#im 3k into this fic

[gomzdrawfr]

brain: lets write porn

also brain: no lets write porn with feelings to overcomplicate everything

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[nebuladreamz]

A little different than last year's, but here we are again. To say that this past year hasn't been absolutely wild would be a lie, cause HOLY SHIT MAN

This year's birthday is. A little different for me, but you already have the silly comic to show that so I won't make like a broken record oops

But, despite the changes and hills that life's decided I should climb or throw at, it hasn't changed the fact that I'm so genuinely fucking thankful to the people that I've known since joining this fandom. I'm not even kidding when I say that being here has actually changed my life for the better. I know I said something similar last year, but this time, hoo boy it sure turned up the AMP and test how far I could go.

So, to everyone, both new and old; thank you for being here :D

@garbagechocolate @darkxsoulzyx @smoljeanius @bunmuffin @skizabaa

@tuzesdays @sleepykas @fernzwing @kandidandi @starsketchez

@just-a-drawing-bean @notdysfunk @ilsole @amberluvsbugs @cloudyvoid

@nomsthecat @alfinefalf @nosleepygay @theblog-with-thestuff

@cacaocheri

(Edit: ty kibbits for informing me of the. Fuck ass tagging system)

AND TAGGING OTHERS BECAUSE. POINTS. BONKS WITH HEAD. GETTING TO EITHER INTERACT OR TALK OR WHATEVER IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT

@ohno-the-sun @kibbits @ink-yy @saltyfryz @kaprisvn

@hierba-picante @sunny-sophies-garden @cookiiemancer @sneeblbop @justaduckarts

@pepethehumanz @crystalmagpie447 @woolysstuff @mocha-illustrates @duhsty1

@sanchensky @pillowspace @victarin @witherfide

[I DEFINITELY GOT SONAS WRONG AND THESE AREN'T ALL THE SILLY PEOPLE I KNOW BUT IM SITTING HERE AT 2:30 IN THE MORNING JUST KNOW YOU'RE THERE IN SPIRIT HANDING YOU ALL POPTARTS WAUGH]

[leenfiend]

what’s ur type first < prev next > full comic

[lazycranberrydoodles]

Can I see hualesbians. Please. They are everything to me I’ve read every fic in the tag and if they lose I need some consolation

so i cheated on these and did them in procreate !!!! cause!!

[bitingdrivers]

we waited for so long and it's finally here! the VD bones au fic!

❤️ A challenge for Valentine's Day

maxiel, 3.1k words

“Fine,” Lewis sighs, but Daniel recognizes the look on his face. It's not going to end well.  “Really!?” Charles gasps.  “Yes. Everyone will get to go home if we solve this murder by 6,” Lewis states.  “If…”  There it is.  “If Daniel kisses Max,” Lewis finishes, grinning dangerously.

[kentuckyfriedmegumi]

tess’s guide to writing kiss scenes (featuring itafushi)

this is for @sunnyyflowerrs and @kat-likes-writing btw

bye so i am not that good at writing these idk why i’ve been asked to make this.  i read other people’s stuff and their kiss scenes and i’m like hnnnghghfhsnksj GIVE IT TO MEEEE!!!!! but alas… i shall deliver what the people want.

before we get into the step-by-steps of writing a kiss scene, i want to go over the general things i try to highlight in a scene that helps me when i write them. there’s the general way that kiss scenes go–build/tension, the kiss, post-kiss. wow, what a shocker, right? but overall, when i am writing a kiss scene, i like to highlight the feelings, the movements, and the energy. feelings being what the characters are feeling of course, movements being what they are doing, and energy being the overall charge in the scene. what is the context? is this a happy kiss? is it desperate? is it fast? is it soft? is it intimate? is it sexual? once you establish the tone of the scene, you are able to start building it.

let’s go.

1. the build up

as you get into building a kiss scene, there’s a lot of high tensions and emotions happening. a kiss is a very intimate form of contact and when you have two characters who are going to kiss, you need to set it up in a way that feels natural.

let’s take a desperate kiss for example. let’s say in this situation, megumi and yuuji both nearly died, and megumi was especially hurt (there will be light angst prob, sorry):

Yuuji stumbled towards the boy on the ground. Fushiguro was lying on his side, back towards him, breaths short and ragged. Guilt rippled through Yuuji the way a stone ripples through still water, jagged as it washed over him. “Fushiguro?” he asked. He could hear how pathetic his voice sounded, small and hesitant as he waited for an inevitable answer. Please answer. Yuuji dropped to his knees, feeling the pain of the fight finally settle in. The adrenaline was wearing off now, everything ached and he had cuts all over. He was sure he looked like hell and he could feel the blood caked on his face slowly dry and crust over. But nothing mattered because Fushiguro was right there. He could be bleeding—he probably still was—he could be missing an arm, he could he dying. It didn’t matter. Everything was shut out, locked away from his mind. Everything other than the body in front of him, chest rapidly rising and fall. He saw a small a shift and instinctively Yuuji reached out towards Fushiguro, only stopping not even an inch away from his shoulder. His hand was left hovering over him, scared to touch him, scared to cross that line. He wasn’t sure he could stop himself if he did.

in what i’m writing, i’m trying to show yuuji’s specific focus on megumi. this is a desperate kiss scene, so what i am trying to go for is this sense of i nearly lost you, so nothing matters other than the fact that you are right here with me.

notice that for this, i have feelings, movements, and energy.

feelings. yuuji is WORRIED, poor guy, all he can think about is whether or not meg is okay. i’m highlighting yuuji’s own pain and injuries, and immediately tossing them aside. yuuji does not care if he is hurting, all that matters right now is if megumi is okay.

movements. yuuji is placing himself near megumi, he reaches out for him, but he stops himself. this creates ~tension~ which makes for a juicy kiss scene. having some sort of tension also helps the build as emotions are rising. even in less /dire/ kiss scene builds, there may be some sort of tension going on. maybe they are both shy, maybe one of them isn’t sure the other likes them back, maybe they’re just plain nervous.

energy. this is the charge of the scene and mainly relies on surrounding context. this may be a bit easier to write based on how the scene is going. for this kiss, what is the overall tone of this that you’re going for? is this romantic? is it comforting? it’s important to have that extra layer so the reader has a better understanding of both characters’ emotions and motives as they reach the kiss.

2. the kiss

the kiss itself is the climax of the scene, everything is leading and converging to this very moment (no pressure right?). when writing a kiss, the feelings, movements, and energy are all VERY IMPORTANT because this is what the readers are reaching for when the scene starts.

let’s have a slow/soft kiss now. for this one, megumi and yuuji have been ~in love~ but they haven’t kissed and this is their first one. the build for this type of scene would focus a lot on the jitteriness in the characters. write in things such as trembling hands, increased heart rates, LOTS of blushing. aight, time to make these boys kiss, you get build and a kiss now:

Itadori was looking at Megumi. His cheeks were tinted a soft rosy color, and Megumi adored the way his eyes shone, despite his overall fidgety demeanor. He was usually so confident and easygoing, why was he so nervous now? Megumi wasn’t really in the position to ask questions, he could feel the heat rising to his face as Itadori looked at him. he smiled and Megumi could have melted right there. His eyes were so warm, his smile was so warm, Itadori was so warm. Megumi could feel his pulse quicken and he felt like his head was spinning in circles. But it was impossible to miss the way Itadori’s eyes flickered down, away from his eyes, a bit lower on his face. Megumi swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Megumi,” Itadori said, stepping closer. Megumi’s face was surely as pink as the hair of the boy in front of him. he nervously fidgeted with his hands, unsure of what to do as the ever-increasing warmth that was Itadori stepped even closer. Megumi searched his eyes as he took one more final step forward. Itadori stopped for a moment, gauging a reaction, as if he was making sure this was okay. Megumi could feel his breath, their faces just inches apart.   It was like time slowed. Itadori shifted, his hand coming up to Megumi’s face, as if Megumi wouldn’t want anything more than what was about to happen. He felt warm calloused hands lightly brush his cheek and Megumi jumped slightly at the contact. Itadori was already starting to lean in when he stopped at the sudden movement, worried that Megumi was going to rebuff him. Megumi reached up with his own hand, grasping Itadori’s arm and holding him in place. their eyes met. They stood like that for what felt hours and seconds all the same before Megumi started to lean in too, eyes half-lidded as they fluttered from Itadori’s gaze to his lips. Their breaths mixed and Megumi just knew that Itadori could feel his racing pulse beneath his fingers. It didn’t matter. With one final resolve, they both moved in. It was like everything in the world stopped. A burst of warmth spread from Megumi’s chest throughout his body, enveloping him as he sighed into the kiss. Itadori’s lips were soft. Megumi could feel a light tremble that was probably, definitely from the nerves, and he was certain that he was probably, definitely trembling too. Itadori’s hand on his cheek moved a bit lower, fingers ghosting the nape of Megumi’s neck. They tangled in his hair while the pad of his thumb rubbed softly behind his ear. Instinctively, Megumi’s grip on Itadori’s arm tightened. As a result, Itadori pressed himself into Megumi further, other hand snaking around to his back and pulling him against his chest. And god, Megumi wanted to melt. They broke apart, only for a moment, before Itadori moved back in and resumed the kiss. Megumi could feel his mouth part slowly and Itadori responded in kind. Both of them moved with gentle, subtle motions, taking in small breaths in between. Megumi shifted his head, tilting slightly to the right, allowing Itadori to deepen the kiss further. They kept the pace slow, their kisses light. Megumi’s heart was racing a million miles a minute and his mind was overflowed with only thoughts of Itadori—the tenderness in his touch, as if Megumi was the most precious thing in the world to him.

ayyyyyy look at that kiss!! once again, we got the big three.

feelings. for this scene, it was important to show that megumi is nervous (capital n), but he WANTS this. he wants yuuji to kiss him and he wants to kiss yuuji. when they finally do kiss, there’s this overwhelming feeling where all of his anxieties finally calm. notice how i focus a lot on megumi’s feelings to convey the importance of this kiss for them. i also highlight yuuji’s nervousness in meg’s perception through his actions. the constant glancing at his lips and the way he moves in slowly to kiss him help show that yuuji is just as nervous as meg is.

movements. a lot of people thing that writing kiss scenes are awkward and i can see how they would be. you don’t want to focus TOO MUCH on what they’re doing, unless you’re writing more explicit content. in this snippet, i have brief descriptions of their actions, but a lot of movements are also focused outside of what their mouths are doing. yuuji brings his hand from megumi’s cheek to his neck, his other hand comes his back and pulls him closer. but you don’t want to focus too much away the kiss. i bring it back to that by writing how megumi is the one who deepens the kiss, parting his mouth and allowing yuuji to take over.

energy. this kiss scene is meant to be soft and tender. notice how i sort of drag it out bc the boys are supposed to be a lil nervy. i convey the energy by using descriptors of their subconscious actions, bc the body is also reacting to the kiss. heart rates are increased, they’re looking at each other’s lips, they’re lips are trembling. but i also have the feelings and movements be really soft and slow. they don’t crash together, they slowly gravitate towards each other.

3. post-kiss

this part is probably the easiest to write. both characters are coming down from their high and there’s a swirl of emotions that starts to die down. usually nerves dwindle as both characters soften. depending on the situation, you can have them soften into each other, or perhaps they pull apart in regret.

bc i’m cruel, let’s do both! sorry in advance…

Fushiguro was kissing him. It should have been the best thing in the world. It was the best thing in the world, but all Yuuji could focus on wasn’t the heat from his body, the grip on his shoulders, or the soft press of Fushiguro’s lips against his own. All Yuuji could think about was the endless list of lives that he had taken. The people that he should have saved, that he could have saved if he had just died. Fushiguro was kissing him, and he didn’t deserve it. But couldn’t he be selfish? Just this once, could he take what he had always wanted? Fushiguro had asked to be saved, he had asked for Yuuji’s support. Yuuji wanted nothing more than to give that to him. He wanted to give it all to him. And so he did. Yuuji stepped closer, grabbing Fushiguro’s collar and pulling him further in. He could feel a small gasp before he swallowed it with a kiss. Fushiguro was kissing him, how could he not kiss him back? The feeling of Fushiguro’s hand carding through his hair stopped everything. His touch was gentle as he tangled his fingers through Yuuji’s hair. There was a certain tenderness in the way that he moved. No. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be touched, kissed, loved as if he were a good person. Not after everything he did. Not after everyone he killed. And he especially didn’t deserve it from someone like Fushiguro. No, Fushiguro deserved so much more. Yuuji deserved nothing. So he pulled back, his grip on the collar loosening. Yuuji had to force his hands down at his sides as he took a step back. He was still quick to notice the way Fushiguro followed him, only briefly, before he pulled back with a certain look on his face. The kind of look that Yuuji hoped to never see again. “I’m… sorry,” Yuuji said. Fushiguro stiffened and his gaze fell. “No,” he said, face dark as he turned away from Yuuji. Suddenly, everything was so much colder. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have k– I shouldn’t have done that.” It wasn’t you. It’s not you. It’ll never be you. I’m a monster, I’m a murder, I don’t deserve you. You could have so much more, so much better than me. A million thoughts raced through Yuuji’s mind—so many things that he wanted to say to assure Fushiguro that he didn’t pull away because he wanted to. “We should probably get some rest,” was what he said instead, “before we go to the third years.” “Right,” Fushiguro replied. “It’ll be a long day, I’m sure.”

eeek sorry, chooms. i’m just trying to provide ~variety~ here in my kiss scenes. whipping these up on the spot means i just sorta write whatever comes to my brain. this kiss meant to be angstier. it’s bleaker. yuuji’s thoughts are dark and self-depreciating. he kisses meg back, but he immediately feels bad about it because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. this translates to his movements, with him gripping the collar in desperation, but immediately pulling back and restraining his himself at the end of it. as for the energy, notice how in this kiss and post-kiss how there’s an overall darkness in the tone. there is less focus on the kiss itself and what they are doing and more so in the dark thoughts plaguing yuuji’s mind. this adds to the post-kiss, as it sets up his regret in kissing meg in the first place.

Let’s do another one:

Megumi rushed in, crashing his lips against Itadori’s as the grip on his arm tightened. Fuck Sukuna, fuck the higher ups, fuck everything else in the world. They were crazy for thinking the world could ever just be free of Itadori Yuuji. Megumi wouldn’t allow it. Not when he was right there in front of him, real, and alive. Megumi could feel Itadori stiffen in hesitation for a moment before he was met back with the same fervor, the same desperation Megumi had kissed him with. All of the noise of the outside world, all of the noise in his head silenced immediately at the feeling of Itadori’s lips moving against his. His hand was quick to make its way to Megumi’s face, caressing his cheek with a gentleness that he was definitely not kissing him with. Megumi didn’t care about that, though, so he tilted his head and let his arms fall around Itadori’s waist and pulled him flush against himself. A small gasp escaped from Itadori before it was immediately swallowed by the kiss. Megumi drank him in like he was dehydrated and Itadori’s lips were a cold glass of water. They could have stayed that way for forever. Allowing their pace to slow, Megumi’s grip on Itadori loosened. They morphed into a kiss that more loving and intimate. It was as if the rush of emotions slowly recessed back into the ocean of Megumi’s mind—not repressed but rather settled into something a bit softer. When they parted, Megumi held Itadori close and rested his forehead against the other boy’s. He was smiling. That same goofy, stupid smile that he smiled when he was about to watch a movie with Megumi, or when Megumi summoned his Divine Dog, or when he was cooking with Megumi. The smile that Itadori reserved only for him. “Hi there,” he said. Megumi gave a small smile in return. “Hi.” He could tell his heart was racing, he was probably blushing too, but all he could think about was that he kissed Itadori. Even crazier, Itadori kissed him back. Megumi couldn’t help the small chuckle the escaped his lips before it was too late and Itadori was giving him a small nudge. “Are you thinking about me?” Itadori teased. “Shut up,” he said with no real annoyance. “Fine.” And suddenly, Itadori was kissing him again.

For this post-kiss, we have them softening to each other. The kiss was a big boiling point of emotions as megumi kissed yuuji, then after the kiss, they part and it’s a sweet, loving moment between the two of them. we have megumi’s feelings being read about yuuji, we have his movements in resting their foreheads together, and we have the energy shift from a passionate kiss to an intimate moment.

overall

i mean that’s basically it! i didn’t plan on it, but i wrote four kiss scenes (well, three kisses and one build to a kiss) and broke down my little formula for each one. i hope that this provides some enlightenment in how to write a kiss scene and i hope my ramblings make sense here. i was always of the belief that kiss scenes were super hard to write, but after writing one for IYTFPTGFMTFILWH, it just sorta all clicked for me. i hope that this guide helps it click for you too, fellow author.

if anything, i hope you enjoyed the itafushi kisses. happy itafushi friday.

[acapelladitty]

Should have this posted tomorrow night hopefully 👀💦 (9pm GMT as always babey)

[flavored-soda]

the amount of fics i could write where its literally just buck sucking tommy off is both concerning and amazing

[dan-despairing]

Spencer "tall and built for war" Middleton you're so special to my heart .....

[utterlyazriel]

i was talking not long ago to @djarinova about how if i were to write a mando series what would it be about and then i rewatched tangled (2010) and then i braindumped and said it would go a little like....

you’re a quarry. not even a particularly unique quarry — you’re the wife of some lord, maybe he’s empire, maybe he’s not, but one thing is for sure; he’s got credits.

enough to lure in even the mandalorian who usually despises a hunt so pitiful as tracking down some spoiled wife who’s grown bored of her rich husband and decided to escape away with her affair.

he’s done this song and dance a thousand times, each wife dramatic in the way they complain of how their rich lord husband doesn’t love them, but din knows life is about choices & living with them — stars forbid the worst choice these women make are marrying a heartless man for his coin. he has little sympathy.

you are different from the get-go, first being that you’re alone. in the days he tails you, it’s clear you have no one watching your back, no other partner in the picture that you’re running off to elope with.

he’s been given strict instructions to bring you in alive, as usual when retrieving pesky wives, but you fight like you’ve truly got nothing to lose, managing to make your fingernails bleed with how you fight him.

he wins easily. and then you’re silent as you’re lugged back to the ship, not complaining, not moaning and groaning but just quiet, your eyes taking in everything around you as if it’s the last time you’ll see it.

it’s only as you’re settled down in the ship, bound hands between your knees that you speak — “i can get you three times your reward.”

and just as he’s beginning to think you’re different, like clockwork the bargaining begins.

“you’re not in any position to negotiate.”

you shake your head as though he misunderstands, “no, i don’t— you can still complete your bounty. but if you-” you inhale catches, as you choose your words carefully, “if you delay it, pretend i was harder to find than in actuality, i can make sure he pays you handsomely."

and that gets din’s attention, his body language betraying nothing, his helmet tilting to the side just an inch. “what’s in it for you?”

you laugh mirthlessly as you stare at your bound hands, aware of how ironic what you’re about to say is. “a few more weeks of freedom.”

this, din doesn’t buy. you married this man by your own choice— he knows because he did his research. he’s not in the business of tracking down slave brides or anything of the like. your marriage is completely legitimate.

he says as much, not sure why he’s even giving this conversation time of day— he should be taking off right now, setting course for your home planet, back into the arms of your waiting husband.

yet, he says, “you had your freedom. you chose this marriage.”

you deflate at his words and somehow din doesn’t feel like he’s won the conversation at all. he turns, prepared to head for the cockpit when you speak once more, “i didn’t know.” din stops. he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even tilt his head but that’s enough for you to keep talking, “i— he knew my father, they were friends. i knew him as a child and he used to teach me writing when he came to the house.” something heavy sinks into the bottom of din’s stomach at your words, somehow knowing where this is heading. surely, your father wouldn’t have allowed it.

but din’s seen the galaxy’s worst and knows very well that he would’ve. “i didn’t know what i was signing, i didn’t even know i was signing anything,” you say, voice tight. “just two weeks, please, it’s all i ask.”

it had already taken a week to find you. three weeks to track a bounty with no ability to fight would tarnish his reputation no doubt. but… he believed you.

“i can give you a week,” he says and doesn’t wait to hear your thank you, trudging up to the cockpit, wondering what the fuck he was going to do with an extra passenger for a week.

then you have a classic star wars montage — din decides his best course is to keep visiting new planets as if he’s hunting and you’re more than happy about that.

it takes a bit of back and forth before you convince him you do need your hands free to feed yourself — unless he wants to?— and he snaps the cuffs off you with a curt reminder that there’s nowhere you can hide from him. the threat doesn’t land because you’re too struck by the new planet, a landscape you’ve never seen before.

you tag along to the market and despite coming from a wealthy family, it’s as though you’ve never been outside before. you touch everything, fingers feeling every fabric and texture, and din has to step in when a vendor gets too angry at your lingering, pleasantly surprised when you snip back in the local language.

as you wander, din can’t keep his curiosity tamped down, asking how you learnt the language when you clearly haven’t travelled much— and you respond that, despite its glamorous appearance, there’s little to do as a lords wife and you’ve spent your years in the library, practising different dialects.

“su cuy’gar,” (hello) you say, turning back to him with a smile and din literally stumbles in surprise, hearing the mando’a roll off your tongue. he can’t think of a response so he just strolls past you silently, heading back for the ship.

you think you’ve upset him, maybe offended his culture, but as you walk half a step behind him, he holds out an offering of food, clearly only for you, given the helmet situation. he doesn’t put the cuffs back on you when you get back to the crest.

it’s only a week but it feels like a lifetime — for the both of you. you get to drink in every type of planet, frozen ones, scorched ones, ones bursting with plants and ones crawling with lava.

after the third one, maybe you imagine it but you can’t help but feel like din’s adjusting his choices, sticking to the leafy planets with hot springs to swim in and fruits galore to gorge on. his initial condition of only giving you strict rations is broken quickly and you wonder if he’s letting himself be selfish, indulging in things he normally wouldn’t just for your sake.

when you travel, you stick close for the sake of safety and the two of you murmur in manda’o when you need to be discrete and only once do you save his ass, stepping in front of a flung blade that buries into your thigh. he scolds you vehemently as he patches it up and you let him, too shocked that he’s insisting on doing it despite your two free hands.

he saves your ass ten times over, always managing to pull you back from heated discussions and bar brawls, din having an instinct that you’re barely beginning to form on your own and maker, you had no idea people killed each other this much out in the world.

you insist on cleaning a nasty gash on his arm, almost tucked beneath his pauldron and you never, never even ask about seeing his face.

even though you wish it never would, the week still ends.

“home time,” you say, trying to keep the glumness out of your tone. you have no intention of stalling or guilting the mandalorian who kept his side of the deal. your month on the run was only ever going to be a brief reprieve from the reality of your life.

the mandalorian gets quiet in your last day and as he sets the coordinates to your home planet, he doesn’t say a word. he’s suddenly the same mandalorian who hunted you down a week ago again, steely and cold as his armour.

the flight is short and in a manner of hours, you’re walking down the ramp back into the mouth of your home that begs to swallow you whole.

you keep your end of the deal, conjuring up some story of how the reason it took so long was you were hours away from being sold off into some of the human markets and mando is the reason you weren’t.

“he deserves handsome reward”, you whisper, almost embarrassed by the role you play with your husband now that it’s being observed by the ever silent mandalorian, his visor unmoving. “don’t punish him for my foolish decisions, my lord.”

your husband, thankfully, falls into your words easily and agrees to the high payment, triple what had been promised. you ask only to thank the mandalorian who saved you life as you leave, stepping closer and murmuring

“vor entye, mando,” (thank you) your eyes on his dark visor, for once, wishing you could see beneath it. he doesn’t say anything and you think that’ll will be all, the final words of the best week of your life forgotten from hours ago.

then…

“din.”

you halt, unsure of what it is he’s said.

“my name is din.”

you take the last gift from the world, the name of your hunter who showed you mercy, and watch the crest rise and leave the skies — certain you’ll be content with the memories of the week.

it’s not contentness that finds you though; it’s torture, knowing what’s outside, right out of your reach.

you don’t slide back into your old life at all, you’ve outgrown your mould and discomfort prickles at every severance of your autonomy.

your husband increases the guards around you ten-fold, til you don’t have a single moment alone. you reside in the library and leaf through the books on mandalore, finding more comfort in them than you ever had before.

it’s a quiet evening and you’re absentmindedly drawing circles on the page before you, dreading the upcoming banquet with your husband when you hear a fizzle outside, quickly following by a rapid succession of hits.

a thud hits the ground and you scramble to your feet, knowing with a sinking feeling that it’s your guards, not the intruder, who’s taken the fall.

you hit one of the bookcases as you back up and turn, hiding behind it as the door opens— and you recognise the glint of armour in a moment. it’s second nature to step forward, towards him.

his visor catches the motion and he goes rigid. for a moment, you both just stare at each other, barely processing that he’s come back.

he came back, for you.

“do you want to stay here?” he asks, modulator not hiding the strain in his voice. its not from lack of breath though.

“no,” you answer truthfully, taking another step forward.

“do you want to leave?” he says. “with me?”

you’re nodding before he’s finished his sentence. “yes.”

and then you’re following him through the halls, sticking close like you learnt to do, your heart thumping din, din, din, because never in your life has someone done this—come back and made it your choice.

you manage to make it out the boundaries of the property, your heart rising in your chest at the sight of the razor chest over the ridge when something catches around din’s knee and he crumples with a grunt.

you stop in an instant, dropping to your knees and hands fluttering as you try to tug him to his feet, horror twisting in your stomach at the sight of the arrow through the back of his knee, between his shields of armour—

“din— din, you have to get up,” you say, voice wobbling.

you don’t even get a chance to hear his reply, arms circling you and tugging you back, the guards of your husband having caught back up. and then you’re fighting, twisting in the ridiculous gown you’re in, yowling and scratching in that way that din has only heard once before, the day he found you himself.

as din himself is hauled sluggishly to his feet, it’s with the realisation that something coats the arrow still in his flesh, some poison that’s weaving into his blood.

he’s hauled to his feet and dragged back with you, forced to endure the torture of your cries, the endless no’s that leave your lips. it’s only as he drags his helmeted head up, eyes begging to see you, does he realise your cries are not for yourself— you’re still fighting, not tugging away from your captors, you’re tugging towards him.

you’re both brought before your husband, forced to your knees as he glares down at you, fury engraved upon his face.

“the very man i pay to return my wife is the next to steal her from me?”

the lie surges up within you easily. “no! no, it was a plan of my design. i… i tempted him with credits to help me escape.”

and if din wasn’t already captivated by you before, the very notions of your words that shield him, even when he brought you back to this monster— his heart stirs in his chest.

and what’s worse is that it works.

your husband turns his wicked anger and focuses it on you, stalking forward with a promise of vengeance— “escape? you cannot escape from what you have chosen. what you signed, what you promised to me.”

din seethes beneath his helmet, watching how you shudder and bow beneath the words, til you’re only a shadow of the self he saw in that one week. “yes. you’re right. i should have known better.”

din surges forward with a new wave of strength, blatantly ignoring the awful singing of the wound in his leg— the poison is weighing him down but it’s not enough to dull his senses.

he headbutts the guard behind him, holding his shoulders and takes out the three surrounding him in quick succession— but a sharp ping against his shoulder, a blaster shot, sends him to the ground again with a loud groan. you know instantly what poison coats the arrow in his leg, what you’ve watched killed a hundred trespassers over the years.

“stop it!” you plead, stepping forward to try to reach him, your movements futile as your husband’s hand snares in your hair, ripping you backward.

“stop,” he snarls. “trying to get away from me,”

“no!” you cry, twisting and clawing at his arm, gleeful when he shouts and releases his tight hold. you drop square on your ass and scramble back, putting yourself between the barrel of your husbands blaster and your mandalorian.

“i won’t stop. i will never stop trying to get away from you for every minute of every day, for the rest of my life,” you pant. your husbands face grows more gnarled with every word but all you can hear is the faint breath of din behind you, growing weaker with every breath.

“but,” you begin.

“no,” din’s voice comes from behind you, reedy and weaker than you’ve ever heard it.

“if you let me give him the antidote,” you voice trembles. you’re running out of time. “i will stay with you. i will never try to leave, never try to escape—”

“no,” din says again, barely a pained murmur. you continue on, chest heaving as you stare down your husband. “i will be your wife, just like you want, i promise. just let me heal him.”

the blaster wavers before your face and you hold your breath, waiting judgement before finally it’s lowered an inch— your husbands hand sneaking into his pocket to steal a vial of the antidote. he tosses it into the sand before you with a sneer and turns his attention to his remaining guards. “cuff him.”

you’re snatching up the vial before he’s even finishing speaking, turning with a speed that makes your hands blurry. you scramble to din’s weakening form, hands fussing as you realise you need to find some bare skin to puncture.

apologies garble out your mouth as you yank up the flight suit on his arm, putting the vial between your teeth to pop off the end, revealing the needle. you can hear how laboured din’s breathing is even though his modulator and you hurriedly line the needle up, preparing to push— when his arm sways back, away from the needle.

“no,” he says once more, breathless. “not… for your freedom.”

you make a noise that might be a sob, grabbing his arm and pulling it forward, shaking your head.

“i’m not worth dying for.” you counter, voice trembling, and you jab it into his arm before he can argue, a pained groan threaded through his modulator as the antidote spreads rapidly.

your chest heaves, the finality of what you’ve done sinking in, especially as the guards step forward, cuffs out and ready. your husband drawls your name, casual and snide, as though he hasn’t just terrorised you and nearly killed your closest attempt to a saviour.

“goodbye, din,” you whisper softly, you lean back, drawing a deep breath, prepared to relent, to submit— when din’s gloved hand reaches out, catching your arm with an alarmingly strong grip.

you barely get a moment of confusion before he’s murmuring, “get down,” and cocking his wrist, something blue lighting up.

you fold in an instant, trusting him completely, and din’s hand tugs you forward so you’re upon him, his hand shifting up to cup back of your neck. something whistling dangerously close to your ear and you screw your eyes closed, hearing several yells and thuds.

din’s body rolls, tucking you beneath him as the loud shot of a blaster goes off, burying in the dirt beside your head. another follows it and there’s another thud, a crumpled body hitting the ground.

the silence rings out, deafening in the rush of your emotions and the ebbing sounds of the fight. your eyes spring open and you stare up at the dark visor in disbelief, unable to grasp the hope rising in your chest. is he alive? are you alive? is… this real? are you free?

“breathe, mesh’la,” din commands softly.

you realise you’re holding your breath and you deflate as it rushes out of you — then din’s shifting back, groaning as he lowers himself to the ground. you realise there’s blood beneath you and you follow it in a panic to his leg, still leaking blood around the arrow wound.

“your leg—“

din waves you off, already pushing to his knees with a woozy balance. “i’ll deal with it at the ship. c’mon.”

he stands like it’s no big deal to have an arrowhead still stored in his flesh and you rush to your feet, only just then looking around at the bodies littered at your feet. a dozen guards or so and… your husband.

he isn’t moving but something sudden seizes at your throat and you reach out to grab din’s blaster, unloading several shots into your husbands body for good.

din’s gaze is on you when you stop pulling the trigger and for a moment, you wonder what he’ll think, then he nods, a minuscule motion, and holds out his hand for the blaster.

you hand it over and he holsters it, hand hovering for a moment as he assesses the distance between here and the ship. you take the pause and gently reach for his arm, slipping beneath it to take some of his weight, hearing the surprised inhale from under his helmet. together,

the two of your straggle back to the crest, trailing blood but lighter with the knowledge you never have to return — that your mandalorian trusts you enough to patch his leg up and then asks you, gruff and low, where it is you want to go next.

your choice.

[winpocalypse]

for the person who was looking for a pining dean fic:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892687/chapters/73565595

oh man, this one sounds awesome! thanks for sharing

If Gold Rusts... by ulexite

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

I wrote orv fanfic instead of studying for my final exam yayyyy

Description:

Kim Dokja, adopted son of Hades and Persephone, and an official Demon King, is on the run from his own parents... and the entire underworld.

They mostly let him play, but if he slips up then it's back to the underworld with him. Join him and his adventures in the Empire, whose prince is extremely handsome and popular, and also incredibly irritated at the magic wielding pretty-boy that is stirring up trouble with his very presence. Traveling scholar his ass, this guy is just a pain in one! And why is everyone that joins his group incredibly loyal?

Kim Dokja, adopted son, might have accidentally started adopting some children of his own. Now he's starting to get worried he won't be able to go anywhere without these people following his every move.

I'm going insane from sleep deprivation

Don't read this if you expect yjh to be there. He's for a later chapter. First we need a set up.

[ohbo-ohno]

heartbreaking news: your fic does actually need a plot and can't exist on vibes alone

[isacksteban]

Forgive Me, Father (6/??) (23k words)

As loyalties shifted, it felt like a moment of reckoning, where paths split and trust in a mentor faltered. Bez found himself drawn to a darker path, enticed by Marc's persuasive words promising a new direction.

One

Two

Three (smut)

Four

Five

Six (smut)

[kacchanot-fucking-deal-with-this]

I swear I meant for this fic to be a shorter story. I promise I was trying to practice my short form fanfiction. I didn't mean for it to exceed the word limit by more than triple the amount. You have to believe me, the details got out of hand and I'm only halfway through and it's twenty-nine pages, and I truly did not intend for it to get out of hand.