” he counters with another wink. After releasing your feet as well, he offers his hand to help you stand. 

Slowly accepting his touch, your skin tingles upon contact with his battle-scarred, yet surprisingly soft hand. "A fresh pot of caf with a side of torture. Hmm, where do I sign up?"

“No torture,” he shakes his head seriously, gently squeezing your hand. “Not with the Resistance. Not with me."

You find that you’re beginning to believe him. “What’s your name, bounty hunter?”

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

Many years later…

“You shot Dad the first day you met?” Your eight-year-old asks you, hardly able to believe the story of the fateful day you met.

“I did,” you confirm, watching Poe’s brown eyes soften and crinkle as he ruffles his son’s unruly brown curls. “But, to be fair, he shot me first.”

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

edited by @reallyrallyauthor featured in the @the-oscar-isaac-collective A Sip of Coffee ZINE

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

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[reiderwriter]

hey, i really love your writing esp fluff hehe..

I was wondering if you could maybe write a story where gf!reader has anxiety and decides to spend night at spence's but constantly keeps apologizing cause she is like afraid to be inconvenience but he keeps hugging and comforting her just some really fluffy story

Love yaaaa🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶💕💕

-🍓

A/N: FINALLY getting back to some classic requests! Thanks for this cute one 🥰 I love fluff where Spencer is so caring and considerate, so I hope you like this one, too!

Summary: After a traumatic experience, you avoid confronting new fears with your new coworkers until a late invitation lets you find comfort in Spencer's arms.

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, guns, other cases details etc.

If any other member of your team had so bluntly asked you the question ‘are you okay?’ you'd have lied to their face, convincingly, and not felt bad about it for even a second. 

It had been, after all, long enough since your kidnapping to have become comfortable with new surroundings again. You went on cases fine. You dealt with similar unsubs perfectly, and you were absolutely a professional. 

But with Spencer Reid in front of you asking you that same question, you felt like you were one slight breeze away from crumbling entirely. 

The night had grown old as you sat with Spencer looking over some case files. You weren't shipping out for this one, thankfully, but you still wanted to be sure you knew every detail of the case so you could help find your guy and get him off the streets. 

But having worked from 6 pm to 2am, your eyes were growing bleary, and you had to finally look up to the clock to see how long you'd been zoned out for. 

“Shit,” you murmured, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

“I have to go, Spence,” you scrambled for your keys, pulling your bag onto your shoulder as your heart started beating. 

It was okay. You'd be okay. It was dark outside, but you'd driven in the dark before now. The roads were clear anyway, and you weren't on a job. You could drive home, get some sleep, and forget anything happened. 

“Y/N, it's late, you’re tired,” Spencer said gently from opposite you, grabbing your bag from your hands and gently placing it down again. “It's okay, you can just… stay over tonight.” 

In the few weeks since you'd been kidnapped, you'd told everyone you knew that you were okay and doing fine and that it would take a lot more than that to get you down. And then you'd go home to an empty apartment, triple check every lock, barricade yourself into your room, and sleep with a gun on your bedside table and a knife under your pillow. 

You didn't drive in the dark. You didn't eat or drink anything you hadn't personally prepared, and you didn't dive head first into cases anymore. A few people had remarked about how you'd matured as an agent. They didn't understand that bile rose up in your throat every time you thought about being alone in a room with men. 

Being alone with Spencer was different. He was your Spencer. You'd seen him kill unsubs, but you'd more often see him peacefully trap and release spiders instead of killing them. You'd seen him fumble talking to women by pulling out magic tricks, just as often as you'd seen him be approached by every single working girl you'd interviewed on a case. 

You'd slept over before. This wasn't any different. 

“Yeah… yeah  you're right. It's probably not a good idea to drive this late.” 

He smiled at you as you abandoned your path to the door, and went to grab you some clothes to change into. You paused, and tried to breathe deeply as you assessed the situation. 

You'd been to Spencer's apartment before. If you slept in the living room, your best route out would be the front door. The kitchen didn't have any good exits. The bathroom window didn't open wide enough. The fire escape was connected to both the living room and the window in Spencer's bedroom. If anyone came through the front door, it would be safer to sleep in the bed and jump out the window before they had a chance to pursue you. 

But if they came up the fire escape, they could choose between which window to come through. Without a second thought, you crossed to Spencer's window and checked the locks. They worked, but they were old. They could easily be forced open. 

You checked, and you still had your gun on you, thinking about where the best place to store it would be. Next to the bed, under the sofa, somewhere it'd be easy to grab and shoot. 

You worked yourself up walking yourself through your plan that when Spencer came up behind you again, without thinking, you turned the gun on him.  

“Whoa, Y/N!” 

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I don't - I was just thinking about what I would do in a h-home invasion, and it seemed safer to have the gun close, but-” 

Slowly taking the gun from your hand, Spencer pulled you towards him and into his arms. 

“Are you okay?” he asked again, and though it was the 100th time you'd heard the question in the last few weeks, you finally, finally broke down and told him the truth. 

“N-No.” 

Stroking your hair, Spencer held you as you began to quietly sob, not pulling away as you clung to him for dear life, letting the fear slowly drain from your body. 

“It's okay. It's going to be okay, I'm here,” he whispered. After a few minutes, you gathered yourself and pulled away, wiping your eyes as you looked up at him again. 

“I'm sorry, I must just be really tired. I'll just crash on the couch-” 

“No, Y/N, you can't do that.”

“It's fine, I'm fine now. I've crashed on your couch before, and-” 

“And the couch is next to the door. You're going to sit there all night with your gun in your hand, waiting for the door handle to turn. You won't rest.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, but he grabbed your hand and led you to the bedroom again. 

“I know what it's like, not being able to sleep at night. Feeling anxious and alone and scared all the time.” 

He handed you a pile of clothes and let you sit on the bed as he began to untie your shoelaces. 

“Sleep in the bed. The window has a secure lock, and it's covered by the alarm system. The bedroom door locks as well." Finishing, he looked up at you from the floor, smiling weakly before standing up and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

Your heart, which had been resting comfortably with the new details of your security, flared up into a fast-paced drum beat again as he left for the bathroom. You weren't sure if you were scared still, or if somehow a small kiss and care he'd shown you were enough to have you flushed like a middle-schooler. 

You quickly slipped on the pajamas, which you recognised as old FBI training clothes, and hopped into the bed before your brain could decide to investigate any further. 

Spencer returned quickly and climbed into bed right beside you, turning off the lights beforehand. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, looking at him as you laid on your side. 

“What for?” 

“For not making this awkward.” 

“Awkward? Is it weird for us to share the bed? Should I have taken the couch? I should have taken the couch, let me go-” 

You leant over the small space between you and wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you for not letting me spiral. Thank you for letting me be not okay.” 

He relaxed into your touch as you spoke and pulled you into him for a hug quickly. His hands rested awkwardly still on your shoulders and waist, as if he were scared to touch you more, to seem inappropriate somehow. 

“Spencer?” 

“Hmm?”

“I think I'd feel safer if you just held me a bit tighter.”

With your head on his chest, you heard the short rumble of laughter that popped out of him as he relaxed into your hug, closing your eyes and falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating. 

[youandthemountains]

still thinking of that story from yesterday and how Spock reacts to potential loss - it's the opposite of what you'd expect, he grips tighter, he holds on. He fights it, he argues it, he verbally eviscerates it, he clutches it, he'll face it head on & he'll break his rules for it.

thinking of him clutching McCoy's shoulder when he finds out he's dying in FTWIHAIHTTS, or him diving into his head to find him in Return of the Archons and physically punching a guard afterwards, believing McCoy to be lost. Him gathering McCoy's hands together and resting with them in Miri. There's his mutiny for Pike, there's him asking McCoy to wish him luck, there's him erasing kirk's memory in requiem for methuselah. Beta canon has him arguing McCoy back into joining them, and like this story - logically destroying any idea McCoy floats that could lead him away. Of course there's 'we go together or not at all'. When Spock realizes he's going to die, he throws his Self into McCoy's, and uses his body to say goodbye to Kirk - reaching out again and again. His response to death is to take it seriously, to fear and plan for it and strategize around it and try to stop it.

On the other hand, also surprisingly, McCoy's response to the fear of loss is to let go. I always thought it was interesting that in the Autobiography of Mr. Spock, Spock spells out only two of the reactions to his deciding to go through with kohlinar - his mother's & McCoy's.

Neither are happy with the decision but give him their blessings in a manner of speaking. McCoy is silent as Spock is bombarded with messages trying to convince him not to, and then the day before Spock leaves, McCoy sends a message saying only, "Damn stupid cockamamie idea. I hope you know what you're doing."

Of course there's also the story with his father - maybe the first case of this that leads him to doing it all his life. In the face of death and against his own wishes and desires, letting go. For whatever led to the disintegration of his family - he famously lets go, escapes to space. In his first episode, he lets go of old love and old selves. With Spock - he lets him walk away, in The Immunity Syndrome, for kohlinar, begs him to leave him in All Our Yesterdays. When he thinks he's incurable, is ready to let go of the Enterprise. I don't remember what book it's from anymore but there's a quote where the ship is crashing and Spock looks up and is surprised to see McCoy is smiling at him, content in the knowledge that he's dying by his side. In the book Sarek, Spock calls McCoy to treat his mother and McCoy gently tells him the Vulcan doctors are correct, her illness is terminal, and Spock realizes he had called McCoy because he believed he'd miraculously cure her. McCoy talks him through the end of life things, including the illogical feelings and wishes that will come up.

His response to death is also to take it seriously - by fighting it as best you can but when it's time, burning out everything from yourself but what you loved and want to carry forward.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

MERMAID- P.B PARKER

pairing: pirate! peter x mermaid! innocent!fem! reader

word count: 2.8k

summary: you and peter had fallen for eachother throughout his time on the open water- though the two of you couldnt properly communicate. however, one day, fate leads him right to you, as you were washed up onto shore with human legs. what will life be like now that he can finally have you aboard his fathers ship?

warnings: fingering, heavy praise kink, pet names, innocence/ corruption kink, squirting, swearing, mentions of booze, implications and advances, teasing etc

"beauty in the water, angel on the beach/ ocean's daughter, i thought love was out of reach. 'til i got her, had i known it could come true/ i would have wished in '92, for a mermaid just like you"- mermaid, train

Peter couldn't swim.

He couldn't swim- and yet he was here, upon floating wooden planks, and gallons of brandy.

It was long, and hard work on his fathers ship. Between monitoring the waters for any sign of life, and attempting to try and keep some of the lower men in order- he constantly grew tired.

And yet, when nightfall fell,and the other shipmates headed down for a pint and a smoke before going to their quarters- Peter was on the deck.

Wind ruffled his billowing shirt, tangling his hair as he would peer out the pale moonlight reflecting on the rippling waves. When nights were calm like this, he would look for you.

No one else knew why he was constantly surveying the empty waters, especially late at night- but they didn't ask. They knew not to.

At first, he thought he was seeing things.

The days were long, after all- and smokes could only keep him afloat for so long. But then it happened again. He’d catch a flicker of a tail between the waves, or the sunlight or starlight could illuminate your shimmering hair.

It was like gunpowder from a canon had hit him straight in the chest when you dared to inch closer to the ship, so he could see your eyes peeking out at him from above the waters.

You were beautiful. A siren, luring him to death.

He had never been so drawn to anything more in his life, not gold- not silver.

You were taunting him, each night you’d circle the ship as everyone was away, giving him a flirty little wave. He had no idea how he would get to you- but he needed to.

If that meant diving in the water just to flail- so be it, if it meant being closer to you.

He took a long drag of his smoke, letting it slither in the cool night breeze, the wind flapping the fabric of the sails loudly. Unbeknownst to him, you had slipped from your hiding spot, swimming under the hull of his ship before sneaking around with a gentle splash!.

He had tried talking to you- but it was no use.

You couldn’t respond, you were too far to hear- and for all he knew, you couldn't understand him. Yet he still tried.

You startled him, making him grasp his chest and chuckle to himself from surprise. “Good Lord, my little pearl you scared me!” he exclaimed from the ship, making you giggle.

The wind carried over the soft sound, reminding him of gentle wind chimes.

He smiled softly, admiring you with puppy dog eyes. They twinkled in the moonlight, looking like the stars above him. “I was worried you wouldnt come tonight. I thought you had swam away- away from me.”

You cocked your head staring up at him with a hint of confusion etched on your features.

I’d never swim from you. You wanted to call out, but the words caught in your throat like seaweed was tugging on your vocal cords.

“It’s probably not safe near humans, ya know. You’re a brave one, I’ll give ya that.”

But you’re different. You’re not like the rest.

“I suppose I’m the expectation, pearl. You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

You nodded and he smiled again, looking off to the horizon. A loud clang came from below deck, the sounds of broken glass and drunken laughs underneath.

You zoned in on the noise, observing him as he whipped around to make sure no one else had joined him. Once the coast was clear, he found your gaze again, watching as you dared to swim just a little bit closer.

The water was calm tonight, calm enough you caused little ripples in the water as you neared. You were so graceful, so elegant and beautiful- he couldn't help but stare at you. He never wanted to take his eyes off of you.

“Soon I’ll be back home, on land. I wish you could come with me, my love. I really do.”

Suddenly, as if Possiden himself had cast it, a towering wave rocked through the water,causing the ship to whip violently, rocking and teerting as it bobbed. The salt water covered his eyes, blinding him.

When the wave had finally passed- you were gone without a trace.

As if you had cast it, and had been swept right away with it.

-------------------------------------------------

The sky was dark gray, and that made him anxious.

The clouds looked threatened, crying tears of rain that coated the entire ocean in a murky haze. The wind was wild, howling so loud it was deafening.

His senses were blurred. His voice was stolen as he tried to signal to the crew to a patch of land he had found in the nearby distance- and from his frantic waving hands and constant look back- they got the idea.

It was rocky, the waves churning his own waves of nausea he tried to ride out.

Fingers digging into the splintered wood, he closed his eyes and prayed to every higher power out there that you were safe. That you were down below, hidden from the wrath the sky Gods had erupted on him.

It had taken time- had felt like years had passed, but the ship had made its way over to the mass of land that lay stranded. Ropes had been tied around any tree they could find that looked stable, the anchor placed down in the sand as the wooden bottom brushed the land.

Peter wasn’t worried about finding a place to sleep- the ship would be fine in the storm- it was the water below he worried about. For now, he and his crew were safe, they could warm up below deck and call it quits early.

But despite this, something felt off.

He couldn't help but jump down, off deck to the churned earth below. He was soaked to the bone, the only thing keeping him somewhat protected was the jacket that surrounded his broad shoulders.

Peter needed to explore. There was something calling his name, pulling him in, to the shores out of sight. He trudged on, before he was anchored to the spot.

There you lay, frail and small compared to the looming rocks around you, nothing but a thin dress of seaweed coating your torso. Shells were scattered in your hair and- legs.

Long, gorgeous legs lay out in the sand, bare feet covered in grains of sand.

He called, sprinting towards you against the wind to where you lay. You whipped your head towards him- towards that oh so familiar sound, and felt a sense of relief wash over you.

You were spit out upon shore- but to Peter you looked like a pearl that had emerged from an oyster.

You were ethereal. And you were here, on land- with him.

“My love? What- what happened? Are you okay?” he frantically scrambled over to you as you tried to stand, legs wobbly making you tumble down into his arms.

“I got legs. For you.” you whispered, looking up with a blissed out gaze, shivering in the cold as the wind blew through again. His eyes widened in shock, and his hand slipped up to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing small circles against your skin.

“For me? But how’d you know I’d be here? My love, my love that was so, so risky.” he softly scolded you, stripping himself from his jacket to wrap it around your body- engulfing you.

You couldn't help but stare at his defined biceps that were now fully in view, his white shirt soaked through and clung to him like a second skin. He was so handsome it made you dizzy.

You wobbled again, and he picked you up with ease, cradling you into his chest as he started to walk back to the safe haven of the ship.

“I figured you’d be here. And, I just let the waves carry me. I begged them to take me to you. I guess they listened.” you smiled softly, despite your teeth chattering, fingers curling into his shirt. His skin felt warm, even in the storm.

“I wish I had known your name to call to the gods for you to come to me, my sweet pearl.”

“Y/N.”

He looked down at you, eyes glowing with warmth and admiration at the sound, trying the syllables out on his tongue- the taste so sweet he felt giddy. “That's a beautiful name.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I couldn't tell you before. It just… it was feasible.”

He nodded in understanding, watching as the glow of the lanterns grew nearer.

“I understand, my love. But now, it’s feasible. And it's in my best interest to get you warm and fed, and protected. You're mine now, Y/N.”

You planted a soft kiss on his neck, his breath hitching at the sensation. Your lips were as soft as cushions, sending shivers down his spine in pulses of pleasure.

He felt ashamed of all the things he wanted to do to you- the things he had thought about for so long when the sun went down and he was alone with his cock in hand.

But now that you were here- that you were here with him? He almost couldn't believe it was real.

But as the freezing cold rain that pelted down his back reminded him- he was very much in reality. 

------------------------------------------------------ Peter still wasn't used to seeing you in his bed.

It had been weeks since you had found him, and yet every time he saw you- you took his breath away, as if you were a goddess who had come down from heaven to save him from his misery.

The first time you had been in his bed, he had an audience. Everyone had wondered who and what you were- how it was even possible a girl was alive in this part of the ocean.

He had shooed them away like bugs- promising to tell them in the morning- knowing damn well he wouldn't.

You were his secret to keep, and to hold. They may know you with legs, but he knew you long before.

You were shivering- cold and tired as he placed you in a warm bath, helping you wash up before getting you some hot food, watching as you gobbled it up like a woman starved.

You had then passed out on his bed above the sheets, too tired to even try to wiggle under them. He had then realized that you had probably never slept in a human bed before, chuckling to himself as he tucked you in without you even stirring from sleep.

Now, his bed was your favourite place.

You savoured these private, quiet moments with him, loving nothing more than when he wrapped his arms around you, listening to his breath as you dozed off in his embrace.

Most days, you barely had time to see him- as his father had put both of you to work. Though his father took pity for you, thankfully-and left the grueling chores for the rest of the men. Not that Peter would let you really lift a finger, anyways.

He always snuck glances at you whenever he could on the deck, watching you as you’d look out on the horizon from a new perspective- breathing in the salty air as the seagals cawed above, the sun shining brightly. There hadn't been any storms since you had come on board. Metaphorically, and physically.

There had been no arguments, no brawls since you were found- and Peter almost hated it- because he knew the men only weren’t because they were trying to make a good impression on you. He saw their stares, even when you didn't- and couldn't help but snarl like some possessive dog with its bone when anyone got too close.

They were all envious, of course.

You were so charming, so sweet and naive- borderline clueless to their advances. They knew not to get too close- of they knew what was good for them- but he couldn't punish them for staring, afterall.

Well maybe he could… 

“That tickles!” you giggled, the sweet sound breaking him from his trance. You wrapped in his arms, all ready for bed in your adorable sexy little white nightgown that drove him crazy- as his fingers traced little lines on your skin. Connecting all your little freckles, getting delight as you shivered from his touch, clenching your thighs together.

“Can’t help it. Your skin is just so pretty n soft, you smell so good my little seashell. You have little treasure maps all over you.”

You peered up at him, draping your leg across his thigh with a smile. You were obvious to the effect you were having on him, actions completely innocent when his thoughts were anything but.

The two of you hadn't done anything more than some kisses and passionate, teasing touches- as Peter didn't want to pressure or rush you into anything. You had just gotten legs- after all, and you were just so innocent.

But the way you looked up at him with those doe eyes… he still couldn't believe you were real. That you were here, and you were his- in his arms, in his bed.

“What treasure is it?” you asked, fingers wrapping around one of his, turning him on more than he thought was even possible.

Fuck he felt like a hormonal teenager again.

“You of course. You’re worth more than all the gold and gems in the world, ya know that pearl? My sweet girl.”

You giggled at his words, heat burning your cheeks. You were squeamish, your skin buzzing with warmth at his touch. You had so many questions about this feeling- was this how humans felt all the time?

All warm and fuzzy like- melting at the simple brush of a finger down your arms, down to your thighs?

“Peter?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m having funny feelings.” you confessed, and his face distorted with confusion.

“What do you mean my love? Where? Can you show me?”

“I’m just all tingly n warm. Your touch makes me feel funny-” you guided his hand to your inner thighs. “-right here.”

You looked up at him innocently, and he almost came right then and there. You were confused- confused with the concept, though slightly familiar because another mermaid had told you about the one time she spied on a couple in their bedroom, from below deck.

The things she described, you wanted Peter to do to you. You trusted him to do those things.

You nodded at his questioning gaze- as if to say are you sure?

You wanted this to be with Peter.

His gaze softened as you guided his fingers down to your damped panties, nuzzling up so you were pushed back against his chest as he spread your legs between his- caging you in.

“That'ssss it, show me where it aches baby.” he mumbled, kissing your head, smiling against you as he heard you gasp as his fingers dipped between your folds.

Jesus you were soaked. “Right there? Is that where it tingles?” he asked as you nodded, mumbling some incoherent praise as you bucked your hips and squirmed at the circling of your clit with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t run from this honey. I know, I know it feels all funny but I promise it’ll feel so good.”

He kissed your head again, reassuring you as his finger taunted your entrance before curling into you- making you moan. ‘F-fuck-” you whined, making him chuckle.

“Now where did you learn that word from my love?”

“O-one of the guys on deck.” You moaned as his finger pumped in and out, clenching around him tightly. He tskked. “Well that's a bad word baby. We don't say that- okay?”

“O-okay…” you whined, clinging onto his arm as he continued to please you, your puppy dog eyes making him smirk.

He wondered how this felt for you. Were you extra sensitive because of the changes? He couldn't help but feel more turned on that you could come apart like this at the touch of his finger.

“I know baby, you’re doing so good. So, so good for me- so sweet n pretty like this, yea?” he cooed as you grinded up into his palm, whining, nails digging enough to leave crescent moons.

“Peter I can’t-”

“Yes you can baby. Just give in, doin ' so good.” he interrupted gruffly, planting kisses and praises to your head as you came, riding you through your orgasm.

“Good girl. You did so good for me, didn't you my love?” You nodded, watching as he removed his soaked fingers, looking down at the wet splatters on the sheets and on your thighs.

“Is that normal?” you asked hesitantly, and he smiled. “Yes baby, I promise. You did so good.” he assured, lips captring yours as you clung to him, legs shaking slightly.

“Soon, maybe you can take my cock.” he smirked, a glint in his eye before leaning down to kiss you again.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Merchant! Please, rant to us about the mythological inspirations of the BurningCheese!

The fact that I came home and sat down and wrote out a detailed post for this ask... The fact that I did research into Hindu mythology for BurningCheese inspo in the first place... (sidenote: Hinduism is legitimately interesting, I had genuine fun learning about it even outside of cringe shipping bs)

THE FACT THAT THERE'S ACTUAL SHIT TO WORK WITH...

Buckle up, buckaroos lol (I'll put it under a cut in case it turns out really long)

Do note that I am not a religious scholar nor a follower of Hinduism, and I didn't do a suuuuuuuper deep dive. I spent a few hours reading different articles/sources and looking at some paintings and the like. Whatever I say is what I derived from my own personal understanding (and my old notes), which may well be flawed!

Let's start with the obvious.

Burning Spice is directly inspired by Shiva, Hindu god of destruction. Important note: in the actual religion, Shiva is not malevolent; the destruction he brings is considered a necessary part of life and the foundation of cosmic balance. He can be temperamental and violent, yes, but he is by and large a pretty decent guy and performs his duty in the cycle of life and death without complaint (obviously, this is where Spice deviates lol)

His hair is a fucking pitch black jungle. Matted af. Just like Burning Spice's. I just felt like saying that lmao (they both look like shit, Shiva wears animal skins and dead people's ashes and doesn't brush his damn hair. HE WENT TO HIS OWN WEDDING LOOKING LIKE THAT! (Until Parvati told him to please freshen up and he went "yes dear, anything for you <3" and manifested fancy groom attire))

Now let's poke our heads into the rabbit hole.

Parvati is Shiva's wife, whom he adores and is wholly devoted to (and vice versa).

She is revered as a life-giver. A goddess of creation, love, devotion, and... ABUNDANCE.

Parvati has many forms. Her original form is that of a beautiful woman wearing a red sari, with a GOLDEN HEADDRESS/HEADBAND and LOTS OF GOLD JEWELRY AND PRECIOUS STONES, WHICH SHE LOVES.

She's very beloved by pretty much everyone. She's elegant, vivacious, and revered as a doting wife and mother

I'm not finished.

One of Parvati's forms is that of a fierce warrior woman called Durga. She is powerful, confident, and no less beautiful than her original self

She has many arms, and a sacred weapon in each one. One of which is a GOLDEN SPEAR.

Durga is regarded as a goddess of protection, war and destruction - but not the malevolent sort. She fights and destroys the forces of evil, for the sake of others'; the destruction she brings is in the name of protecting and liberating innocents, and empowering creation

One of her epithets is Mahamoha, which means "great delusion" - and in this context, the delusion/ignorance derives from intense desire and attachment

Now, with all of that said, I'm gonna tell you guys a story.

Shiva's first wife was Sati, daughter of Daksha. Though they were madly in love, Daksha despised him and never approved of their relationship

The blood between them was so bad that Daksha declined to invite either of them to the yajna (VERY important ritual sacrifice) he was hosting. Against both social norms and Shiva's advice, Sati showed up anyway, which led to her father cruelly insulting her, her marriage and basically her whole fucking life in front of everybody

In protest of everyone's derision of her and the life she chose to live, she throws herself on the sacrificial fire and thus kills herself (extreme and unnecessary, I know lol). Shiva finds out and LOSES. HIS. SHIT. Shows up, goes on a rampage, hurts a bunch of people, beheads Daksha (whom he revives and pardons eventually)

In his grief, Shiva basically decides to retire from everything and seclude himself in the mountains, denouncing the world and everything in it and refusing to interact with anyone or anything

Sati ends up reincarnating as Parvati. She remembers exactly who she is/was, and made it her mission to return to Shiva's side and rekindle their relationship

Shiva doesn't buy that that's his beloved and rebuffs her. She doesn't give up. She tries over and over again to convince him and win his affection. She endures harsh weather without appropriate clothes, starvation, the faces of her own fears and doubts, endlessly; all while continuously performing acts of religious penance/piety. So unwavering is she in her strength and devotion that Shiva eventually, finally realizes that that really is the woman he loved and lost

They reunite and remarry quickly (and it was a big blowout event, too! Very important, there are even several sculptures depicting it!) and they live happily ever after

And a short summary of their union:

Shiva and Parvati are considered complementary forces; one without the other does not make sense and simply cannot be. Parvati is the warm, life-affirming, creative force that balances Shiva's cold, world-denying, destructive one. She's portrayed as having lured Shiva away from his lonely, ascetic lifestyle and showed him the value of life, love and marriage. They're almost always depicted together in artworks, as they're admired/adored not only for their loving partnership, but for the way they uphold cosmic order together. They are life and death. Attachment and detachment. ABUNDANCE AND DESTRUCTION.

It's commonly stated that Parvati is the outright source of Shiva's power. His shakti (not super sure how to explain what this is, it's not very simple. It's... ultimate cosmic energy, basically). She encourages and energizes him. Without her, he is incomplete

They have two kids :P two sons, Ganesha and Kartikeya. (I DID NOT KNOW THIS when I first made up the fankids, I just happened to guess the correct number of kids to give them lol. I thus decided to partially base Pepper Jack on Ganesha and Matar Paneer on Kartikeya, enjoy those links where I explain properly haha (and you can look through their tags to see more abt them if you want))

They also jointly represent harmony between sexes. Shiva is the male aspect, Parvati is the female

They also jointly symbolize love, devotion and sexuality and are said to have a lot of sex (and are also often depicted having sex)

Let me walk you guys through it all one more time. A god who, in his endless rage and grief, chose to forsake the world and all within it, for he believed he had nothing left to value from it...

Who is temperamental, violent, and is not above lashing out at others when he feels wronged... who can and will destroy everything in his path... (You don't need screenshot evidence of this but whatever lol)

Who will lash out at others if they dare to lay their hands on his counterpart, or otherwise keep him away from her...

... And his counterpart, a beautiful, vibrant, benevolent goddess who can take many different forms, including that of an elegant queen adorned with gold and gems, and a great, fearless warrior... (You notice how there's some red in her Soul Jam now? There's that bit of Destruction, used to defend others...)

Who's known and loved for the boundless love and warmth and charity she bestows upon one and all...

Who's known as a creator, a life-giver; who so cherishes the world and what she makes that she allows herself to descend into madness in pursuit of preserving it all... Whose desire and attachment led to ignorance and delusion...

Who, in stubborn defiance of the cruelties she faced, chose to remove herself from them and from the world itself for a time, only to eventually return with her identity and life's purpose still intact, and livelier than ever...

Who takes the form of a hero, a protector of the innocent, a warrior who battles against evil and seeks to vanquish oppression and tyranny...

And together, she and he make up the foundation of the world. The threads with which the great tapestry of the universe is woven. Life and death. Attachment and love for the world, and detachment from and contempt for it. A woman dressed in the finest garments and jewelry, and a man who embodies the unforgiving wilderness in which he sequesters himself.

Abundance and Destruction.

In conclusion: Burning Spice and Golden Cheese are literally Shiva and Parvati, they are husband and wife, they NEED each other and are meant to be together, together they create and maintain the balance of life and the universe, we must all band together and demand that Devsisters release the cutscene that shows their wedding, they are the bride and the ugly ass groom fr fr