#i used the word nimble like 50 times

[kultofathena]

Ádám Bodorics – Beham Messer with Ring Hilt and Brass Frame Boxwood Grip

This Beham style Messer by specialist swordsmith Ádám Bodorics is a wonderfully agile sword in the hand that strikes with velocity and power – its wide and well-tempered blade bites deeply and its thin profile along the main cutting portion of the blade passes through a target with little drag and resistance – a truly fierce performer in a scrap of a melee! The thick ring at the hilt gives impressive protection to the entire hand from even notably larger weapons and the grip is a unique composite with the thick tang riveted and embedded between two halves of smoothly polished boxwood which is framed in strips of finely worked brass. The wood grip halves may look cracked, but they are actually created from a deliberate reconstruction of smaller pieces with strong and colored bonding filler in order to give the grip a unique theme and appearance that is perfectly apt to the troubled times of early 16th century Germany.

The sword is matched with scabbard of well-carved wood which is wrapped in linen for a binding to aid in durability which is then finished with overlaid tight leather with a compartment for a matching byknife which is included. Integrated and knotted to the scabbard is a thick sword belt with an adjustable buckle for wear. Below is Ádám’s own words on his unique creation offered here:

Messers take a huge variety of form and construction. This piece is based on a 1540 woodcut by Hans Sebald Beham with a subtle Memento Mori theme. In the 16th century, knifelike sidearms undergo several changes, one of them being the increasing regularity of hidden tangs. Illustrations from the period sometimes show rather complex grip shapes that would be complicated with a full-tang construction, but a hidden or a frame tang makes them much more trivial. Hans Sebald Beham often shows interesting grip shapes even in a bucolic setting, and it’s one of his woodcuts I based this piece on.

The straight and nimble blade is ground from 51crv4 (6150) high-carbon steel and is heat-treated to 50-52 HrC. It is optimized for cutting and slashing. It has plenty of distal taper and a wide fuller along it’s length. The cross has a gentle S-shape and a sidering instead of a Nagel. It is still affixed to the blade with a rivet o make sure it’s not mistaken for a sword or falchion or storta. The finials of the cross echo the trilobate design of the grip. The real tang of the blade reaches to about two-thirds of the grip. A thin steel plate was cut to the intended shape of the grip with a brass strip formed and soldered along it’s edges. The grip panels sit on the edges of the frame with the cavity between the panels and the tang filled with adhesive following the style of  surviving frame-tang sidearms.

The byknife is hand-forged and ground from 80crv2 with integrated bolsters and a forge-welded mild steel tang. The grip panels are affixed by glue and tubular brass rivets of increasing diameter. The grip panels are boxwood, buxus sempervirens. These pieces were hand-picked to highlight the effects of the blight eradicating old growth, namely the aggressive checking from quick drying following rapid defoliation and the cloudy dark discolorations. There is evidence for boxwood’s continuous use for over two millennia, but as specimens large enough for larger carvings take an immense amount of time to grow, preventive culling or neglect of infected trees both make it near-impossible for this material to stay for long. To me, using these specific slabs was like erecting a gravestone, removing the need for any overt Memento Mori or Totentanz motifs.

The scabbard has a wooden core, linen wrapping and a vegetable tanned leather wrap with an integrated subsheath for the byknife. It is dyed a light brown and is undecorated to keep the attention on the hilt of the Messer. There is a belt threaded into two slits in the back of the sheath, crossing over to either side.

[a89x54vs]

No Better Place to Be

This is a tickle fic, feedback is accepted as long as it’s done in a respectful way.

“Do you remember back when we were younger? It was such a different time”

Yoongi smiled at the words of his fellow member.

“I know, who would have thought we would come this far? Sometimes I can’t help but think this is a dream” The rapper admitted as he looked at the sky, which was covered with the most beautiful of stars.

Hoseok let out a light cackle as he reached out to touch Yoongi’s cheek.

“But this is reality jagi, one that no dream is able to surpass”

Yoongi huffed at the cheeky talk while his face slightly blushed, it had been months ever since he and Hoseok began dating after even more months of pinning for each other until the rest of the group, tired of the hesitance both rappers showed despite their obvious feelings, crafted a plan to finally make Yoongi confess, albeit with a bit of an unusual push.

“You know, I really have to thank the guys for lending me a hand, even if it was an unconventional one” The older rapper admitted “I mean, it’s not like without them I wouldn’t have eventually confessed but their support truly helped with me deciding to do it��

“*chuckle* Ah yes, I remember Joon mentioning how they grew tired of you just waiting around for something to happen and stepped in else they feared you would say it when we’re already 50” Hoseok remarked with a grin “But I’m curious though, what did they do to finally convince you to say you love me?”

“Um…” Yoongi looked away while his face heated even more at the mention of the incident “Well, they came into my room and…”

“Tickled me until I promised to tell you”

Though that last part was a whisper, Hoseok managed to hear it quite well, and after a few moments of surprise he couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Oho I can’t belihieve you confessed behecause of tickling”

Yoongi grumbled as his face got even redder, he knew his partner wasn’t speaking in a mocking way but it was still so embarrassing!

“Oh jagi, you only get more and more adorable” Hobi complimented while hugging the older rapper.

“Don’t call me adorable…” Yoongi whined, why was his partner so focused on making him blush?

“But you are!” Hoseok insisted and, with the intention of providing his point, began to gently squeeze his partner’s side.

“Ahahahahahahaha Hobi wahahahahahait” Yoongi couldn’t even attempt to hold in his giggles before they were already spilling from his lips.

“Why wait hyung? Clearly you need a push to admit your cuteness” Hoseok declared with his sunshine smile as his nimble fingers skittered up and down the older’s skin.

“Nohohohohohohoho come ohohohohohohon you cahahahahahahan’t” The older rapper didn’t even attempt to push the younger’s hands away, instead covering his face as he kept giggling.

“Aww but your laugh is so nice, you won’t deny me from hearing more will you?” Hobi asked with the biggest pout while he changed spots, opting to spider Yoongi’s tummy.

“GAHAHAHAHAHAHA HOBI PLEHEHEHEHEASE”

It was probably a good thing that they were out on an open field, else someone may have heard the high pitched laughter that emanated from Yoongi’s mouth, that would be even more embarrassing.

How many times had he thought something was embarrassing?

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA JAGI DOHOHOHON’T” He cackled when his thoughts were interrupted by Hoseok’s hands focusing on his hipbones, expertly using his thumbs to rub the bones.

“Sweet talking dear? That’s cute, you’ve always had your way with words” The dancer mumbled with a soft smile as he nuzzled the older’s face, seemingly unbothered by his shrieks and howls.

“LOHOHOHOHOHOHOVE JUST LEHEHEHET ME GOHOHOHOHOHO” Yoongi begged, his sanity was kind of slipping away, not necessarily a bad thing, it was actually pleasant to let go after such a long week, but the tickles were overwhelming and despite the kicking of his legs and the squirming of his body, he just couldn’t get away.

But what he received as a response was a “tsk” and Hobi’s voice saying:

“If you want me to stop then you know what to do Jagi” Hoseok reminded, chuckling at Yoongi’s whining accompanied by giggles by the feeling of kisses lovingly attacking his neck.

“Ihihihihihit’s embarrassing you knohohohohow?”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you are really cute Yoongi” Hoseok assured, continuing with his kisses while tracing his belly with a finger, causing Yoongi to giggle louder.

The older rapper felt a nice warmth on his chest at his partner’s words, they were covered in sincerity just like all the other compliments that Hoseok had told him, one of the multiple reasons he loved the dancer so dearly.

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HOBI!”

“Yes jagi?” Hoseok innocently asked while one hand clawed Yoongi’s rib cage and the other scratched his spine.

“FIHIHIHIHIHIHIHINE I’LL TAHAHAHAHAHALK”

“I’m all ears” Hobi assured before suddenly blowing a raspberry on the older’s belly.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *snort* I’M CUTE, I’M CUTE *snort* PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE I SAID IHIHIHIHIHIHIT HAVE MEHEHEHEHEHERCY”

Seeing as Yoongi did his part of the deal alongside his wheezing, Hoseok stopped his tickling, instead opting to cuddle his partner while gently kissing his cheek.

“You did so well my jagi”

“*huff* You’re so mean” Yoongi complained, but returned the hug to show his true feelings.

“Sorry, but I really like your laugh, it’s been a while since you let go like this” Hoseok explained, making Yoongi realize that yes, it had been a while since he last laughed so freely.

“You’re right…thank you, I love you”

“I love you too jagi”

Both rappers stayed silent as they stared at the starry sky, sure, maybe tomorrow they would have to go back to their busy lives, but in the end, it was all worth it.

Because now, there was no better place to be.

Hey there, it’s me Ax, I hope you all enjoyed this fic, sorry it took so long to publish something but I promise to try and be more active.

[tf2workbench]

Pumpkin spicing it up

This would’ve been better to post in October, but I lost track of time and, well... here we are. Maybe some of your Halloween pumpkins are still sitting in your inventory, eh?

Anyway, pumpkin bombs are some of the most satisfying parts of Halloween. They deal catastrophic damage and make very pleasing noises, and if you have enough health you can use them for blast jumping. Imagine if the Demoman could deploy something similar.

Pumpkin Bomb Launcher Iteration 1 Demoman secondary (+) Fires explosive pumpkins, which explode when you shoot them (including with another pumpkin or with an explosion from one), dealing 60-120 damage. (-) Pumpkins cannot be manually detonated

The big change here is the exchange from manual detonation to a more direct means of causing an explosion. In many situations, it’s a weakness, because you can’t detonate your bombs as quickly. You may not be as nimble or versatile as with a regular sticky launcher.

I do want to underscore, though, how very satisfying this launcher would feel if used right. The best uses come from excellent prediction, deploying a couple of pumpkins in an area and then shooting at them just as enemies are about to arrive. That kind of use feels awesome, but unfortunately, it’s harder to come by than detonating stickybombs instantly - the other sticky launchers are much more practical. It’s also worth noting that sticky-jumping is a little trickier with these, since you’ll have to shoot at the pumpkin to send yourself flying. 

I want to try and make a launcher that’s both effective and satisfying, while still maintaining the unique pumpkin bomb mechanics and not being too oppressive to the enemy. Is that too much to ask?

Pumpkin Bomb Launcher Iteration 2 (+) Fires explosive pumpkins, which explode when you shoot them (including with another pumpkin or with an explosion from one). (-) -50% clip size

By bringing back manual detonation, we let users choose between “all pumpkins boom” and “pumpkins in an area boom.” This is a similar utility to the Scottish Resistance, although selective detonation is arguably more effective.

One thing that I really would like to make work would be having teammates detonate pumpkin bombs with their attacks. This opens up a lot of team play and encourages sticking near your allies. But on the other hand, accidentally - or intentionally - exploded bombs can cause some friction between players, which is something we definitely want to avoid. As kind of a last-ditch effort to really distinguish this weapon, let’s try something.

Pumpkin Bomb Launcher Iteration 3 (+) Fires explosive pumpkins, which explode when you shoot them (including with another pumpkin or with an explosion from one). (*) Alt-fire: Prime pumpkin bombs to explode when a teammate shoots them. (-) No manual detonation (-) -25% clip size

Now you get the ultimate say. Although you can use bombs or grenades to detonate your pumpkins at any time, your teammates can only do so when you allow them to. Although this is a bit more complex, I think it could be represented pretty well - maybe the pumpkins pulse ominously when they’re primed? I think this is a way that we might (key word might) be able to get a lot of satisfaction out of this bomb mechanic.

[monsooninn]

Berakhot 10a:5. "The Cheering Box."

While mankind waits for its government managers to receive the wake up call, the Rab says the people of the planet can start formulating their approach to Shabbos in order to set expectations for the relief of the immense amounts of suffering it has allowed to sprawl, to catapult around the world.

I have not heard one bit of news related to the end of the homelessness, the poverty, the many tyrannies or military buildups in favor of a proper way of life. The biggest step we can take, an assault on Russia has begun, which is very unfortunate for all the Russians that are now going to join the ranks of those ravaged by war. After their long history of uncertainty and longing, now this.

The next, the death of Donald Trump and his complete erasure from life on earth and that of his allies in the Republican Party and Mormon faith remain as elusive as the hopes of the Russian for peace in their lifetime. Recall, they tunneled underneath Israel in plain sight then emerged like human cockroaches to prey upon the innocent, and still they walk and talk. An outrage to the rest of the world that wants to recover and be happy some day.

Now back to the Shabbos. The Mishnah says the evidence, the Beruria "explanation of the evidence", Rani, "reports by speakers" has no fruits for its actions. Without spokespersons for the Shabbos, the filth like Donald Trump and "JD Vance" get to own the floor. Criminals that are not prosecuted always own the floor. Eventially, they come looking to own yours too and then what?

5. He said to her that he was appointed to Beruria: He wrote "Rani is barren and has no child", why is there no child - Rani?

The Torah was given to us in a barren desert, an open ended place where life stopped and burnt or it forged ahead and triumphed. Because the world cannot bring itself to forge ahead to Shabbos, a time without strife, we are burning to death without hope in the Desert of Beruria.

We need a Report, from Joe Biden stating Donald Trump and the Republican Party will no longer be permitted to harm the people of this world and then we will know our way out of the Desert. There is no point to recorporation of the Nation of Israel without this report. Israel and all who reside in it are doomed if Joe Biden will not do this.

If he were to do this the Beruria would change. Instead of cries out outrage we would obtain evidence of the Ark of the Covenant, the cheering box instead:

"The root ארן ('rn I) isn't used in the Bible so we don't know what it might have meant to Hebrew speakers. But the renowned theologians Simonis and Gesenius assume it is similar to an Arabic verb meaning to be agile or nimble. A Syriac noun seems to be similar, and that denotes a certain kind of wild goat. BDB Theological Dictionary reports of a similar Aramaic noun that too means wild goat.

However, our root also yields the masculine noun ארן ('oren), which means fir or cedar and is used in the Bible only by Isaiah (Isaiah 44:14, along with the curiously look-alike words ארז ('erez) and תרז (tirza), both also denoting trees).

It's possible that our verb ארן ('rn) is related to the verb רנן (ranan; see below), and that the noun ארן ('oren) doesn't denote a specific tree but rather a tree that rustles or creaks in the wind. The sound of the wind through the trees might sound as a large group of people cheering; 1 Chronicles 16:33 has trees sing for joy before the Lord.

And then there is the root ארן ('rn II), which also doesn't occur in the Bible. But its derivative ארון ('aron) is the word that is usually translated with Ark (of the covenant, not the Ark of Noah). But this word is not reserved for the Ark. It's also used for the coffin in which Joseph's bones were carried back to Canaan (Genesis 50:26), or the chest in the temple in which money was collected (2 Kings 12:10).

Perhaps this noun ארן ('aron) is related to רנן (ranan) in that it doesn't simply denote some box, but rather an object that was typically designed to be in the middle of cheering and noise."

The Value in Gematria is 6161, ואו‎‎א, oh and ah, "brotherhood is a firepot."

"As ω (o, or oi!), which is an expletive or exclamation, usually transliterated as O or Oh! This particle of exclamation occurs 17 times in the New Testament; see full concordance. Its Hebrew equivalent is אח ('ah), which is identical to the word meaning brother, which in turn may explain the curious cry "O brother!".

The root אחח ('hh II) is of unclear meaning or connection to cognate languages. Its sole Biblical derivative is אח ('ah), meaning fire-pot (Jeremiah 36:22-23 only). To the Hebrews this word may have denoted a devise that kept one warm and safe, much alike a brother would."

To withhold a report that would make the world happier and feel more secure, that would open up the future to the unfortunate is a sin. The Biden White House must not attempt to shoulder the burden of this sin.

While it protects Donald Trump and the Republicans, the rest of the world should protect its right to Shabbos and Shabbat contained in the Ark of the Covenant which says we cannot be forced to live in circumstances that subject us to harm by our fellow man.

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Charlottesville, Virginia! ☕️

This week was mostly calm at work. The team I’m on is coming to the end of transferring our work to our client. It’s a time to document our process and a time of reflection. This particular project was a great deal of fun and was one of our longer running projects. This is also my last project as an Engineering Director.

Monday I start a new project as a developer 50% of my time while continuing 50% of my time as Director on my current project. Believe it or not I’m pretty excited about the new project and my new role. This particular project is tvOS based! Super fun! 📺

Om Malik

This rapid growth seems to have gotten under Elon Musk’s skin. No wonder he is calling Zuck a cuck — giving the rest of us even further proof that money doesn’t buy you class or brains. In reality, the more Threads grows, the more it takes ad dollars away from Twitter, and the $44 billion mistake starts to look bigger and bigger.

It really looks like Elon is such a thin skinned egomaniac he can’t deal with the heat of competition. Threads isn’t perfect — what is — but it’s just a baby and it has 100 million users, if reports from Facebook are accurate. That’s a significant user base in a very short period of days. They’re already a quarter to a third of the size of Twitter. By contrast Elon has just run Twitter into the ground and has proven he’s not the genius everyone thought he was.

Andrea Bergia

I am very happy with what I have learned, about Rust and about how to implement a virtual machine. In particular, I am super happy about having implemented a real, working, garbage collector. It’s quite mediocre, but it’s mine and I love it. 💘

I’m always super impressed by folks who follow their passions, knuckle down, and create something that gives them joy. Not only did Andrea build something joyful, he’s built something useful as a learning exercise. 👍🏼

Tumblr Staff Blog

Today, we’re abnormally jazzed to announce that we’re open-sourcing the custom framework we built to power your dashboard on Tumblr. We call it StreamBuilder, and we’ve been using it for many years.

We know Matt Mullenweg is an open source proponent and built one of the most beloved blogging tools turned CMS in the world. It’s no surprise to see Tumblr open up some of its code.

When companies do this I always wonder how many hacks are in the code and how many curse words folks will find. 😀

Nish Tahir

A Schema is essentially a metadata document that describes an API. It defines the inputs and outputs of a system while eliminating ambiguity. When used correctly, it creates the foundation for a contract between an API and its consumers. Here’s an example of an OpenAPI[1] schema describing a health check endpoint for a RESTful API.

I have the honor of working with Nish. He’s a very rare talent, kind, and empathetic.

I love this piece. It’s pragmatic. If you provide a scheme for your API folks using it can diff the changes, generate new client side code to use it, and at a glance know what’s expected. It’s just a contract like any protocol or interface in your programming language of choice would establish, only this is for the web.

Being in an agency we see lots of web APIs and having a clear picture of the API is extremely helpful. Being able to generate “boiler plate” code to communicate with an API is also extremely helpful. Why write it when you could generate it? 🧠

Corina Knoll • The New York Times

A Hollywood Diner Becomes a Writers’ Room of a Different Sort

I love this story of community and solidarity. These folks are fighting for their livelihoods and managing to experience a little joy during a very stressful time.

Now that the Screen Actors Guild has joined in Hollywood has screeched to a halt, but will all this effort make a difference? I think so. I think it’ll spawn some smaller, more nimble, studios and perhaps writers will find a way to have ownership of their work?

Paul Hudson

SE-0304 introduced a whole range of approaches to execute, cancel, and monitor concurrent operations in Swift, and builds upon the work introduced by async/await and async sequences.

Oh boy. More stuff to learn. Time marches on and coding practices continue at a frenetic pace. My aging brain is screaming at me. I’m slow. A slow learner. A slow coder. Slow. Keeping up is a challenge but I’ll figure this stuff out. Probably not as deeply as I’d like but enough to get myself in trouble. 🐌

John Scalzi

The Kaiju Preservation Society is a 2023 Hugo Award Best Novel Finalist

I really like John Scalzi. I’ve only read Old Man’s War and I really enjoyed it. I’ve started The Ghost Brigades and need to get back to it but I appreciate Mr. Scalzi for more than his books. He’s super fun to read on social networks and he maintains a fairly active blog! Follow his RSS feed for a bit and see if you like it. 📚

Majid Jabrayilov

This week I will talk about the state management approach I have used in my apps for years. We will cover building a predictable, testable, debuggable, and modular state management system in Swift.

A post about a small chunk of code described in detail. A simple, powerful, concept.

Between Majid, Paul Hudson, and John Sundell we have more than enough authorities on the Swift Programming Language. I can’t keep up. 🤣

Justin T. Westbrook • Jalopnik

You may not remember the rumors that Aston Martin was going to shove a V12 into its infamous Cygnet city car, but you’re never going to forget that they went ahead and shoved a naturally aspirated V8 in there instead despite the car being dead for over five years.

Talk about overkill! I love it! I’m all about moving toward EVs, bicycles, and mass transit as our future of transportation but there’s something special about a well built, powerful, engine I appreciate. The combination of little car and V8 is just so ridiculous I love it. I’d love to take one for a spin.

My Dad is a car guy. He’s built numerous cars over his lifetime including; a Ford Anglia, ‘37 Chevy Coup street rod, a Baja bug, and a Chevy S10 with a V8.

That S10 was a Frankenstein of a truck. Not beautiful and polished with power and grace like his Anglia or Chevy Coup. It was hideous with way too much power under the hood, but boy was it fun.

The motor was so large and sat so high in the engine compartment Dad had to cut a hole in the hood and add a scoop so the carburetor and filter could stick out. 🤣

Political Wire • Taegan Goddard

Trump Wants Trial Delayed Until After Election

Cartoon by [Ed Hall](http://halltoons.com/wordpress1/)

And, there it is. Everyone knew this was coming. TFG is trying to delay the process until after the election in hopes he becomes our next President. These motions have no merit and I hope they’re quashed soon.

He needs his day in court to prove himself innocent or face the consequences if found guilty. The President of the United States should be held to the highest standards of integrity. TFG just wants unlimited power. Why? I can’t say because my brain doesn’t work that way. I’ve never understood it.

Here’s hoping he’s convicted and eliminated from the Presidential race. They’d better hurry. The clock is ticking.

Steven Monacelli • Texas Onserver

“This article was originally published by the Texas Observer, a nonprofit investigative news outlet. Sign up for their weekly newsletter, or follow them on [Facebook(https://www.facebook.com/texasobserver/) and Twitter.”

Dozens of members of the neo-fascist, white nationalist group Patriot Front marched through the streets of Austin Saturday. The group did not announce the demonstration in advance, leaving no time for opposition groups to mount a counter-protest. It was the largest public gathering of the group’s members since they held a similar march in Washington, D.C., on May 13.

Our country’s slide into White Christian Nationalism continues and it’s extremely troubling. I keep expecting a Civil War to break out but in modern day America it’s difficult for me to fathom what that might look like.

I still feel like a major kerfuffle is coming. I’d imagine it’ll center around TFG and how his many trials and investigations conclude. At least two could result in Federal convictions. If that happens he should be tossed from running for or holding The Office of the President.

Julio Merino

To summarize, the Twitter thread shows two videos: one of an old computer running Windows NT 3.51 and one of a new computer running Windows 11. In each video, I opened and closed a command prompt, File Explorer, Notepad, and Paint. You can clearly see how apps on the old computer open up instantly whereas apps on the new computer show significant lag as they load.

I spent a bit of time at Microsoft in 1994-95 working on the Windows NT file stress testing team as a contractor. I was part of the IBM team working on the port of NT 3.51 to PowerPC. The 3.51 version of NT was a rock and at the time my favorite OS. It didn’t have fancy hardware accelerated graphics and rendering was still very fast.

At that time device drivers didn’t have kernel access, they ran at ring 1. When NT 4 was being worked on drivers were moved into kernel space, ring 0, for performance reasons. I wasn’t a fan of that move but it gave them the performance they were after (gaming) and with that came more blue screens of death, which is the kernel’s way of saying “Uh, excuse me, you can’t write to that memory.” 😵

Michael Ponsor • The New York Times

I joined the federal bench in 1984, some years before any of the justices currently on the Supreme Court. Throughout my career, I have been bound and guided by a written code of conduct, backed by a committee of colleagues I can call on for advice. In fact, I checked with a member of that committee before writing this essay.

Bring on a code of conduct for the Supreme Court. Once again power corrupts and it shouldn’t be this way for folks in a position of power like these folks are. They’re the highest court in the land and should be held to the highest standards. It’s time to do something about it, but how? I haven’t the slightest clue. ⚖️

Jordan Bianchi • The Athletic

Corey LaJoie is working on finalizing a multiyear contract extension with Spire Motorsports to continue driving its No. 7 Chevrolet in the NASCAR Cup Series, NASCAR industry sources told The Athletic. The deal is expected to be completed in the coming weeks.

I love me some Cory LeJoie. He’s a very likable character and while he struggles to run in the top-15 he’s a joy to watch and listen to. His podcast, Stacking Pennies, is a nice look inside the race of the last weekend and NASCAR in general.

I keep hoping this fella will win a race and become a consistent top-10 finisher. Go underdogs! 🐶

[lily-ohfally]

I will share some of my hc's as well! Thank you for everyone who has responded so far!

They will be under the cut since it's very long!

- Viera only have children every 3-6 years, giving the opportunity to properly raise one child at a time, very rarely twins are born.

- Female Viera are physically stronger and easier build muscle than male viera, whereas the males are more nimble.

- They have scent glands between their necks and chins that only other viera (and some miqo'te¹) can smell. The viera who leave the forest usually scent their partner to ward off other viera.

- Because of their heightened hearing they're sensitive to high pitched noises and sounds.

- They stomp their feet when upset, angry, sad or generally experience negative emotions.

- The Rava villages in Golmore jungle generally don't speak with each other and keep to themselves. The males that live around the forests have territories they're very defensive about.

- They jump went startled.

- They generally fare better on a vegetarian diet, but don't shy away from meat, though some viera have a harder time digesting it than others.

- They like to groom their partner and cuddle etc. Their love language is primarily physical touch and favours.

- They're taught how to use a spear, bow and arrow and healing magic at a young age.

- Raising the children born in the village is a community effort. They're like one big family.

- The village leaders are usually the strongest.

- They tend to paint over their eyes with black to lessen shine from the sun blinding them.

- Rava are very resistant to heat, while Veena are resistant to the cold.

- More animalistic features, such as paw like feet and tails, are genetic. Some Viera might be born without any, usually those born from a Viera that has left the forest and copulated with another race. While Viera who live in the forest have usually have one or more animalistic traits.

- [Edit: extra] Forest Viera do not usually have romantic interests but within the villages, two or more of the women will usually form pairs or bonds, making smaller and more intimate families that take priority over others.

- [Edit: extra, sexuality] Mating is different from doing it for pleasure. Usually mating is done as a duty and not as an enjoyment, though some male and females prefer to mate whenever mating season comes as it's more convenient than having to search for a new one every time. Wood-warders are usually very awkward as their lack of social contact leaves them very devoid of social skills.

- [Biology headcanon] Viera are born with a genitalia like slit, which has both sexes present, though before they present both of these will lie dormant. After presenting (usually around 13)² one will become active and the other will become defunct, though in extremely rare cases it has been observed some Viera have both sexes present and functional, regardless of what they presented as³.

- [Biolody headcanon] Male Viera continue to have uteruses, though nonfunctional as they have no use for them. After about 50 years, the uterus will have been dissolved in their bodies, though this process usually go by unnoticed as there's no pain or illness involved.

-

¹ If a miqo'te have a very keen sense of smell, they will be able to sense a Viera's scent meaning, though they don't usually feel threatened by it like other Viera might. This is also an exclusive thing city Viera does.

² Just because they typically presents around age thirteen doesn't mean they will. It can happen as early as nine, but also as late as fifteen.

³ This is something I will delve into later once I can properly word it, however, do keep in mind that I imagine their views of gender, sexuality and society much different from the norm of our society.

If anyone has viera biology headcanons please share them with me! Either as an ask or reblog, but please share them with me please please please please please

[hhjs]

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary  —   Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

 You accept it. 

 For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

 Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all. 

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour.  Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe.  While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him. 

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell. 

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

 Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose.  You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger  stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

 You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night.  See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart. 

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.”  he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

 “I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

 Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've  passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side. 

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous. 

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it. 

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say. 

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

— 

Kiss underneath a mistletoe. 

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right. 

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different.  Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

  Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

 He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

— 

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh.  Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

 Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you?  "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."  

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know.  Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

— 

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of  honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear,   "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

[mrsmaybank]

Honey - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer and the reader were very much in love during Reid’s brief stint in Pasadena. When he has to see her again on a case, he is super nervous. 

a/n: first section is inspired by such great heights 

C/W: Swearing

PASADENA - 2002 

A note from the love of your life is a lovely way to wake up. 

------

When you can understand everything but yourself, finding somebody who does is like seeing a comet; disappointingly rare. My shaky hands can only be stilled by the smile of my most incandescent--in every connotation--creature, and that is you. The universe always seems to know what it is doing even if humanity does not. The stars align and move in patterns we as it’s audience do not fully understand. I think we have watched the stars so much the universe has aligned us as a favor to our poor, overestimated souls. I am so grateful!  Tolstoy noted that "We are asleep until we fall in love!” And I thank you for waking me up.

However I thought it best the favor not be returned this particular morning. You were up late last night, and looked too cute to disrupt. Do not kill me, I am getting coffee. 

I love you and do not leave the bed.  

-Spencer

------

Only Spencer Reid would write that on a sticky note, and only for you would he do so. 

You heard the rattling of keys and a door being opened and shut as Spencer made his way back to your bedroom. The smile you saw on his face was the start of a story that ended on the upturn of your lips, revealing the two protagonists in a mad frenzy of love. As soon as he reached you, your lips pressed to his in a desperation to be impossibly closer. 

“Hi.” he said. 

I am thinking it's a sign

That the freckles in our eyes

Are mirror images

And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned

“Hey love.” you tucked a loose brown hair back behind his ear for a closer look at the face you adored. “Please get back in bed.” 

He sighed but crawled in next to you, big nimble hands making their way across your torso to diminish the space in between you two. You nuzzled into his chest. 

“Your note was beautiful.” you whispered into his ear.

A big, goofy grin spread along his face.

“I meant every word.” his voice so sweet, it sounded dipped in honey. 

Honey is incredibly sticky. 

-----

There had to have been a world where it all worked out. 

In this world, my things never got old, and the ice cubes in my coffee never melted. I could listen to that song over and over again without draining the life out of it and I could like my hair style for more than three months. 

Spencer had read to me the greatest works of the world. Words of the greatest thinkers, authors, and minds. He had an appreciation for them greater than those of the average passerby and I adored that, because so did I. Truly, our similarities are what connected us. Our minds were correlated perfectly when it came to subjectivity. 

In accordance to human nature however, certain matters were never agreed upon. In particular, we argued about the future. The canyon of discrepancy so vast it tore us and our love in two. I didn’t think that was possible.

I wanted to write the book and watch the film as I lived my life and he and his arrogant over-practically thought that impossible. He thought himself an oneirocritic, but my dreams were not looking for critiques. 

Like I said, Spencer read to me the greatest works of the world. And years would pass and the heartbreak and sorrow would fade, but I would always find it ironic how the last thing I ever heard in that honey soaked voice was a work of Confucius.  “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart.”

Spencer chose to go to Washington. He took his heart and a piece of mine with him.

-----

BAU JET - 2011

Seaver must’ve noticed my flinch when the sound of her name resonated through the jet. I’d never liked going to California, but this...this had never happened.  “That name mean something to you Reid?” She smiled, “You look kind of horrified.” 

I ran my hands through my hair in a futile attempt to ground myself. “No. I just...I used to know her.” 

In between the fine lines of love and hate, fell a blurry midsection where feelings came before logic and screams and whispers sounded the same. She ruled over this midsection of chaotic emotional fury. 

Morgan spoke, and I quickly realized I might be falling into a conversation I really did not want to be having. “How the hell d’you know her pretty boy?” 

There was no point in lying on a plane completely occupied by profilers. My best option was to clumsily dodge any direct questions about just how well I knew her.

“I’m from the West coast.” 

“So are over 50 million people. You mean to tell me you know all of them?” he laughed.

“The exact estimation is actually 53,492,270. And no, I’m not saying I know all of them, Morgan. I lived in Pasadena for a year after I graduated from Caltech.”

“Okay?” Morgan questioned my previous statements relevancy. 

“She went to USC. We were in the same social circle.” 

Morgan laughed again, “You had a social circle?” 

Emily, next to us, was presumably combing through her file.

“You, ultimate three doctorate dorky dork, were in the same circle as a film major?” she asked. “

What the hell is ‘doctorate dorky dork’ supposed to mean?

“She double majored actually. Film and political science.”

Emily double checked the file, “And Reid’s right. Per usual.” 

“Reid and Prentiss, Y/L/N has agreed to talk to us in her home. She lives in the Hills. When we land, you guys go talk to her.” Hotch stated. 

“Why?” I said before I could stop myself. The team sat in confused silence in reaction to my bluntness, but Hotch, like always, was not having it. 

“Because we have a serial killer that is reenacting the murders in her movie, Reid.” his tone was stern and swift, with a patronizing sarcasm I supposed I deserved. 

“Sorry,” I got out, “I guess I just meant..why me?” 

“Well, you know her don’t you?” Rossi asked. 

I was not ready to divulge the personal details between me and this girl to my entire team, so I just pursed my lips and nodded. 

“Right. Sorry.” 

----

Life is not a spectacle or a feast; it is a predicament. George Santayana. I was in the biggest fucking predicament I’d ever encountered in my life. 

Nothing could slow the incessant, double time pounding in my chest. I was showing symptoms of the beginning of a heart attack. Hopefully I would die and never have to face this.

Fuck, don’t think that.

Have the seats in these cars always been this uncomfortable? God, is California always this hot?

I looked at Emily for half a second, and instantly recognized that keeping quiet from her was proving to be dysfunctional. I could feel her eyes burning into my brain with every profiling skill she knew.

“What are you not saying Reid?” 

I sighed. “Do I have to tell you?” 

“Yeah. Unless you want me to just find out on my own. It’ll be a lot less delicate.” 

Here goes nothing. 

“I dated her. For two years. I was very much in love with her. It ended....abruptly. I haven’t spoken to her since, and now, nine years later, I am on my way to her house. I might have a heart attack.” 

Emily's eyes widened, “Shit..” She laughed a little, “Reunited at last?.” 

I answered with a glare. Hard no.

“Fine, sorry.” She said, masking a giggle with a cough.

I shifted in my seat and I could practically see the gears in Emily’s profiler cerebrum spin. She knew exactly the question to ask. “Is it nerves?”  

I nodded my head, “I was a very different person back then.” 

“Nothing like time and the bureau can change somebody.” she said. “But, hey..”She smiled again and my eyes widened when I realized what I’d revealed. “I asked you if you were nervous. I didn’t-” 

“Emily..” I started. 

“Are you nervous she won’t like you now? Do you still like her?” her mouth hung open, “Oh my god Reid!” 

I shook my head, “No, I don’t still like her! I don’t even know her anymore! I just..I’d never loved somebody the way I loved her.” 

Emily had figured me out at the same time I had. “And you still haven’t.” 

Fuck.

“Correct.” 

The car pulled into her driveway, and conversations from all those years ago started to replay in my head. 

“When we get a house, can we paint our front door bright blue?” 

“I want a lemon tree in the front yard.” 

“Windows. Huge windows. It’s a must.” 

All these things I’d promised her in our future home she’d gotten for herself. Good. 

Fontaine said “Sadness flies away on the wings of time”, but the pain I felt from the loss of her was as prominent as ever. 

Here goes nothing. 

---

Thank you for reading!

a/n2 :  this is completely unedited so if its sucks dick i am sorry :/ i just wanted to post it lol

A/n 3: the typos oh my fuck. I wanna Kick myself for letting this cute fic  be up in that state for so long. Anyway, fixed! :) 

[pascalpanic]

hi i love ur writing so much!! can i request something with mutual pining, denial of feelings, idiots-to-lovers, hurt/comfort/angst , maybe some jealousy and fluff and smut if you want i just need something really angsty with javier peña, frankie m or din djarin?? tysmm!!!!!

The Bantha (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Being an animal lover does not work well with the plans the Tuskens and Mos Pelgo citizens have to kill the krayt dragon. A retelling of S2E1 of the Mandalorian: The Marshal.

W/C: 4.4K

Warnings: talk of animals being harmed/dying, lots of arguing and angst, Vanth kind of is gross bc I hate his character aha, we respect the Tuskens in this house and use proper terminology for them, language, tiniest mentions of alcohol

A/N: Not gonna lie, the idea for this fic came to me pretty quickly but it took me a long time to properly figure it out. Lots of drafting and editing so THANK YOU to my beta readers, you’re all the best ever!! Anon, I’m so sorry this took so long but I hope it’s worth it!

Of all the dilemmas you’d expected to face as you traveled the galaxy with a tiny, Force-sensitive, 50-year-old toddler and a Mandalorian with the emotional capacity of the earlier-mentioned child, the last one you’d ever predicted you’d face had to be the challenge of ridding a tiny desert town of a giant sand beast that eats their banthas.

“You are so fucking dense,” you groan as you and Din settle on a speeder bike, the little green child tucked in a wrap on your chest. “You’re a Mandalorian, a battle-worn bounty hunter with a kill streak probably in the thousands, and some random man asks for your help and not only do you fucking freely give it, you decide to help them kill the sand dragon terrorizing their town.” You groan to him, rubbing your temples.

Din nods and starts up the speeder bike. “You don’t need to summarize what we just lived through,” he grunts and you wrap an arm around him.

“I do, because I need to clarify that your dumb ass would do that. Sometimes I really do think you don’t have a brain under that beskar bucket,” you shake your head, trying to keep the anger that you’re feeling. If you’re not careful, it’ll turn to adoration and love.

You’ve been battling your feelings for Din for a while now, trying to force the giddiness bubbling in your chest deep down inside. The man is everything you look for in a partner: strong, committed, tall, protective. He’s good with the child, adorably cuddly and loving. He’s even funny sometimes, making dry-humored remarks around the ship.

“Excuse me for caring,” the man grumbles through the modulator. He’s strong and warm beneath your arms, the Tatooine heat making the beskar warm like your bunk in the morning when you don’t want to get up. Stop it, stop it you remind yourself. This is not the time to be enraptured by the Mandalorian man’s body.

That’s yet another trait you love about him- how caring he is. He’s a bounty hunter, a warrior by oath who never shows his face and probably knows millions of ways to kill someone with his bare hands. Yet he cares. He raises the child well; he even raised him alone before you came into the picture. He puts himself in harm’s way for innocent people on the daily, all because he simply thinks it’s right.

You take a sip from your water canteen and hand it to the baby on your chest so he can drink too. “No, I will not excuse you for caring when you’re doing stupid shit, Din,” you scowl and cap the canteen as two three-fingered green hands give it back to you. “You came here- we came here, our family did, to find Mandalorians. There are none.”

“This man will give me his beskar if we help,” Din hisses, revving the engine of the speeder, non-verbally telling Vanth to get moving. The man is dawdling along, a few meters away, as he packs his bike up.

“What do you need it for, huh?” You ask him, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “I’m not a Mandalorian. This little shit doesn’t need beskar. You have a full set of armor already.”

“Beskar belongs to me, to my people, by my Creed,” he says, articulating himself with his hands too. It’s a habit he’s picked up from you. “You wouldn’t ask a Tatooinian to deprive themselves of the moisture they farm.”

You put your face in your hands and groan. “No, you’re right, because they fucking need water to live. You do not need beskar to survive, Din!” You shout, getting off the speeder bike. “And please, forget I called us a family. We’re clearly just a bounty hunter and his… assistant, whatever the fuck I am, and some little kid we picked up for the ride.” You stalk off towards the building.

“Where are you going?” He asks as you turn.

Cobb is standing to the side somewhere, and you approach him. “You got another speeder? I don’t want to put up with him for the ride.”

The man chuckles and claps your shoulder. “Sure thing, pretty thing.” He wanders off and returns about a minute later with another speeder. Din watches the two of you in annoyance, visible from his rigid body language. “Hop on. You know how to drive?” You nod once and he heads to his own speeder. “I’ll lead. You two follow.”

-

The ride is uneventful at first. Cobb Vanth tells the two of you the story of how he came to be the town marshal, and Din nods his silent comprehension when the man in beskar looks over at him. Most of the stories are aimed at you, desperate to crack your stony anger. It doesn’t work. You stare straight ahead, daring to break your frown into a neutral expression when the little green baby coos excitedly at the wind in his ears.

There are valleys and caverns to navigate through, nimbly ducking and weaving on your speeder bike. The kid loves it, squealing happily when you fly over a bump or turn a sharp corner. It’s a joyride to him.

When Din and Vanth suddenly stop your ride, you panic, holding the child close against your chest. From your holster, you grab your weapon and stand next to the two men. The growling noises are revealed to be massiffs, huge dog-like lizards. You squeal in delight, immediately dropping to your knees and summoning the beast in Tusken.

“What in the hell is she doin’?” Vanth mutters to Din as the big animal comes bounding toward you.

“She’s always like this with animals. Thinks they’re all big puppies,” Din rolls his eyes but can’t help himself: he smiles beneath his helmet as the beast licks your face and you scratch its sides.

You’re such a wonderful person, Din sighs, even though he’s mad at you. You’ve always been amazing with other species, like massiffs and the little green child strapped to your chest. You’re so intelligent too: speaking seemingly endless languages.

“They are big puppies!” You coo and press a kiss to the forehead of one massiff. Another finds Din, who also bends down to give it scratches and attention. “Green bean, look!” You tell the child and put out his hand for the massiff to lick. “See? They’re our friends,” you tell him, admiring the way the little green child giggles at the scaly skin.

From around a corner, a Tusken appears, then several. You stand and lower your weapon, speaking to them first in their native language. “We mean no harm. You have beautiful massiffs,” you tell them then turn to Din and Vanth. “Drop the weapons.”

“Are you crazy?” Vanth shouts.

“We are here to put an end to the krayt dragon,” you explain to them in their language. “Your assistance and knowledge would certainly help us. You want it gone too, yes?”

They affirm you that it’s a yes, and you nod back at the men. You know Din understands. “They’re willing to help if you’ll stop being a douchebag.” Vanth starts to talk but you hold up a hand and cut him off. “I know, I know. We can strike a deal. Are you willing?”

Din’s heart is nearly exploding. In any other timeline, he’d be the one conducting negotiations, using his threat as a Mandalorian to run the show. But here you are, with your gentle nature, making deals and completing them through cooperation and kindness. It’s hard to speak in a soft tone when speaking Tusken, yet you can do it. All with a baby strapped to your chest. Maker, Din thinks, he might be in love with you.

Vanth sighs a few moments later. “Why the hell not?”

-

Din talks with the Tuskens for a while at the camp, planning and negotiating as night falls and the air starts to get cold. To entertain the child, you spend time with the banthas, brushing their fur and letting the baby get exposed to the animals.

The kid loves them. He coos happily as he strokes their thick fur, giggling as one of them gives him a kiss and covers him in slime. You wash him off and return, quietly talking with the Tuskens caring for the creatures.

You’ve taken a liking to them. They’re gentle and soft, like big lumbering puppies, really. They moo when you brush their fur just right, let their eyes slip shut when you scratch them between the eyes. You’ve always had a soft spot for animals, like Din said earlier.

Cobb likes you. That much is clear from the way he finds you when he’s not working with Din and the Tuskens, bringing you food and water as you and the child mind your business. He’s overly flirtatious, to the point of annoyance. He’s rude and crude about the Tuskens, calling them words you’d never use to describe a human.

Politely excusing yourself, you allow the child to run with some of the other Tuskens’ children and spot a silver-plated man sitting by the fire.

“Vanth is such a goddamn xenophobe,” you grumble as you sit down next to the fire with Din, the child off playing with some Tusken children. He’d ranted about the Tuskens as you rode with them, luckily in Basic so that the people couldn’t understand him.

“Thought you liked him,” Din says and cocks his head. “He certainly likes you.”

You roll your eyes and sip the canteen of water, looking at the crackling fire. “Those things are not mutually exclusive,” you chuckle, looking over at him. “What, are you jealous, tin can?” You tease and knock on his beskar pauldron.

“In your dreams, cyar’ika,” he teases. It’s clear to him that whatever tension had been between the two of you earlier has dissipated, enough for him to steal the water flask from your hand and pass it to the child as he toddles past.

“I was drinking that, you fucking bantha,” you laugh and smack him on an unarmored part of his arm. The Tatooinian desert gets cold at night, you find, and you pull into yourself a little more from the cold.

Din unclips his cape and drapes it over your shoulders, tucking it in beneath where your arms press against your ribs so that it wraps tight to your body. “Hm. You do have a heart under there,” you tease and sigh, naturally leaning against Din and resting your head on his shoulder pauldron.

“So it’s been said,” he nods and even dares to rest his head on top of yours. Through the bare spots in his beskar, he can feel the way your body radiates warmth into the chilly night. You spot a little green head toddling past again, much slower than the other children thanks to his tiny legs, and Din scoops him up.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, the roar of the Tuskens’ conversations creating a soft hum around you. “For what I said, when I yelled at you. You’re right. You really are just caring for them.”

He nods. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m more sorry for saying we aren’t a family. I mean, we are, right? Not that we’re like, a couple or anything,” you say hurriedly, your voice low as you stumble over your words. “But you and this little womp rat…” you muse as you scratch the baby’s little green head. “You are my family. That much is clear to me.”

Din nods once more. “I agree.”

You smile up at him. “What’s going on under that bucket, huh?”

He turns, looking off. “Just going over the plans for how we’re going to get that krayt dragon.”

“Ooh, share,” you ask, taking one of his hands and lacing through his glove-covered fingers. “I didn’t mean it when we said all of this for some banthas, you know. I’ve really fallen in love with them lately.”

Din is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t answer. “Din?”

He knows you’re going to hate him for this. Your big heart, your animal-loving, sweet talking kindness is not going be okay with this, but he has to tell you the truth. “We’re going to have to sacrifice some of the banthas for this mission to work.”

“What?” You exclaim, dropping his hand. “You can’t possibly do that.”

“We have to. We need to lure the dragon.”

“Do it some other way!” You frown, looking over at the big soft desert cows. “Seriously, please, Din.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “They’re not sentient.”

“But they can feel!” You exclaim again, standing. “Fuck this. Why don’t you sacrifice yourself to the krayt dragon and see how that feels?” You shout, storming off. You’re aware it’s childish, but you stomp to your tent and lie down. You close your eyes and hope Din doesn’t come to find you.

-

Of course you didn’t mean it. Of course you didn’t want Din to sacrifice himself to the krayt dragon. So why is he doing it? Why are you on your knees, screaming to the sky that he did exactly what you said?

You’d been avoiding him since that night, since you showed vulnerability and subsequently returned to anger towards the man. You’d wanted to apologize, but you couldn’t get over the sacrificing of the animals for the cause. You just couldn’t.

Din had flown straight into the sand dragon’s mouth, just seconds ago, and is now deep inside its bowels, you’re sure. You clutch the baby to your chest and wail, agonized and terrified. Vanth stands at your side, a hand resting on your shoulder as you wheeze and sob.

But this is Din. He must have a plan.  He has to have a plan; he’s a battle-worn warrior and you’ve never seen him lose a fight. You’d stormed off before you could hear the rest of his plans the other night- maybe this was part of it. But the way Vanth stares at the dragon in terror makes you think that maybe it isn’t. Maybe Din just really fucked it up. You set the little green kid in his cradle and stand, sniffling and clinging to the metal sphere as if it’s your last lifeline to Din.

Suddenly, there’s a burst of green goo and out flies a shining silver rocket: it’s Din. “Oh thank the fucking Maker,” you shout as he lands not far from your small group, the wailing and dying sand beast behind him.

He’s covered in slime, but you’ve never been so happy to see the man. You rush to him and throw your arms around him, not giving a single fuck as you jump on him. “Please, never fucking do that again,” you wheeze into his cape, getting yourself covered in slime.

The hug is not comfortable. Din is all beskar where you want to feel his strong body, but it’s all worth it when he wraps his arms around you too. You’re crying, he knows it, and he knows just why. “I didn’t do it because you said it. You know that, right?”

You let go of him, sniffling and wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I was just so scared- oh Maker, Din, I can’t fucking lose you,” you admit, freely crying now. “I love you, I really do, and I can’t-“

“How?”

You look at him in confusion.

“How do you love me?”

This damn man. He’s full of surprises, just getting literally eaten alive by a krayt dragon, and now he’s asking you for a full emotional confession. You’re still reeling from the shock, but the fact that he’s there is enough. You don’t care that Cobb is definitely listening over your shoulder. “Every way. All of them. Romantic, friendship, family. You feel like my home and I want to be with you.” No better time than now, you suppose, to admit this all.

Din walks a step closer. “Romantic. Huh.”

“I hate that fucking helmet,” you admit, trying to deflect the emotion between the two of you. “I can never see your face. Can’t know what you’re thinking, your tone, your-“

Din cuts you off. “We ride back to the village and clean up. Meet me in the home as the suns set.”

What that means, you have no clue, but you nod. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” you murmur, putting a hand on the cut-out cheek of his helmet.

-

The town rejoices when you come back, shouting and celebrating over the dragon’s death and the plentiful meat that came with the creature. You’d joined in the reverie, taking a shot of spotchka and chanting along to a Tatooinian call-and-response they’d started. It was wonderful, really, and you and the little green thing were the stars. They admired the little green thing, cooing over him. You were proud to stand there as his mother.

The party died as the suns set. Din was notably absent from the hubbub, preferring to be alone as usual. You and the kid talked with the villagers, but as the suns started to sink, you excused yourself and found your way to the spare home you and Din each had rooms in.

Vanth and the women had taken the baby when you told them you were going to talk with Din. Not that it was hard: they all loved the little beast, showered him with affection. It was practically a competition over who got to play with him most.

The building has a warm glow as you wander over to it, wrapping your arms around yourself. The night has become cold now that the two harsh suns have sunk below the horizon, and it’s a relief to open the door to the home and feel the warmth radiating from a fireplace inside.

You find Din staring out of a window on the back, watching the endless wind sweep across the sand dunes, a dark sky contrasting the golden ground. Just his silhouette is visible, black against the deep blue. “Hi,” you say quietly as you walk in, the worn floorboards creaking beneath your feet no matter how deliberately you step. “Glad to see you got cleaned up.”

The man tilts his head in an obvious eye roll, even through the helmet. The slime was disgusting, although Din’s adoptive son had seemed to enjoy the gooey texture, as little ones are prone to. “I almost died and you’re already back to the sarcasm.”

“It’s called a coping mechanism,” you laugh gently and place a hand on his shoulder. There’s no beskar there, just soft fabric warmed by his body. It makes you shiver; even in the safety of the Crest, Din never takes off the armor. You wonder why it’s gone. Maybe to clean it?

Din’s quiet for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers splayed over his shoulder in such an affectionate gesture. “You know how much I trust you, don’t you?” He asks and the black visor turns toward you, admiring what’s visible of your face in the moonlight. Your eyes glimmer and he admires them, the color he’s always loved.

You nod and smile just a little, cheeks growing rounder with the movement. “Of course.” He’s trusted you with his son, the most important thing to him in the galaxy. There’s one clear gesture even now: the absence of the beskar from his form. Maker, he’s broad, shoulders just as wide as with the metal.

He nods and shuts the window’s shutters, allowing even less light in before turning to you. There’s just a soft glow in the room, outlining the shape of the helmet and his shoulders. You can’t see any detail, just the shape. He walks over towards the long comfortable seating in the middle of the room and you instinctively follow, standing in front of it and stopping when he stops, facing him. His hands find your shoulders and his fingertips brush down your arms until they find yours. “Take off my helmet.”

“What? No,” you exclaim, frowning even though he can’t see it.

“Can you see anything?” He asks, a hand gesturing, an even darker shadow through the already murky visibility.

“No.”

“My Creed says you cannot see my face. Not that I can’t remove the helmet.”

You gulp hard, your fingers lacing through his. They’re bare. You’ve never felt them before. Often you’ve wondered if they’re calloused and tough from his work, soft from being hidden beneath the soft leather for all those years, or somewhere in between. They do fall into that in between, but they’re warm and strong and large, even without the leather casing them.

“I can’t do that to you,” you shudder, squeezing his fingers. “It’s the very thing about you, that you can’t take it off,” you start to ramble. You want to, desperately, but there’s no turning back now. If you feel his face, if you’re even so lucky as to kiss him, you’ll never be able to get enough of it. You’ll be subjected to an eternity of longing, even more than you’re yearning now.

“I want you to,” he breathes, his beskar-covered forehead falling against yours. “Please, cyare.”

“Why don’t you hate me?” You ask, your voice straining. You need to keep stalling, need to keep pushing it off or you’re actually going to do it. “I’m so mean to you. All the time,” you point out to him. You do it to keep him away, but he’s persistent. He never seems to care. “All we do is argue.”

“I may not be able to use the Force like the kid,” he mumbles, bringing one hand up to cup your face. “But I can sense your feelings. You don’t hide them well.”

“Din,” you plead, biting your lip and closing your eyes to prevent the tears that are threatening to well in them. “You can’t do this.”

“I can, and I want to.”

“Why are you so fucking patient with me when I’m only ever a bitch to you?” You practically wail, half annoyed and half honored. “You’re such a good man, Din. You don’t deserve someone shitty like me. I’ve got no hunting skills, I’m too stubborn, I’m mean and-”

He stops you by lifting your hands, setting them on either side of his helmet. “You can’t see me, so it doesn’t break the Creed. I want you to do this, because I want you.” He’s eternally blunt, but in this moment you can’t tell if it’s breaking your heart or warming it. “I love you too. Please. Take it off.”

“This is your last fucking chance, Djarin,” you tell him with a wavering voice.

“Cyare.”

“Okay,” you nod and take a deep breath. Din unlatches the little bit at the bottom that keeps it sealed against his head, and there’s a soft rush of air. Your hands grip either side and you slowly lift it off. Din takes it once it’s gone and rests it on the plush seat.

Your hands are drawn to his face like you’re being pulled on a string, your skin prickling as you feel the stubble along his chin and jaw. Your fingers trace his face for a few moments, exploring the new terrain. His cheeks feel hot, and his lips make you shiver again with how soft they are. Swallowing hard, you dare to look at his silhouette, noticing his hair is mostly matted down from the helmet. “What color are your eyes, Din?”

“Brown.”

You smile at that, and you rest your head against his shoulder, your hands dropping to your sides. His arms encircle you and it feels perfect, like you were meant to be like this for all of eternity and it took you long enough. “Of course they are.”

He chuckles at that and presses a kiss into your head, his hands finding your waist. “I did take this off for a reason.”

You lift your head, looking at his just-visible shape. “Really? I don’t know what you mean,” you flirt.

He’s silent. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes, absolutely certain. “May I kiss you?”

The words are ever blunt, just like Din. “Yes, you bantha,” you tease, but the laughter is gone as his hands find your face again.

Just like that, his lips are on yours, radiating heat and love and it immediately tops the feeling of his arms around you. You gasp, not expecting him to do it so quickly, but your lips quickly meld to his and you sigh in content.

You stay like that for a while, hands traveling each other’s heads and necks and shoulders and sides as you kiss. He’s so warm and strong, his muscles just as sculpted as the indestructible metal that covers him. He’s so human.

After a bit, Din breaks away and presses his forehead to yours once more. He doesn’t speak, just rests there, his hands on your waist. His breath mingles with yours. For once, you’re speechless, unsure of what you can say back. The sarcasm has been stripped from your body like the beskar from Din’s.

“I better put the helmet back on,” he murmurs.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. You sit on the couch and he follows, desperate not to lose your touch. “Just… we’ll stay like this.”

He nods. He can’t say no when you kiss his neck feather-lightly, when your skin is pressed to his like this. He hasn’t had contact like this in years. He’ll prolong it as long as he can.

You do stay like that, relaxed and curled into each other. His arm wraps around you and you curl into a ball, nestled into his side. It’s been a long day for Din, you know, but the depth of it occurs to you as his breathing slows and his muscles relax.

He’s fallen asleep in your arms. You press a soft kiss to his neck and set a timer on the wrist-comm you’re wearing, so that you’ll both wake while it’s still dark in the room. For now, he deserves his rest. His face nuzzles into your hair, and he gives a soft sigh in his sleep. Yes, this is exactly what the beskar warrior needed: rest and you.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

[donutloverxo]

Baking w/ Steve

*gif is not mine*

Steve's goodies taste really sweet. Can you use it as a substitute for frosting though? Steve Rogers x donut!reader. Dividers by @chrissquares.

Warnings - 18+ only, smut(m/f), daddy kink, housewife kink, cum kink, Steve has sweet cum, weird fic.

Word count - 1k

7 days of ficmas

You swatted Steve’s hand away as he tried to steal a cookie from your cooling rack, giving him a pointed glare, “No. Have some patience” you reprimanded him before going back to working on your vanilla frosting--Steve's favorite.

“Just one?” he requested, “I’ll be your taste tester!”

You hummed, he was too cute for you to say no to, but the cookies need to cool before you put any icing on them and you wanted them to be perfect.

Steve had asked for a box of cookies baked by you as a Christmas present, and that made you feel fuzzy. Because the fact that he liked your baking so much, a hobby of yours, was a nice compliment.

Except there was a catch.

You were to wear nothing but your frilly 50s style pink apron he had gotten you as an early Christmas gift, and oven gloves, while baking them.

And that he gets to ‘help’. His version of help being staring at your bare ass, and your titts which peaked out of the apron when you moved, and occasionally groping at them.

You suspected it was because he just liked to feel like he was your ‘provider' and you his sweet little housewife. And since he did provide quite a lot for you, you decided to indulge him a bit.

You looked down at your frosting, dipping a finger in it to get a taste, you had used real vanilla beans so it tasted perfect.

Eerily familiar...

You looked at Steve who was too entranced by the YouTube video recipe you were following, for a second your filthy mind thought about using that as a frosting.

As nice as your vanilla one was, it didn’t have Steve’s essence. Nothing would ever taste as good as your daddy’s creamy goodies.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when he caught you looking at him.

“Um...” you almost contemplated asking him to give you his goodies to use as icing. The serum makes him come a lot, even gives it a sweet aftertaste that you love, he could definitely give you enough for one batch...

He pulled you closer to him, both his hands resting on your lower back, “What’s up, pup?”

“Well!” you huffed, trying your best to appear angry, “When you said you wanted me naked I thought you’d do something about it and about me! But you’re just standing there staring at me and eating my cookies. Am I not enticing enough?”

“Oh, honey. If I had my way I’d be eating you all day long,” he smiled, pecking the top of your forehead, before pushing you against the marble counter, rutting his erection into your ass, making you stand on your tippy toes to match his taller height.

“But unlike you, I have patience. I was going to show you a good time after you were done. But I guess you can have your playtime now,” he said as his nimble fingers played with your drenched folds, pressing two fingers deep into you till they hit that spongy spot inside you that made you squirm.

You whined, wiggling your hips to get more of his fingers, they were nothing compared to his monster cock and you needed more, “Daddy!” you whined when he didn’t move at all.

He gave your plump behind a harsh slap, “Now, puppy, stop being so bratty, it’s not very ladylike. You need to be more obedient,” he teased, though he’d never want you to be truly obedient and take your spark away, that’d just make life dull, “and accept what’s given to you with a thank you and a smile.”

“Yes, daddy,” you nodded eagerly, ready to do anything if it meant you get fucked the way you wanted. You sighed as you felt him enter you, it was always quite a task to take all of him, even though you weren’t a virgin anymore.

“That’s a good girl,” he held onto your hips, since you had a habit of squirming a bit too much for his liking.

“My perfect little doll,” he said, fucking into your tight cunt, biting the shell of your ear and holding onto your soft breast, still careful as to not knock over any cookies you worked so hard on.

“It’s so big!” you cried out, almost too big to take, but it hurts you in a way that made you see stars. “I’m gonna come, daddy,” you sniffed as tears streamed down your face, clenching around his length as your climax washed over you.

“Your pussy was just made for me,” he growled, his thrusts getting sloppy, his balls tightening, your orgasm triggering his own as he got ready to fill you up and leave you full of his cum to work on the rest of his cookies.

“No, no, wait!” you panted, digging your nails into his hips to stop him, “I--I want it in my mouth,” you said as you felt your cheeks heat up.

Steve chuckled, his hot breath tickling the back of your neck, “Say the magic word, pup.”

“Please, daddy?” you looked over your shoulder, giving him your best puppy eyes.

“Alright, pup,” he relented, pulling his hard cock out of you, you knew he’d much rather prefer coming in your pussy. “On your knees,” he commanded.

You hastily knelt before him, opening your mouth and reaching for his cock but he swatted your hand away.

“Hands behind your back,” he told you.

You pouted but followed anyway, waiting patiently as he entered your mouth, slowly fucking into you as you hummed around him, your mind hazy, surrounded by the scent and the taste of him, with his heavy weight on your tongue as you tried to relax your throat best you could to take more of him.

He pulled out of you till only his tip was on your tongue, stroking his length as he released in your mouth. You made sure to slurp as much of it up as you could, savoring the subtly sugary taste, it was the best kind of dessert.

You licked your lips and the corners of your mouth to make sure you got all of it as he pulled out of you, before looking up at him, fluttering your lashes innocently, “Thank you, daddy,” you said with a hazy smile.

[amelee23]

Fool | J. YH

Genre: Fluff

Tags: Best friends to lovers, Suggestive themes and sexual jokes, Wooyoung is an accidental wingman, Nerdy gamers having at it, A lot of Need for Speed references

No. Words: 3.5k

⭐⭐⭐

She always loved when they got completely absorbed in their little bubble - engrossed in what was making them tick in the most passionate of ways. Since Yunho came to pick her up and take her to the dorm, she didn’t even realize when they got there - or even that the house was empty -  because they were too caught in a conversation about the new-coming video games of 2021. The small task of taking off shoes or their jackets, the walk to Yunho’s room and the struggle to get comfortable in the gaming chair; these were not memories in her mind. All she could remember was the way he smiled without stop and the sparkle in his eyes as excitement took over his entire being.

Only after Yunho told her he’s been playing old games lately - specifically racing classics, of the Need For Speed series - had she realized the house was too quiet. Yunho then informed her they all left to eat at a restaurant with the manager team, but he asked to be left behind so he could spend time with his best friend. She couldn’t help the warm smile raising her lips at the sweet sacrifice this man made for her.

A few minutes later and she felt the usual competitive side of her kick in, seeing Yunho with a controller in hand, playing Need for Speed: Underground 2, a game she remembered dearly from her childhood. She couldn’t help but feel she could do so much better than him - and that’s how the challenge came to be.

“Yeah, you want to bet?” Yunho suggested, his cheeks raised in a cheeky smile, but his lips expressed something a lot more smug. 

“2 out of 3: sprint, Street X and drift.” The boy laughed at his best friend’s confidence, finding her determination very charming, like always.

“Deal.” He announced, raising his hand so she could high five the deal to completion. It never failed to amaze him, how gentle her high fives felt to him, even though she’s the only woman he’s ever seen break a controller before. “What are we betting on, money?”

“Money is boring.” Taken aback, Yunho had a healthy laugh at her statement. He couldn’t wait to say this sentence again, out of context, and turn it into both teasing material and an inside joke.

“Okay, then what do you suggest?” He asked, still cackling with a half lidded eye smile.

“Let’s do something more… daring.” Trying to act surprised, Yunho opened his eyes in curiosity and hummed. They both got to thinking for about a minute, then she snapped her fingers exaggeratedly to show she had an idea. “Let’s randomly ask Wooyong to give the loser a punishment!”

“Like, with no context?”

“Exactly! After one of us loses, we ask Wooyong to give out a spicy punishment-! No one would be better than him at coming up with something totally ridiculous that one of us will regret for a lifetime!”

“I mean, you’re not wrong. But I’m starting to think you’re a masochist.”

“It’s a 50/50 gamble, so who knows?” She rebutted, wiggling her eyebrows at Yunho suggestively. He could feel his ears heating up so he pretended to need to face his computer for a while. “So, what do you say?” She questioned him, moving closer to where he was, probably intentionally, because she knew how to tell when he was turning shy. 

“I say you’re both crazy and a genius … a crazy genius. But I’m all on board.”

“Yas, leggo baby!” Yunho shook his head as he took in the image of his best friend leaning back into her chair, controller in hands, legs somewhere in between the right armrest and the air. Her enthusiasm dripped from the way she was grooving to the OST of the game. Warmth and an electricity-like feeling began filling his chest.

It took them perhaps a little too long to decide on the first track to play. Eventually, after long minutes of bickering, they chose a winding long race and swore to not try to mess the other up.

Yunho was the first one to drive, his engine roaring as he continued to hold his acceleration button. He had some lucky escapes from running into traffic - and easily overcame his competition. Now in front, he was taking short cut turns, but to her, they looked too time consuming. Yunho was trying to drive as properly as possible, and it was affecting his time; she couldn’t help but puff up as she realized it would be an easy win against him. With a record of 2:27:34, Yunho rolled his chair away from the screen and let his best friend take over.

Hands grasping the controller, she took a deep breath to overly-dramatize the situation even further.

“Eat my dust.” She mumbled, and Yunho gave her a curious side eye.

Swiftly she overtook all the NPCs, climbing up to first place. She wasn’t even worried about them to begin with. As the turns approached, Yunho realized she wasn’t showing signs of taking her fingers away from the acceleration button - not until the last second, at least. Her turns were either taken with the help of crashing into a wall or into a stylish, speedy drift. Yunho was baffled, thinking that crashing on purpose to finish faster should be considered as cheating. But he accepted his defeat as her time was 2:14:58, over ten seconds less than him.

Cracking her knuckles, she wore a smug smile as she let Yunho choose the next race for them to play. It was 1 to 0 currently, so he decided he should spice things out now - by choosing a ‘random’ Street X race. He probably forgot to mention to her that Street X were his forte in this game.

Yunho put his focus face on from the moment the cars showed up on screen. For most, this Street X race was difficult to even beat on first place - but he knew what he was doing. 

“I hope you had your fun.” He threatened, hands moving effortlessly on the controller to take him through the sharp, abrupt turns which were in Street X - a race type specifically made about taking those turns right, not about speed. Raw talent was dripping off of his fingers, but she didn’t want to feel discouraged just yet. Perhaps her method of using walls to take turns could work here, too-

Now that it was her turn, she realized it wasn’t the case - in here hitting walls was the worst thing you could do. Eyes dashing in between her car and the timer non-stop, she realized she was losing a lot of time correcting her direction if she didn’t brake properly before a turn. By the last lap, she already lost hope, as she reached Yunho’s record and wasn’t done with the race yet. 

“Tight game.” She stated, trying to ease the thick competitive air in the room. Yunho just smiled, a sparkle of something naughty in his eyes.

“Would you like to do the honours?” He asked, referring to choosing the drift track, the last race of their competition. He looked so sure of himself, to even offer that she chooses the track; she couldn’t help but feel even more frustrated by that cockyness. 

“Yeah.” She answered, not even looking him in the eyes. She knew what track she wanted - the one on the actual streets of the city, which had two off road areas - those were bomb in doing drifts over 50.000 points. 

Yunho was surprised she chose such a difficult track, but didn’t really complain. He had recently unlocked this track since he was nearing the end of the game, and so he knew the trick of the off road areas too, especially because he failed them enough times. He collected small drifts here and there on the way to the first special area, then he made sure to catch enough speed to send the back of his car in a beautiful curve, following the form of the turn. He didn’t need to, but he took the risk of connecting that turn to the next one that followed and gathered around 74.000 points in that area only. She was biting her lip, wondering if she still had the nimbleness to beat that.

The next special area gained him about 37.000, and with all the other points collected from smaller drifts, he was able to gain over 130 thousand. 

She was already pinching the bridge of her nose, knowing that she would probably lose. It’s been a while since she played this game, and the special drift areas were always a gamble. Yunho couldn’t help but laugh at the tension in her back, giving her a friendly pat to brighten up.

“You got this!” He cheered, because even if he wanted to win, he didn’t like seeing her so discouraged. He often times also got mad when he realized he was being too competitive and not giving anyone a chance to win against him.

She started out just like Yunho, gaining some small scores on the way to the main attraction of the race. As she saw the goal in her eyes, suddenly she struggled to regain control of her car in the midst of the big drift. She was headed straight for the edge, meaning her score would be neutralized if she hit it - so she was forced to stop her car. The special area unfortunately only brought her 55 thousand, a weak number compared to Yunho. She brushed it off and continued on her way, towards the second special area. She had a better feeling about this one, as her car was being much more responsive, and even if the space was smaller, she gained another 50 thousand there too. 

But unfortunately, as she hit the finish line, she realized - they both scored in the range of 130 thousand - but hers was exactly that number. Yunho was closer to 140.

With a little dance celebration, Yunho announced he was the winner of the tournament. Seeing him act so goofy, she couldn’t even bring herself to sulk. It’s not like it was unusual for Yunho to win their dumb little competitions, but it would’ve been nice to win one anyway.

“I acknowledge your driving skills, Mr. Jung.” She said with a smirk, offering him a hand to shake. 

“You weren’t so bad yourself, well… except the part of taking turns with your face.” Now that the tension was lifted, they were back to being all smiley and supportive of each other.

“What can I say? I like using my head.” Yunho chuckled, grabbing the controller to quit out of the game so he could find some movie to watch while they eat. Remembering that he needed to order some food, he pulled out his phone - and read Wooyoung’s name.

“So… do I need to ask Wooyoung to give you a ‘daring’ punishment?” He used air quotes to express the idea of something naughty. For a while he forgot that this was the penalty of losing, the thought completely slipping his mind as he focused too much on doing well in the game.

“I guess.” She shrugged her shoulders, secretly hoping that he had forgotten and she could’ve avoided doing something so embarrassing. 

Hesitant, Yunho opened the messenger app and tapped on Wooyoung’s name. He didn’t know if he was excited about what was about to come.

[Yunho]: Hey Wooyoung, can you come up with a ‘daring’ punishment a girl could do for a guy for losing a game?

[Sent 18:46]

A thick silence enveloped the two as Yunho stared at the screen, waiting for Wooyoung to see his message. They were both hoping the resident jokester of the group would go easy on them this time.

[Seen 18:51] 

Five minutes later, Wooyoung saw the message and Yunho watched the three dots dance for a very short amount of time. And, as it turned out, Wooyoung didn’t ask any questions - he gave a straightforward answer.

[Wooyoung]: Oral

His answer had Yunho opening his eyes in pure shock. He glanced at his best friend, who was looking at him expectantly, and then back at the screen. 

“Uhm…” He couldn’t even bring himself to mutter such a word to her. Before he knew it, he let his phone down and stared into the distance like a deer in the headlights. 

Yes, asking Wooyoung was a bad idea. 

“Uhm? Did he answer?” She pressed on, and Yunho couldn’t do much more than nod. 

“Look for yourself.” He showed her his phone, and she felt as if she just got hit with a soccer ball in the stomach. Blinking at Yunho in disbelief, she let out a confused puff of air.

“I mean, I expected something like a sexy dance…. But not this. Wooyoung really is another level.” She complained, suddenly looking as lost as Yunho. They both looked like ghosts, the colors drained from their faces. 

In truth, both of their heads were racing at that moment - imagining what could happen if they went through with it. Yunho’s face heated up and his body grew heavy, and she was biting her lip. But a common thought was keeping them both grounded; that they were just friends, and nothing more.

Moments later, Yunho was able to collect himself and focus his vision again. She was in distress, even in a haze. He pulled out his phone again, texting Wooyoung to rectify the situation.

[Yunho]: How about something a little bit… more decent. This is my best friend we’re talking about.

Wooyoung read the message instantly after, his fingers fast on the keyboard.

[Wooyoung]: Oh my God it’s her! Why didn’t you tell me! I thought you were finally scoring a lady with those video games of yours!

[Yunho]: I told you guys I was spending time with her today

[Wooyoung]: You did? OOPS

[Yunho]: Yeah, oops. You almost gave me a heart attack

[Wooyoung]: *boner

[Yunho]: DUDE

[Wooyoung]: Okay okay I’m sorry, but you’re the one who asked me outta the blue

[Wooyoung]: Something a little more tame… HMMM

[Wooyoung]: You’re a tall dude, right? How about you have her wear one of your shirts for the rest of the day… but like only your shirt. I bet she’d look cute ;)

[Yunho]: That doesn’t sound that bad, thanks

[Wooyoung]: I can’t wait to get home :P

She dragged her voice suddenly, bringing Yunho back to reality. He didn’t realize how focused he was in his conversation with Wooyoung.

“Uhm, so, yeah! Wooyoung gave you a more tame challenge. He said you should wear one of my shirts for the rest of the day… like, as a dress type thing.” Yunho tried to explain, but he was still nervous from the previous shock and tripping over his own words.

“So wear a boyfriend shirt.” Yunho felt his being vibrate once again at the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’.

“I… guess so.”

“I can do that! That sounds more like a prize than anything, to be honest. You know I have a fixation for your clothes.” She said with a laugh. She seemed to be back to her cheerful self, already walking her way to Yunho’s closet. “Can I choose any shirt?”

“Sure, go ahead.” Still no intonation in his words, Yunho’s mind was not present in the conversation at all. It wasn’t long before he zoned out again.

He couldn’t possibly be attracted to his best friend in such a way. They had a strong spiritual bond, for sure, but it was never anything physical for them. They appreciated each other for who they are, so he never asked himself questions like these before.

Or at least that’s what he wanted to believe. He heard the door handle move and then saw her come back in, legs bare and sexy, her small frame basically swimming in his large shirt. She sat down on her chair and melted back into it without a care in the world. She looked comfortable, even.

“So, are we ordering that food?” She asked, but in Yunho’s daze, he missed the smirk playing on her lips. If only he knew how much she was enjoying this.

Forcing her to stay put, Yunho was the one to receive the food at the front door. He sighed in relief when he managed to put a blanket over her, as they nestled up in bed to watch a movie and enjoy their food. Out of sight, out of mind, they say.

His torture began again as soon as they got back into gaming -  this time choosing to do their usual foolery - playing Minecraft together, one being in charge of the mouse and the other in charge of the keyboard. No wonder they never made any real progress on their world, since they could never be in sync with each other to actually defend themselves from zombies. ‘

Time flew by as they laughed and played, but the rustle of keys at the front door still managed to startle Yunho out of his mind. Panicked, he got up to throw her pants back at her, words leaving his mouth a little too fast.

“How about you put those back on now.” Cocking an eyebrow at him, she hung them on the chair, clearly refusing to do so.

“Why would I? The punishment says for the rest of the day - or as long as I’m here.”

“Yes, but-” Yunho pursed his lips to the side. He didn’t know how to word his thoughts. To add more pressure, the door to his room swung open and San came inside to throw his phone on the bed. He glanced at Yunho’s best friend briefly and they exchanged hellos before he went back to the living room, where the boys were being loud over something.

Yunho breathed out in relief that San was nice enough not to stare. Something about other men seeing her like this irked him, even more so that she was wearing his shirt. 

“But?” She urged him to continue speaking, getting off of the chair to stand in front of him. Being the tall guy Yunho was, it wasn’t often that she had the opportunity to stare him down like that. Yunho gulped as he felt his throat dry up, taking in the image of his friend - no, an attractive woman - looking at him with such a suggestive expression.

“I don’t want anyone else to see you like this…” He mumbled, the beauty before his eyes already making him breathless.

“Why not?” She teased.

“Because…” There wasn’t any logical answer in his mind, or even a concrete idea. “I think we need to reevaluate our relationship.” Letting out a healthy laugh, she wasted no time to climb in his lap. Yunho was happy, perhaps the most relieved he’d been the entire day. He didn’t know there was such a sexual tension in between them until it finally dissipated. 

“Finally!” She exclaimed.

“You think so too?” She hummed in response, eyes locking with his lips as she did. 

The kiss itself felt good - like two magnets clicking into place. What felt even better though, was being able to accept all the feelings he’s been burying deep inside himself. He was wrong in thinking something more wasn’t possible between them.

A loud knock echoed from the door, and Wooyoung’s voice could be heard screaming from the other side.

“You two decent?” 

“No!” Yunho yelled back. They certainly weren’t a sight he’d want his bandmates to see - his shirt was hiking up on her thighs, their arms tangled around each other’s bodies. 

“What do you mean ‘no’??!” This time it was HongJoong’s voice, and Yunho knew he messed up. Almost effortlessly, he got up with her still around his hips and grabbed her pants on the way to the bathroom. 

“Okay, but seriously get dressed now.” Yunho said, and only got a wink from her in response. He rolled his eyes and went back into the room to let her change. 

He really was a fool to think this wouldn’t work out - he already loved every second of it.

[moonctzeny]

pairing: sub! xiaojun x dom! femreader

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 2.4k

warnings: femdom, power play, y/n calls him puppy twice, mirror sex, oral, handjob, cum eating, consensual degradation

a/n: this is so nasty omg I am highkey embarrassed for posting this 😳 also it’s my first femdom fic so please be kind 🥺❤️

“I don’t know, babe. I mean, aren’t I supposed to be the dominant one in the relationship? Aren’t I supposed to lead you?”

Xiaojun loved it when you were like that. Arms and legs intertwined into a bundle of your bodies, his head on your chest and your fingers in his hair. Covered by a thick blanket, you chose to stay in one of his t-shirts and your panties to overcompensate for the warmth. The thump of your heartbeat comforted him, the steady sound soothing him from being his typical nervous, jumpy self. And when faced with your question “Would you ever let me dom you?”, he was calm enough to hide his sudden arousal. Or so he thought.

You rolled your eyes at his answer, expecting him to be sceptical but not ready to give it up yet.

“What? Are we in the 50’s or something? We can play around during sex, you know. It doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

You could almost see the gears turning in his head, his thalamus making up images of you bossing him around, using his body for your pleasure. It makes him grow even harder in his shorts, the twitching obvious and pressing against your thigh.

“I mean, haven’t you ever thought that maybe you’re missing out on this great pleasure? Don’t you want to know what it feels like to really let go?”

He gulps at your words, his jaw twitching in search for the right words to say, yet he finds none. His whole body is vibrating with the weight of your suggestion, of the dirty thoughts you’ve so skillfully slipped into his head. And you can’t take him off your mind either. A picture of him with puffy lips and pretty eyebrows furrowed cutely. What a sight.

You weave your fingers deeper into his locks, tugging on them swiftly so that he has his full attention to you only. He is breathless and panting already, yet you haven’t even touched him. This sort of fragility isn’t good for you, you think. It awakens something in you that is as caring as it can be dangerous.

“I can make you feel so good”

You seal your promise with a kiss, his back arching to desperately reach your lips. Your tongue soon makes its way into his mouth, tasting the desperation of his kisses. This sweetness was what made this make out session so different and so, so much sexier. The anticipation, the hastiness, the hunger for something new.

He looks drunk when you pull away, and you push him off of you and on his back. You place yourself into your rightful throne, right over his lap, and you are ready to begin your reign.

“I- I j-just”, you hear Xiaojun stutter from under you, and you melt at the sound of your boyfriend’s small voice, “I really don’t know what to do”

You pet the front of his hair and you coo as he leans into the touch. The sight of him slowly falling into submission is just beautiful.

“Relax, baby”, you comfort him in a tone almost sickly sweet, “leave it to me, okay? I will lead you”.

He nods, whimpering, and you can feel him squirm from under you, restraining himself from rubbing up against you. What would you say if you noticed the-

“Tell me baby, there is something that’s been pressing against my thigh since we started.”

Xiaojun’s eyes widen in shock, a wash of red landing in clouds over the skin of his face. He thought he was good at concealing it, the mere thought of you knowing just how much this all aroused him making him hide deeper beneath his blanket. “S-sorry it’s my mpmph”

You suck your teeth at his response, reaching behind your lap for the hard member. You find it easily, from the way it’s poking your right ass-cheek to the way it’s peeking out from the leg of his shorts. The tip is wet with precum already, and you smirk at the obviousness of his arousal.

“What is it baby? I didn’t hear you. You shouldn’t mumble around me.”

You squeeze his cheeks with your other hand then, prodding the skin with your fingers until his mouth opens up for you. Slipping two fingers inside, you let the heat of his mouth engulf your digits, and it doesn’t take long for the sucking to begin. He is so good at this, so talented with his mouth but you can’t praise him yet. Not until he learns to speak clearly.

Xiaojun tastes himself along with the saltiness of your fingers. He also tastes the dirty bluntness of the words on the tip of his tongue.

“It’s my… boner”

Your fingers are nice and wet now, wet enough so that your hands can slide effortlessly around his swollen tip. It twitches underneath your touch as you trace his slit with the pad of your index.

“I think it needs something from me”

He nods with closed eyes and sealed lips, eyes dark and glossy when he reopens them. Xiaojun knew what he wanted, and he knew what he had to do to get it.

“Please, please, please”, he whines, voice breaking at the end of every repetition of the sinful word, “will you let me inside you?”

You grab the band of your panties with your thumbs, rolling them down your legs as he’s waiting anxiously for your reply. Lowering your hips in the slightest way you let his head graze against your velvet heat, and Xiaojun’s eyes roll in the back of his head at the feeling.

“Do you think you deserve this?”

You push yourself against him just an inch, allowing his tip to submerge in your pussy. Your panties managed to soak up part of your wetness but he still slides inside you with ease, one exhale away from giving him what he wants so badly.

“Yes, yes, please. I will be such a good boy, I promise”

Smiling at his eagerness, you take in the sight of your boyfriend shaking from under you with just barely a touch. You allow gravity to finally pull you fully down his lap, the feeling of his cock stretching you out making you both moan equally as loudly. He’s expecting you to move your hips, his dick twitching inside you and when you don’t, all he can do is whine.

You see a hand tentatively dipping inside your shirt, fingers gliding from your navel to gently flick your left nipple. It felt really good. Too good.

“Did I tell you to touch me?”

His fingers leave your breast in an instant, as if electricity had hit him, shyly retracting it with a blush on his face.

“N-no. I’m sorry”

You roll your eyes in fake annoyance and take your shirt off to tempt him further. You can see the internal conflict he’s going through, thinking if it’s worth defying you if it means playing with your naked chest. He decides not to and just takes a deep breath to calm himself, hands determinedly pinned on the bed next to your knees.

“Move, pup”

Xiaojun looks confused at your demand, staying still for a second before his needs take the best of him. You hover a little over his lap, his dick still inside you, and he starts humping upwards to engulf himself with your heat.

He looks absolutely adorable humping you like this, the desperation on his face waking up a part of you that wants to please him as much as it wants to make him cry. His thrusts were short at first, working out the mechanics of having to do all the work himself but soon his hips got the hang of it, hitting you deep and filling you completely.

You feel sorry for him a little and decide to lay your body on top of him, and Xiaojun’s immediately satisfied with the shift in positions. Two locks of hair cover his eyes and you carefully pet them away, admiring how handsome your boyfriend is. Your love for him overwhelms you and you dip down to kiss him, your lips moving painfully slowly against his eager ones.

“I’ll do you a favor. You can touch me now”

Xiaojun’s hands hover next to your sides for a good second, his brain unable to handle the sudden freedom he was given. He finally decides to grip the softness of your ass, nimble fingers massaging the skin greedily. You can tell he’s getting close.

“I’m gonna cum”

“Pull out”

He knows you’re on birth control. You’d let him cum in you hundreds of times before, today’s morning sex included. This is just another manifestation of your power play. And it turned him on even more.

“I can’t, it feels too good, let me cum inside you please, please”

You didn’t have time to respond. You could already feel his hips halt with a stagger, his hot come painting your walls, and the feeling’s too good not to moan along with your baby boy. Big brown eyes meet you after he’s done panting, his teeth chewing his bottom lip in abashment.

“I’m sorry”

“You think batting your eyelashes at me is going to get you out of trouble so easy like that? Get up.” You let his softening member slip out of you and he hisses at the sensation, his trembling knees barely holding him up on his feet. A small stream of his slick starts to drip out of you and down your thigh, yet you hold on against the uncomfortable feeling as best as you can. “Now get on your knees. Show me something worthwhile to forgive you by”

Your voice is stern, dominant. It compels him to shuffle on his knees in front of you with no second thought, eyes looking up at you just like you’d imagined at the start of your scene. Xiaojun’s not one to rebel twice and Xiaojun is a pleaser. Xiaojun is a good boy, and he’s gonna prove it to you any way he can.

The first lick of his tongue over your clit has the hairs on your arms stand on edge. You were already stimulated from your previous position, his little sucks on your swollen bud bringing you closer and closer to insanity.

“This is so dirty”, he mumbles against your clit, lips working hard just like you expected from him.

“It’s just a little bit of cum baby boy. If you had listened to me and pulled out you wouldn’t have to lap it up like a little puppy now”

He moans at the derogatory words and you play with his hair again, knowing the act of intimacy relaxed him. A suspicious weight on your feet makes you look at the floor curiously, only to find your boyfriend humping the curve of your ankles.

“As always, Junnie, you’re such a pervert. Hard again?”

“I can’t help myself. This is so hot”

The sight of his face half-covered up with a mixture of your slicks, the skillful circles of his tongue against your sensitivity, the feeling of his hardness rubbing against you. It all proved too much and your knees were soon buckling, with Xiaojun wrapping his hands around your thighs to support you.

He keeps on licking you even after the wash of white over your vision, determined to take everything you have to offer. Your legs are weak and thighs are shaking and you collapse on the floor in front of him, kissing him sweetly as a ‘thank you’, over and over again.

“We don’t have to continue. You deserve to rest”

You shake your head negatively, determination firing up inside you again.

“No, I said I will make you feel good”

You take his hand in yours, briefly kissing the back of his palm, and you lead him to the corner of his room.

There, propped up against the wall stood a full body mirror, fingerprints staining it lightly and reflecting your fleshy nakedness. You pat the space right between your legs, motioning him to sit in front of you, and soon his back is resting against your chest.

Xiaojun is shy to see himself so exposed, it’s easy to tell, his eyes avoiding to meet yours through the reflection. His feet are planted on the wooden floor, legs spread and red cock staring back at him. You wrap your fingers around his shaft after trailing his angry veins with your fingers, then start to fluidly move the ring you’ve formed with your palm.

He has more than enough precum to work with and you move around his length effortlessly, each pump making him moan even louder. He’s overstimulated, his last orgasm too recent for him to be recovered and you let him rest his head back and onto your shoulder.

You plant a kiss on the side of his exposed neck, one that turns into you sucking and biting on the flesh. The sight of him squirming in your arms, cock leaking and chest heaving is divine, and it motivates you to leave a purple mark on the skin under your lips.

“You’ve been trembling for so long now baby. Is it my hands? Or the way I kiss your neck?”

“Everything I-I’m s-so close. Please don’t stop”

You start jerking him off faster, admiring the marks your teeth left behind.

“Will you be a good boy and cum for me? Paint something pretty for me on the mirror?”

His abs flex at your words, cock bulging impossibly in your grasp and the first drops escape him, landing with impressive speed over the glass. You’re absolutely entranced by the blissed out look on his face, watching carefully as the ropes of cum drip down over the mirror, blurring the sight of you two.

“I love you”, you whisper as you continue to kiss his neck, gently and carefully this time. Your arms still safely keep him tugged in your embrace and he isn’t ready to leave you yet either, drunk in the aftermath of pleasure and the overwhelming feeling of your love.

“Forget everything I said”, he chuckles lightly, the vibrations making your chest tingle, “we’re definitely doing this again”

[thefanbasewhore]

“Are you drunk?”

Summary: [Number 50 from the prompt list: “Are you drunk?” “Not nearly enough.”] Contains season 2 spoilers. Din is having a hard time letting go of Grogu but reader is always there to help him. Din realizes just how much he needs a hug.

Warning/Content: Alcohol consumption, fluff, angst, drunk Din. Din is uncharacteristic and soft in this. Unestablished relationship but there are feelings there.

It’s been days since the child had been returned to the Jedi and Din has been gone for close to the same amount of time. While he vowed he’d be back, that he would never be able to part with you as well.. it was doubtful, every minute felt like an hour, with no communication it’s amazing you lasted this long already. It’s hard to blame the man for wanting to be alone, the first person he’s cared about in years is gone, and it weighs heavy but then again before you and Grogu all he knew was the lingering silence that came with it, so being alone wasn’t that bad.

Just the way he walked that day was different, feet move heavily not steady and silent, the helmet never goes back on, he feels restricted enough, Boba’s ship was filled with a silence that made everyone tense, no one dared speak. 

It hurts though, the Mandalorian has always been at your finger tips, so close but so far. It’s back and forth, while he would love nothing more then to admit he can’t live without you. Grogu has always been the first priority, there was never time to fully act on such feelings. There were shaky moments of meaningful touches, almost kisses but something seemed to always get in the way and now it seemed like your biggest regret. Fearing the worst that something had happened, you’d never feel those lips against your own or worse..

Your eyes never seem to leave the beskar staff as it still leans against the unused chair of the kitchen table… He wouldn’t leave it right? Like forever and leave you here without a word? 

His blaster which was thrown almost as simultaneously as he walked through the door mumbling he would be back still in the same spot. That was almost three days ago and now you felt your lip quiver, seriously doubting his return. But then again the Mandalorian has no promise to you, while he had admitted the harboring admiration he holds, it was never talked about, it’s too touchy, there’s always more important things to do. The Mandalorian didn’t do feelings, actually avoided them at all costs. 

The planet Boba had brought you to per Din’s request is peaceful, it’s beautiful and filled with deep forest and clear waters but it’s loud, parties parade the streets every night, drinking, laughing, bright lights that make it almost impossible to sleep as they move to the beat of the music. It’s the total opposite of what Din is, he’s quiet, calculating, hates big crowds but maybe it’s the change he was looking for, somewhere in all this chaos would hold the answers to all his questions. Somehow he felt safe enough here to keep you in the Inn by yourself for days, leaving more than enough credits for food and pretty much anything your heart would desire.

During the first day of his disappearance you decided to go shopping, there’s a small marketplace during the day when the town is peaceful, so lovely it’s almost impossible to believe that it turns into one giant rave at night. The beautiful satin dresses that lined with varies of shapes and lines, and bright strange colors that match the planet so well.

You’re wearing one now, it’s a little uncharacteristic of you. Not typically a fan of them mostly because they’re not very practical when it comes from hiding a baby from the empire especially with all the running and blaster fights but this one fits well. It’s dips into your chest, the tops of breast swells pressed against the tight fabric, thin straps across your collar bones reveal the smooth, sun-kissed skin (the beautiful land irritates your skin just a little but it’s a good sting), it shapes your curves in all the right ways, the dress ends mid thigh but the right leg has a small slit that just goes a little more further giving the illusion of beautiful, endless legs. Truthfully, you probably were never going to wear it but found yourself running out of clothes, everything you ever owned was destroyed along with the crest. 

The ending of the dress is nice though, just enough fabric for your fingers to reach and fiddle nervously while you try and read the pages of the book in front of you but you just can’t seem to concentrate, looking from words to the door with hopes today will be the day he finally makes his return. The chair is uncomfortable, unforgiving as it digs into the center of your back but it gives the perfect sight of the door, you can’t find it in your heart to move.. just in case. 

It seems as if the Maker himself has heard you as the clicking of the door lock makes you stiffen, fingers tightening around the binding of the book as you hear pounds inside your ears. The Mandalorian stumbles through the door way, movements slow and shaky as his fingers yank the helmet from his head to release his untamed, greasy hair, eye blotched with dark circles clearly exhausted but it’s the lost look as he looks at the floor confused as he really, really concentrates on walking straight, one foot in front of the other flat hands reach out to steady himself but still manages to still trip but then there’s a giggle, a small, joyful sound that makes your jaw almost drop. Never in all the months spend in the closed, tight quarters have you heard that sound.

“Are you drunk?” The words leave your lips immediately, shock written all over your features. While you never heard a giggle, there were moments close to it but never, ever did you think the Mandalorian would drink… It’s normal for anyone else but him. The small divests that form at the end of his smile, sinking in his cheeks makes it hard to breath, so handsome and he doesn’t even know it.

“Not nearly enough.” The dimpled smile points towards the floor trying to concentrate on his next step as you can’t help but think how he managed to come back to you like this. He’s distracted, hasn’t even had a few extra moments to steal a glance in your direction but when he does he almost doesn’t notice at first, looking back down but his head almost snaps back at you, eyes soften almost immediately.

He stands only a few feet away now, not hiding the way eyes shift from the softness of your thighs, up the fabric that just fits so nicely against unrevealed skin as the skirt of the dress hikes higher and higher up soft skin until it reaches the perkiness of breasts. The imagine alone is now going to be forever stained to his brain, mouth drying as you blush under his lingering gaze. “Mesh'la.”

Even through his own drunk haze he can see the confusion against the soft curve of your face as fingers reach out to your flexed knee, limp against the chair as fingers grasp it. His fingers tingle with the feeling of the smooth skin up until they reach to cup the outside of your thigh right where the dress ends, fiddling the silk of the fabric with gentle tugs.  The messy curls are now inches from your face, swollen lips from being wrapped around the rim of an open bottle for days, you try to hide the way the close proximity makes your nose wrinkle from smell of booze. Eyes lower as you mutter, “Are you alright Din?”

He chooses to ignore the words only now sinking to his knees in front of you, using his body weight to spread legs for he can fit inside them, rest his head against your lap, unsure eyes meet your own, nerves coat his throat. Lips move under your knee, a small kiss that makes your chest stop momentarily breathing, he’s never done that before.. kiss you. “It means beautiful.. I love this dress, you look pretty.”

It catches you off guard, freezes any movements except rubbing his chin against the fat of your inner thigh. It’s not sexual, anything but he’s looking for comfort,  seeking it in the warmth of your skin that molds so perfectly against his own. “Pretty girl, you always look so, so  pretty.”

The words send your skin into an absolute fit of heat but you don’t get much time to think about it before he’s turning from you, still between the warmth of your legs but now his back touches the chair as fingers nimbly pull at the chest plate of beskar letting it fall to the ground with a clatter but he doesn’t seem to care to much as he’s pulling at the laces of his boots but failing with an audible groan of annoyance. “Do you need help Din?”

“Yes pretty girl.” The nickname sticks, makes it almost impossible to meet his eyes due to the shyness that hazes over you. Standing up to move sends him back into the chair with small thump but grumbles as he sits up to watch you sit in front of him, pulling the string of the laces loosely. Skin feels hot under his gaze, never leaving the soft curve of your nose, frustration that wrinkles your forehead, the corner of his lips turning expanding across his cheeks at how cute you are?

Even though It’s been almost a week since he’s broke the creed and a long ride to take in the hard brown eyes, the cute bump on the bridge of his nose that slightly wrinkles when he smiles, like the one that touches his cheeks now. “You need to sober up Din.” 

“Mmmmmm.” He presses a finger against his temple like his brain is working extra hard to think as a goofy grin meets your gaze. “No.”

You can’t help but feel the small grin tug at your lips, eyes peering up to meet his. It hangs in the air, the lingering unspoken situation that has your own chest feeling heavy, the only reason he’s so intoxicated. Yours is heavy but his feels absolutely crushing, makes it hard to breath, to feel anything but deep numbing pain that makes his lips quiver, eyes welt with tears. Emotions were..difficult for Din, almost every day was a fighting battle to keep them at fingertips length but the quiet moments in between soft glances from you throughout the whole ride to this planet filled the gaps, snapping something inside him, suddenly he felt everything.

The loss of his son had hit him like a ton of bricks but only opened how he felt for you, it all hit him so suddenly he could barely breath, think straight, he had to get away to clear his head but his heart just hurt too much. 

“You know you can talk to me? I’m always here for you.” The words stop him for a second as he takes in the sights of you, pulling at his boots to free his aching feet. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to remember the pain the alcohol numbs, he just wanted you. Despite how much his finger twitch to touch your cheeks, pull you close against his body he’s confused, frustrated maybe? 

It makes him embarrassed, cheeks tingle pink at the thought of touching you but his hands were stained red it would taint your innocence to press them to the soft skin of your collarbones, run them over the smooth bony prominence, touch your cheeks no matter how much he wanted to. 

Sighing you lean forward, closer to his face at his silence. The internal fight is not hidden from his features, his brows creasing with thought, lip tucking into his bottom lip while unsure eyes meet his trembling hands. It’s instant, not giving yourself a second to think about it as you lean over, warmth spreads throughout his whole body as you sit on his lap, arms wrapping around his trunk until they lace together against his back, forehead resting against his neck with a sigh. “I’m here Din.”

With those three words he feels his eyes sting, chest moving faster and faster as nerves pinch his face but there’s a sudden warmth that fills his chest, makes his heart thump extra loud against ears. The crushing feeling temporarily lifted as finds himself leaning closer and closer to you until his cheek presses against your hair. Long arms closing any distance between the pair, trapping you between strong arms. It’s a soft cry one that makes you want look up to tell him everything is going to be okay but decide it’s probably best to press a small kiss against the thick tunic, right over his heart. Din Djarin has never hugged another person since he was a child but with you, all his problems seems to disappear, your smell calming nerves, your hair against his face reminding him that you’ve always been here, will never leave no matter how hard he tries to push you away. Din never realized how much he missed hugs until now. 

Soft tears drip off pink cheeks, forming in the small dips of where your clavicle and shoulder meet, the chest underneath you stutters and heaves but you can’t miss the words as they move so freely past his lips. “I haven’t hugged someone since I was a child, I’m glad it’s you pretty girl. Thank you..”

Tag list: (on my masterlist as pinned post if you would like to join) @victias​@altarsw, @coonflix​ @mudhornchronicles​ @buckysalefty​ @capsheadquarters @godohammers​ @ilikemymendarkandfictional​ @rogertaylorsfalsetogivesmehives @maileecabudol​ @fangirlmendes @mermaidbrina​ @nikkixostan​ @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel

[burlveneer-music]

Joe Fiedler’s Open Sesame - Fuzzy and Blue - my WVUD pal Ako turned me on to this last night, a trombone-led quintet doing Sesame Street songs! (Oh, and Fiedler actually works on Sesame Street!)

In 2019 trombonist Joe Fiedler released Open Sesame, packed with inventive jazz readings of material drawn from his longstanding “day job” as an EMMY-nominated music director and staff arranger for the famed children’s show Sesame Street. The effort was equally beloved by lay listeners and the jazz world alike. DownBeat praised the music’s “diverse aesthetic,” in which Fiedler blends “elements of funk, rock, free-jazz and New Orleans polyphony into a potent mix that gives depth and texture to the lighthearted compositions.” When Fiedler and the band toured the music, including a stop at Dizzy’s Club Coca-Cola with guest luminaries Wynton Marsalis and none other than Elmo himself, the realization set in that the project would be no one-off. “I have these songbooks from the Sesame Street office,” Fiedler says, “and if you whip through the first 30 tunes, absolutely everyone knows them. But there are six or seven thousand songs they’ve done over the past 50 years, with plenty of gold in there to do a second album for sure.” Fuzzy and Blue, Fiedler’s second volume of Sesame Street songs, shines still more light on the extraordinary wit and melodic gift of the foundational Sesame Street composers Joe Raposo and Jeffrey Moss, among others. The album boasts the same top-tier lineup as Open Sesame, with a couple of twists. Trumpeter Steven Bernstein, who played on only part of Open Sesame, now becomes an integral cog in a nimble three-horn section, expanding and varying the palette and allowing Fiedler to bring his seasoned orchestration skills to the foreground. Reedman Jeff Lederer plays tenor and clarinet and relies more heavily on soprano sax this time out, helping achieve the ideal blend of colors and registers that Fiedler was seeking. Drummer Michael Sarin and bassist Sean Conly keep the rhythms locked and creatively churning, from the Dr. John/Professor Longhair vibe of “Fuzzy and Blue” to the reggae feel of “Elmo’s Song” (by Tony Geiss), to the Hugh Masekela-inspired Afropop of “Ladybug’s Picnic” (originally a peppy country novelty by the late William “Bud” Luckey). The ensemble also gets a visit from vocal powerhouse Miles Griffith, the very model of a guest on Sesame Street. On the “I Love Trash/C Is for Cookie” melange (a one-two shot of Moss and Raposo), Griffith’s singing is unabashed, larger than life, uproariously funny but insightful and firmly in control. He’s equally compelling in a sociopolitical vein on “I Am Somebody,” in which Fiedler combines an original song with the lyrics of Reverend William Holmes Borders — words recited to powerful effect on Sesame Street in 1972 by Reverend Jesse Jackson. Fiedler felt a need on Fuzzy and Blue to acknowledge social tumult at the close of the Trump presidency and the still-tentative aftermath of the COVID pandemic. “We Are All Earthlings,” a gentle and idyllic Jeffrey Moss folk ballad from 1993, accomplishes this as well, though Fiedler brings a stark added tension with his Stravinsky-esque horn voicings. Throughout the album there’s an atmosphere of fun, “a sense of burlesque” as Fiedler put it in the Open Sesame liner notes, that flows from the trombonist’s deep love of Ray Anderson, the Jazz Passengers, Carla Bley and other major influences. Steven Bernstein’s Sexmob is another. The improvisational openness and risk of Fiedler’s trio dates Sacred Chrome Orb, The Crab, I’m In and Joe Fiedler Plays the Music of Albert Mangelsdorff also carry over to this more song-oriented endeavor. Fuzzy and Blue, like its predecessor, is Fiedler’s way of bringing it all together, reminding himself and all of us that inspiration can and does come from everywhere, and that everything is connected.

[therappundit]

Top 10 Rappers of 2020

The finish line of this long, surreal year is finally upon us...which means that it’s time for me to throw down the gauntlet in the ‘Best of 2020’ frivolous list race!  🙌

*Just to be clear*: this is a list of MCs who I believe turned in the best overall performances in 2020. ***This is NOT a list of the my top 10 favorite MCs***, or even who I believe to be the best MCs in the world at the moment...these are simply dope artists that put forth the strongest, most consistently interesting and important (to the genre) high-quality work in the perilous year that was 2020. 

If you think your favorite MC was slighted....well, Michael Jordan is the greatest to ever play the game of basketball but even he didn’t win MVP every year, right? I encourage you to write your own list - it’s a cool way to dap artists that are too often overlooked by industry websites, and share the music you enjoy with others that may not have given the record a spin otherwise.

Even if 2020 didn’t bring you the “instant classic” you had been hoping for, I think it’s hard to deny that this year really had impressive depth when it came to showcasing some of the most diverse music that the genre has to offer.  I can’t speak for music in general - sadly I’m just The Rap Pundit, not The Music Pundit - but I can say that it has been an impossible task to keep a playlist less than 500 songs deep at a time, because for every truly great release in 2020 there seemed to be 30 very good releases. 👌

So how did I come about these 10 MCs (and Honorable Mentions)? Before you get huffy about who I snubbed (and that is pointed directly at my jury of older head peers that consider themselves tastemakers, but also haven’t opened their minds up to any new takes on rap styles since the year 2000)...here are the five chief pieces of criteria that I put into finalizing my list:

- quality (whatever lane you’re in, how often did you ‘own it’?)

- quantity (at least 10 very good-to-great songs released, and 3-4 verses that stand out as a ‘must-hear’ for any rap music fan)

- consistency (not just 4-5 great features and a few forgettable solo tracks, will I want to keep at least 7 or 8 of your own new songs released in 2020 in my rotation for 2021?)

- impact (are you so vital to the type of rap music you make that if you stopped rapping tomorrow, there’s no one else in the game that could fill that void?)

- “it” factor (are you carried by a co-sign or an elite production team, or did you bring a style/talent to the table that could carry a record in and of itself?)

Got it? Then here we go...

1. Conway the Machine

I hope 2020 was the type of year that Conway the Machine had been hoping for since he first began his journey with rap music. After years of scraping and hustling towards music industry recognition (and not just cult figure status), at year’s end we see Griselda’s top Lieutenant holding down a rare balancing act: champion of underground hip-hop, and most requested feature by any mainstream rap star looking to add some tough-talking muscle to their album.

While much of Conway’s content has always been driven by surviving an attempt on his life in 2012, much like 50 Cent, Conway’s way with words and perspective manage to elevate the quality of his material to a higher tier than most. And where - at least in his heyday - 50 Cent benefited from an indestructible super-villain persona, Conway’s success can be greatly attributed to a larger-than-life heart.  With every braggadocious act of gunplay, there are moments of gratefulness to still being alive to share success with his brethren, as well as a painful longing to be with close allies that are no longer with him (at least not in the physical form).

Above all else, in 2020 Conway the Machine did what he has always done throughout his career: delivered well written, passionate bars about coming up in an impossibly challenging environment and coping with loss...only now his craftsmanship and understanding of how to channel all of those feelings into a more polished final product have yielded the most well-rounded solo project of his career in From King to a God. Progress is a slow process, but the long and winding road has finally taken Conway a step closer to that G.O.A.T. status he will hopefully continue to reach for...

Best Evidence: FKTG, and a countless number of scene-stealing verses alongside rap acts ranging from deep underground to household names

2. Freddie Gibbs

I don't use the word "sauce" all too often (this may actually be the first time), but if there was any MC guaranteed to bring sauce to any rap record right now, it's Freddie Gibbs. 

Forever existing somewhere between gritty gangsta and syrupy old soul, the flavor that Freddie brings to every verse is malleable enough to work on virtually any type of record, which was certainly proven in 2020. Anyone foresee a Gibbs & Alchemist Grammy nomination heading into 2020? It’s a testament to how high quality work, through consistent reliability and dues paid, can elevate a project from underground niche following to critical acclaim. While his work with Alchemist may not reach the lofty levels of his heralded collaborations with Madlib, Alfredo represents the best that “quarantine music” can offer...two talented friends saying one day, “hey we should finally drop a full tape together, why not?” - and then BOOM, it happens.

Too many fail to remember that Gibbs already has a long accomplished body of work behind him...so the fact that he may just be entering his prime now, is scary.

Best Evidence: Alfredo, Machinedrum’s “Kane Train”

3. Boldy James

Comeback MC of the year, and no it is not close (but big shout-out to Grafh, another dope MC who had an amazing year).

I'm old enough to remember when folks like Roc Marciano and Ka were seen as sleepy, monotone rappers with little hope of reaching permanent rap icon status (flash-forward to today, and they are widely consider geniuses). For some, the quieter, less hook-dependent approach to making rap songs, was....well, not great rap music. They were wrong then and they’re wrong now, but similar to how the coolest, smartest cat in the room is rarely the loudest, it can take some time and patience before everyone learns what’s what. Time is what is required to appreciate Detroit’s Boldy James, a veteran that has been through it - both in terms of the ups and downs of the music business, as well as the streets through which he draws his stories and inspiration.

Boldy makes it seem all too easy, rapping his verses with the cool, casual tone of telling old stories to a close friend over drinks. Dropping multiple projects (with one still to come) in one year can often lead to over-saturation. Even the most dedicated fans/stans can begin to feel less enthusiastic about new releases when they have already received a healthy portion of more of the same...but most rap fans are not necessarily Boldy James fans. Boldy fans (much like Roc Marciano and Ka fans) are already aware that knowing what type of material to expect from your favorite MC can be a blessing if that MC takes pride in the execution of the final product, rather than the noise leading up to it. 

The beauty of his collaboration with The Alchemist (big year for that guy, huh?), The Price of Tea in China, is that it celebrates the more subtle nuances of boom-bap, proving that great MC and producer chemistry can trump the “shock & awe” of more uptempo rap music. The shock in Boldy James’ lyrics sits within the detailed descriptions of the cold world he grew up in...so monotone or not, how can any music could be more gripping than that?

Best Evidence: TPOTIC, Manger On McNichols, a long list of consistently perfect feature verses

4. 42 Dugg

I would say this is more of a longterm investment rather than the celebration of a rapper already within rap’s inner circle, but 42 Dugg didn’t just steal the show on every feature this year, he also displayed maturity in his ability to craft well-rounded, high quality rap singles. I’m talking joints that work just as well on the street tape level as they would at the radio level. That is especially rare to see from a rapper that is still relatively new to national conversations. 

So much more than just a co-sign of Lil Baby and Yo Gotti, the Detroit eastsider has already proven that he can craft a full solo album with the swagger of a far more seasoned MC. 42 Dugg combines a Boosie-esque, "oh you think you’re better than me??” chip on his shoulder with the unpredictable bombast of Lil Wayne. What he may lack in punchlines he makes up for in musicianship, his voice bringing one of the most nimble touches to trap music that I have heard in a long time. 42 Dugg music is hard and soulful, with the natural hunger of a rapper that knows me might be one smash away from superstardom. By this time next year, I’m betting he will be. 

Best Evidence: Young & Turnt 2 (Deluxe), features on high profile records like Lil Baby’s “Grace” and “We Paid”, and a growing stream of attention grabbing solo loosies

5. Rome Streetz

In 2020 it was almost impossible to be an underground MC with a great project unless you landed a Rome Streetz verse. 

Rome has been bubbling for a while now, but in 2020 he unleashed an onslaught on the game. At times he seemed like the hardest working MC in underground circles, busting his ass to not only make as many appearances as possible, but also to own any song he guested on. He raps like every verse might be “the one” that gets him a huge contract, and that’s a level of hunger and consistency that will likely land him more than one huge contract someday. In spite of that laundry list of strong features, the young Brooklyn MC still managed to release multiple dope solo projects, all flashing a rap style that feels at once a throwback and the fresh voice NYC rap needs. 

Rome is clearly from the same school as many of the New York City greats, because he has the capacity to deliver dark, potent bars with the sharp intellect of a Harvard lecture (think AZ before “Sugar Hill”). While he sounds most at home when he’s rhyming over instrumentals that run more coldblooded than a horror flick, it’s easy to picture him popping up in more places in 2021...if that’s even possible.

Best Evidence: Noise Kandy 4, Kontraband, The Residue, and at least 50 incredible features with a who’s-who of the underground’s finest

6. Stove God Cook$

No one saw this coming....well, maybe Roc Marciano, Lord Jamar, Busta Rhymes and a few more NYC heads in the know - but I guarantee you, no one else saw the Stove God coming!

Bar for bar, no MC owned more rewind-worthy rap quotables in 2020 than Stove God Cook$. Dropping a solo debut with VERY little fanfare and zero features (apart from the steady, reliable guidance of Roc Marciano - low key one of hip-hop’s most reliable producers), a slow bubbling word of mouth campaign on social media eventually got Stove God verses exposed to more and more high profile ears. Such a grass roots campaign is rarely seen...I mean, a rap album slowly becoming a critical darling simply off the strength of more and more random folks discovering the music and Tweeting about it, as opposed to the buzz being calculated before the product??? It feels almost too good to be true these days, as early reviews of Reasonable Drought typically lead with something along the lines of, “hey, have you heard of this album? I have no idea who this is, but it is 🔥🔥🔥”

It has often been said that Roc Marciano has a lot of “sons” in the game, implying that Roc Marci gave birth to a style that a whole generation of underground MCs run with today. So it’s ironic (or perhaps highly appropriate?) that the next level of progression for Roc might be to have a protege, a young Jedi to carry on the tradition on Roc’s own terms, and become the next new star to be embraced by the old heads. But Stove God isn’t a clone of Roc, or anyone else, he’s simply one of the most exciting artists to hit the NYC underground in a generation. Everything from his word choice, to his fresh references and sense of humor, to his delivery and the way he structures his verses, feels like a collection of “firsts”, there’s simply no one sounding like him. And if his work in 2020 is any indication, he will continue to be in a league of his own for years to come.

Best Evidence: Reasonable Drought, spotlight snatching features alongside Roc Marciano and Griselda’s finest

7. Lil Baby

Once viewed by some as just another “Lil”, Lil Baby had been rollin’ coming into 2020, but by the end of 2020 it’s clear that he has arrived at the forefront of rap music’s most reliable hitmakers right now. 

A must-have feature on any rap album reaching for max exposure, Lil Baby’s dexterous flow, charisma, and pen that is significantly sharper than early reports indicated, made him one of the few shining stars in 2020 to consistently deliver good rap music to what in any other year would have been considered smash hits in any club.

What makes Lil Baby’s music standout is that he could easily be a “cookie cutter” MC, phoning in verse after verse just to get another check, but instead he continues to bring it - trying to squeeze in an extra catchy lyric, maybe flow in a way that breaks up a verse to make it stand out from the pack a little more - and even when he is featured over cookie cutter beats that sound like every other trap inspired beats that came before it, Baby seems eager to prove something. I think that’s what I like about him - he’s on a short list of mainstream-bred Young Thug disciples that seem to really want to put the work in to becoming one of the greats. 

Best Evidence: I mean...did any rap star have more songs in circulation this year? Dude was everywhere, but “The Bigger Picture” got his name officially into the lyricist conversation (even though personally I don’t even think it’s one of his more impressive records - at least not stylistically)

8. Westside Gunn

No one denies that the Griselda Records team had a banner year, yet somehow the vocal leader of the group managed to drop a handful of dope projects without receiving credit for being a great MC in his own right. Great artist, great album curator, great business man - sure, but great MC?? That credit is rarely given to the FLYGOD. He might not even understand how natural he is as a solo MC, waxing unpredictable flows and half-bars that stick in your mind in place of catchy hooks or predictable song structure. He might call himself an artist first, but I still call him one of the most prolific rappers today (regardless of whether he retires after the ball drops).

I can’t believe I have to tell rap fans this in the year 2020...but......you all know that message and punchlines are just part of the art of rapping, right...and not the only thing that defines who is a dope MC and who isn’t?? Play any solo cut from Westside Gunn and filter out the “doot-doot-doots” and stream of conscious hooks and what you are left with is one of the most distinctive voices in rap music, attempting off-kilter flows and phrases over some of the most impressive production in rap music today, and to me that sounds like my kind of rap music. What the Buffalo floor general lacks in diversity of subject matter he makes up for with a relentless imagination.

That’s why it’s not all that surprising to me that Westside Gunn enjoyed more mainstream attention in 2020 than he ever has before. All he needed was a window of exposure and he certainly capitalized on it, pitching his sound and his vision in all the right places, without compromising his style or vacating his lane. So strictly as a MC, I would consider him the Young Thug of the east coast underground scene, and if 2020 does turn out to be his final year of recording solo projects, I am thankful that he already has a long list of quality projects with high replay value to revisit again and again. But don’t wait - give this man his flowers now.

Best Evidence: “Euro Step”, “Rebirth”, “327″, “Shawn vs. Flair”, “Michael Irvin”, and YES he even had a more than worthy verse on “$500 Ounces” alongside Freddie Gibbs and Roc Marciano

9. Benny the Butcher

Who else is more reliable to deliver a dope feature verse than Benny?

By now you must be muttering at least a few things about me, so let me just make two points: YES, I am a big fan of Griselda records, but NO I do not consider that an unreasonable bias because even on paper according to a large variety of sources, it’s clear that Conway, Boldy James, Westside Gunn and Benny are true specialists when it comes to the quality of the work they distribute. Its not a fluke or a trend, they’re just that good at what they do...I have been saying this for almost 5 years now, but in 2020 the rest of you sleepy heads finally just stopped hitting snooze.

Benny the Butcher already possesses the writing capacity, attention to detail, and skills of observation/personal reflection to put himself within special company as one of the nicest pens in the business today. But in 2020, he dialed things up even higher...or perhaps word of mouth just finally caught up with the rest of his peers? The tribute to the classic Roc-A-Fella era that was his Burden of Proof project with Hit-Boy helped expose Benny to a much larger audience, and it has been beautiful to see so many more folks quoting and sharing his lyrics on Twitter, because I recall when he had about the same amount of Followers that I do, because it wasn’t all that long ago (I just hope they go back to experience all of his prior work - I’m still partial to his incredible verses on “Shower Shoe Lords” and “Pissy Work”)! 

In my not so humble opinion, I do think some of the more dramatic pomp and circumstance on the BOP album was more suited to a Rick Ross or Meek Mill than Benny, so I’m actually more excited to hear what Benny has in store for 2021. He truly sounds at his best over more minimalistic production that lets his lyrics fill the spotlight...but still, tracks like “Timeless” and “Legend” do remind me of some of my favorite moments from old JAY-Z albums...blasphemous, maybe, but true.

A shot to the leg last month seems to have done nothing to slow his momentum, so if you didn’t board the bandwagon by now, you are inexcusably late.

Best Evidence: Burden of Proof, mercilessly slaughtering every verse on every Griselda projects, and a ton of show-stealing features

10. Drakeo the Ruler

What a journey it's been for the L.A. rising star. 

Flexing a penchant for placing local slang into his music and delivering dark verses with a clear sense of humor, it's easy to see the appeal of Drakeo's style. If Thank You For Using GTL was an inspiring attempt to do anything possible to keep his buzz going (in that case, recording his verses over a prison phone), the quick release of We Know The Truth shortly after he regained his freedom seems to have given him a 50 Cent-esque teflon aura at the moment. 

But this is about more than just Drakeo himself, it’s about what he represented before incarceration, and what he represents now. As one of the more visible forces in a new generation of west coast hip-hop, Drakeo was a few key features away from exploding onto the national scene. Now after surviving his ordeal, likely with a great deal more to write about, his ceiling has only been raised - and along with his growth potential, so rises the potential for the current rap scene out in L.A. right now. Mark my words: by this time next year Drakeo’s flow will be one of the most flagrantly jacked flows in rap music coast to coast.

A sincere welcome home from the rap world, Drakeo the Ruler. Hopefully the worst is now behind you. 🙏

Best Evidence: We Know The Truth, Free Drakeo, Thank You For Using GTL

*Honorable Mentions*:

Che Noir, Ka, Ransom, Billy Woods, Royce Da 5′9″, Jay Electronica, Fly Anakin, Curren$y, Lil Uzi Vert, Roc Marciano, Skyzoo, Black Thought, Tee Grizzley, Your Old Droog, Flee Lord, Lil Wayne

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Thank you kindly, Sir (Keanu x Reader)

Summary: AU. your car broke down in the middle of nowhere, fortunately a kind soul stopped to help.

Read Part 2 Here

Author’s notes: I don’t even have an excuse for this one. Pure filth, but feedback is always appreciated. Also, I know nothing about cars. I just did some googling to make it sound remotely real. Sorry for the mess.

Wordcount: 2050

Warnings: smut (oral - male receiving; dirty talk)

“Come on! Work your stupid hunk of metal!” you shouted, kicking the tire and regretting immediately your actions as a shot of throbbing pain rushed through your leg muscles, making everything ache but your frustration was more than understandable.

You were in the middle of nowhere, at night, alone and your car refused to start.

You were supposed to get from San Francisco to Los Angeles for an audition. You considered taking a bus or a plane because your piece of crap car had seen better days and you had been afraid it wouldn’t make the journey, but by the time you were done with the things you needed to do back home, it was too late for either other options so you settled for trusting your car.

Worst. Idea. Ever.

It started choking up about 50 miles from LA. The sun had started to set and you knew you should probably stop and get a mechanic to check it out but there was a big chance that he would want to keep the car for appraisal and you didn’t have time for that. Yet another terrible decision on your part.

You kept ignoring the coughing and wheezing until a small billow of smoke started to come out of the hood and by then it was too late, you had to pull over on the shoulder to take a look. The only problem was that you knew absolutely nothing about cars so you just stared at the metal guts of your vehicle, the searing air making you cough and step aside, the smell of burned oil and something else you didn’t know filling your nostrils uncomfortably.

Resigning to your incompetency, you closed the hood again, deciding to drive back to the gas station you had seen a couple of miles back but of course, by then the car refused to start and here you were, stuck and desperate, your phone constantly beeping, signally low battery.

You had already called road assistance, but they would take at least an hour to arrive. This was so not your day.

Leaning against the hood, you adjusted the skirt of your floral dress and pinned your hair up on the top of your head. Summers in California could be so unforgiving. Even at night, there was barely any breeze and you could feel the sweat sticking uncomfortably to your skin, especially your brow, nape, and the valley of your breast.

You started slightly when you heard the noise of a powerful engine and turned just in time to see a motorcycle pulling up behind your car, a figure clad in all black on top. You felt tension taking hold of your muscles and you let the key of your car fit between your knuckles just in case you had to do some damage

“Car trouble?” the man asked, taking off his helmet and all you could make out was dark hair and beard.

“Yes. Road assistance is in their way,” you announced, hoping he would take as a warning, but he just swung a long leg over the body of the bike, and you realized how tall he was. When he took off his leather jacket, you managed to see the broad shoulders and part of you felt a bolt of exhilaration, but the sane part just felt afraid.

“May I take a look?” he asked, taking a step forward hands in full display for you. “I’m a mechanic.”

You hesitated, glancing from him to your car. Now he had stepped into the light, you could see a tanned face marked by the years, but so much kindness in his brown eyes that you just nodded, stepping aside so he could approach.

“I’m Keanu, by the way.”

Offering your name back at him, you watched as he nimbly got the hood open and used the flashlight of his phone to take a look into the engine. You couldn’t help but admire the tight shape on his ass on the jeans he was wearing, or the bulging of his biceps on the grey t-shirt he was wearing. The fabric seemed to struggle against the flexing of muscles. You bit your lip, feeling warm again but for a very different reason. Keanu was a very handsome man, that was undeniable, but he was a complete stranger and obviously much older than you. You shouldn’t even let your mind go there.

“Here’s the problem.” The sudden sound of his gravelly voice made you jump. “Your PCV valve is clogged.”

“I have no idea what that is,” you said, coming to stand next to him and Keanu chuckled, pointing at something that you barely registered, too busy staring at the drop of sweat trickling down his temple.

“Do you have a rag or something?” he asked, glancing at you and you wondered how much of your lust he could see in your eyes.

“Hm, not really,” you said, bending over the open window of the passenger side to rummage your glove compartment. “I have paper tissues.”

“That won’t work.” You turned back at him and Keanu didn’t even bother to disguise the way he was checking out your ass and you smirked, slanting back to his side.

He was already elbow-deep into the bowels of your car, pushing wires and tubes aside until he came out with something that looked a bit like a small spout, which he used the hem of his shirt to clean.

“Hold this,” he asked handing you his phone, his hands stained with grease. You obeyed and Keanu took a closer look, blowing into the valve, before, putting it back in place and brushing the back of his hand over his brow, leaving dark stains against the root of his hair.

“Try it now.”

You handed the phone back to him, getting into the driver’s seat only far enough to turn the ignition. The car choked and spluttered but it did come to life and you squealed in delight.

“It’s just a temporary fix,” he warned, cleaning his hands on his jeans and slamming the hood shut. “And I think I spotted at least five other things that need replacement. Honestly, that car is a piece of shit. I’m surprised it’s even running.”

“I just need it to get to Los Angeles,” you said tilting your head back to look at Keanu. He was looming over you as you were still sitting but your legs hung on the outside of the open door. “I have an audition.”

“It should hold until them,” he said, hand on his back pocket and taking out a card, handing it to you. “That’s my shop. Bring it by and I’ll make sure to give you a good deal.”

“Thanks,” you grinned at him, thumb rubbing over the embossed red letters. “And thank you for stopping. You truly saved me now.”

“It’s alright,” he smiled at you, running a hand over his short hair. “It’s not safe for a young woman to be alone on the side of the road like this. You should head out. Call road assistance on the way. It’s getting late.”

Keanu took a step away from you, probably ready to go back to his bike and walk out of your life. Before you could think too much about it, you grabbed his hand, making him stop and glance back at you with an arched eyebrow.

“Please, let me thank you for your kindness.” You looked at him through your lashes, sucking your lower lip into your mouth as you spread your legs very suggestively and Keanu’s eyes widened slightly.

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” you cut him off, tugging on his hand gently to bring him closer until he was standing in front of you, his crotch right in your line of sight. “Please.” You ran your hands up his strong thighs, pausing on the waistband of his jeans as you looked up at Keanu, waiting for his nod of confirmation.

With a smug smirk, you undid his pants, pulling down along with his underwear, only enough to let his cock out. You weren’t the only one to be aroused by your interaction, because his large dick was already semi-hard and it only took a few tugs of your hand to bring it to full hardness.

Keanu had a glorious cock. Long and thick, with a slight curve and when you licked up the underside vein, he grunted and slammed his fist on the roof of the car. The power of his strike making you jump, your heart thundering and your cunt throbbing in desperation. He was the kind of man that always attracted you: tall, dark, and handsome, with a mysterious vibe about him. Powerful enough to break you in half and the thought of it was enough to send a rush of wetness into your panties.

You coated his length with saliva, exploring every vein and ridge, teasing Keanu by dipping your tongue in the slit of his head, tasting his precum before engulfing the tip in your mouth and sucking hard.

“Fuck!” he growled, his hips snapping forward slightly but you were ready for it and the movement didn’t choke you too much. “You’re good at this,” he commented, his voice lower and throaty. “You like sucking cock, huh? Are you soaking that seat from having me in your mouth?”

You groaned at his words, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks, taking as much of him as you could and stroking the rest, making sure to swirl your tongue around the head at each upward motion.

A stream of curses and encouragements fell from Keanu’s lips as he rocked his hips, one hand around your nape, more for support than anything else. He let you take all the control and you liked that.

“Shit! I’m close,” he warned, his movements becoming faster and uncoordinated. “You’re gonna let me cum in your mouth, like a good little slut?”

You moaned, nodding slightly and redoubling your efforts, your free hand down your panties, fingering yourself in time with his strokes. Keanu tugged at your hair, making you pull back with on obscene pop and look at him through hooded eyes as you work your clit in steady circles of your fingers. Your legs were spread wide and your clothed cunt in full display for him.

“Beg me for it,” he ordered, tapping the tip of his cock against your lips.

“Please, please come in my mouth, Keanu,” you mewed, feeling the rushing wave of your orgasm approaching. “Let me taste your cum.”

“Good little slut,” he smirked at you, letting you take his head into your mouth and stroking himself hard and fast. “And you’re gonna fucking swallow it too.”

He let out a deep grunt when his cock spurted hot ribbons of cum all over your tongue and you hummed at the salty and bitter taste, swallowing every drop and sucking his head to catch everything until Keanu finally pulled back, smiling at you.

“Come on, it’s your turn,” he encouraged, tucking himself back in his pants and crouching down to better watch you as your fingers rubbed and toyed with your clit, the spark of pleasures building steadily. “Are you gonna cum for me, pet?”

You moaned, letting him pull you closer, claim your mouth in a dirty kiss that had your toes curling and your back arching as your orgasm hit you like a rushing tide and you keened against his lips, your fingers never stopping, dragging out your pleasure for as long as you could endure.

When you finally pulled back for breath, your chest heaving, your skin covered in sweat, Keanu tugged your hand away from your cunt, bringing your drenched fingers to his mouth.

“It’s only fair,” he said, a twinkle of wickedness on his eyes as he licked your juices from your fingers, groaning softly at your taste. Once he was done, he let go of your hand and caught you in another deep kiss, before getting up again.

“Come by the shop after your audition tomorrow” There was an edge of command in his voice, as he caressed your thigh, leaving dirty stains over your skin. “I’ll fix your car and then I’ll fuck that pretty little pussy like it deserves.”

Go to Part 2

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