#it tastes like how tanning oil smells

[koishikei]

finally got my gamer juice

[threadsoflacee]

this is how i see hannigram ordinary life. 4chan version

- 2019, argentina

-will comes back from the boatyard divinely beautiful with wind swept hair and slightly red cheeks and tan marks and smelling of sweat and cologne and motor oil

- hannibal kisses him at the front door, he tastes like cake frosting, compliments him at least 4 times before will can take his shoes off

- their 6 dogs gently lick at will’s hands as greeting bc they are very well trained

- a guy is screaming down in their basement, nobody notices

- they talk for a bit abt their day. hannibal is butt naked under his egyptian 1 million threads fluffy cotton 70,000$ night sky blue robe .

- the screaming is getting annoying so will kisses hannibals cheek and tells him he’ll be back. comes back up 3 minutes later with a single speck of blood on his white collar. tells hannibal to have dinner ready when he gets out the shower. hannibal blushes and giggles.

- they eat dinner and dessert and play footsie under the table and moan while eating.

- they go up to their shared bedroom and have sex for 6 hours straight . then hannibal composes a symphony off the simple sound of will sighing his name and maybe draws after. will is snoring like crazy in bed

- they wake up at 11am . And repeat

[mistatsunrise]

Shards of Loyalty

Amidst the shadows of betrayal and loyalty, one rebel medic must navigate fractured bonds in the heart of the Empire's darkness.

Fandom: Star Wars, The Bad Batch

Pairing: Wolffe x Reader

Content: Angst as the reader briefly reunites with Wolffe on Teth

Warnings: Spoilers for TBB S3ep06+07

Word Count: 2,978

A/N: I watched the episode, cried, then spent all my time writing this. Also, I couldn't help but have Gregor simp for the reader in this one. Art in divider is by lornaka.

Sitting around the grey flexsteel table, laughter danced around you, as soft giggles spilled from your lips. Your eyes closed briefly as your cheeks rose, a toothy grin wide across your face in a way that made each corner hurt. Across from you was the other source of joyful sounds, in his worn, white plastoid commando armour. His features were spread into a similar grin, crow's feet crinkled about his chestnut brown eyes that glinted in the artificial light of the ship’s interior, and the worn lines upon his tan skin stretched about his smile. A small, stray strand on his dark, slicked-back hair had fallen out of place, which he brushed back into place with a quick swipe of his gloved hand.

As you calmed your laughs, you shifted your hand to take hold of your cup of caf that sat on the table in front of you, the earthy smell of it curling in your nose as you inhaled. Before taking a sip of it, you tilted your head towards the clone opposite you as he rubbed the side of his face, trying to calm his laughter that was greater than yours.

“As soon as we land, I’m going to go get Nemec to confirm that, Gregor,” you teased him softly, to which the clone burst into another bout of laughter.

“You don’t trust me?” Gregor cooed as his laughs subsided again, pointing an accusatory finger at you. It wasn’t serious though, the lop-sided smirk on his face making it evident.

You rolled your eyes softly, placing your hand around the warm cup and lifting it to take a sip. The caf inside tasted too dry and was bitter on your tongue. Yet, you focused on Gregor, paying the poor taste of the caf little mind. “That mission was wild, I need to hear Nemec’s account. I believe you… but, maker, I need to hear more.”

Gregor chuckled softly at that, raising his cup of caf to his lips as you spoke. Yet, you noticed his dark chestnut hues shift from looking at you, moving to looking at the stairs towards the cockpit. The heavy sound of metal prosthetic legs, slightly muted by boots, traveled down to the table. In the doorway, Echo emerged, his pallid features holding a sense of alarm. He cut to the chase, his caramel eyes settling upon both you and Gregor as he spoke.

“Rex commed. Imperials have discovered the base at the spire. They need extracting, ASAP. We’re about five parsecs away.”

You flicked your eyes back to Gregor, whose dark eyes had now hardened with solemnity. There was an unspoken understanding between you three. Your voice vocalized before you even registered it, holding an almost emotionless tone to it.

“Affirmative.”

You pushed yourself from your chair as Gregor simultaneously stood. You all knew what needed to be done, no orders were needed. That’s how this little group of rebels worked, efficiently like a well-oiled droid; not like the Separatist clankers, but like the whirring of a reliable R-series astromech.

Gregor shifted past you on your right, raising a hand to place gently on your shoulder. His digits gave a gentle, but brief squeeze before departing, a small gesture of reassurance. It was all you needed to push yourself forward, to walk down the familiar corridors of the ship towards the medbay.

Once in the dark room, surrounded by dim blue hues and softly blinking lights of green, red, white, and blue, you didn’t need to turn on the main light to navigate about; you knew this place like the back of your hand. You had transitioned from a medcenter medic to a field medic for the clone rebels, and this place was now as close to a home as you could probably get. You missed your life before, at the medcenter, but here, in this dim room, it was easy to put away the memories, the good and the bad, and be enveloped in the blanket of shadows and low light.

As you sought for your medical bag, fingers grazing against the embroidered section of the fabric, a memory surfaced.

“It’s a gift, for helping with… well, everything.”

Wolffe’s voice echoed in your mind as if he was there. He’d stood before you, a small bundle in his outstretched hand. It was wrapped rather poorly, the edges of the paper coming unfolded as it sat there, as if the commander either hadn’t bothered to find an adhesive, or he simply couldn’t find one. It seemed too awkward for him, in a way, and that was coming from the person who’d been there for… well, everything. At least from the moment he’d arrived, fresh red scar and painfully burnt eye from a lightsaber wound. There had certainly been some awkward moments in his recovery, but somehow, it was not as awkward as this moment. Perhaps, because for once, Wolffe was the one giving, and neither of you was used to it. You’d taken the gift, fingers pulling at the paper to unveil an embroidered patch in the middle, the symbol of the Wolfpack in the middle. “I want you to be an honorary member of the Wolfpack,” Wolffe had explained, still rather awkwardly. At the time, you didn’t know why, but when you went home, to sew the patch to your medpack bag, you’d found his comm details written in the paper wrapping too. That moment felt like a lifetime ago. All memories of Wolffe did. You had been so close. So close, that you’d almost admitted to him that you loved him. But that never came to pass. The world as you knew it shattered, and you had to rebuild. The medbay you currently knelt in was a testament to that.

A sigh, heavy and warped with longing, passed from your lips, falling into the air of the dark room. You had to focus; Rex, Nemec, Fireball, and Howzer were relying on you for the extraction, and you needed to be ready in case anyone was harmed… which was inevitable. Hopefully, all injuries would be minor. Pushing the past where it belonged, in the past and away from your conscious thought, you grabbed the medpack, pulling the straps over your shoulders. No time to dawdle. You stood straight, pack weighing on your shoulders, and you navigated the hallways the way you had just walked, back to the mess room, and then further, up the stairs to the cockpit.

At the very front was Echo, facing ahead as the blue streaks of light shot by like endless blaster bolts. A few seats back sat Gregor, leaning forward with arms crossed over his knees. Both sat in silence; apprehension hung in the air, the deep breath before plunging into conflict, something both clones were used to. You certainly weren’t, yet you were not one to let the unease overwhelm you. Taking a few steps forward, you plant yourself in the leather of the chair opposite Gregor, your voice cutting through the silence.

“How long until we get there?”

Echo tilted his head back slightly, the caramel hues of his irises glinting in the light of hyperspace, coming in from the viewports. “Another couple of minutes. Rex and the boys will need to hold on until then.”

Gregor’s voice quickly cut in after Echo finished his sentence, drawing your attention to him. He’d swiveled his chair to face you, having grabbed something from the small side sill at the edge of the cockpit. “Here, take this blaster,” Gregor extended his hand out, holding a DC-17 hand blaster to you. “Not sure if we’ll have to fight. Be safe than sorry.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, momentarily going higher pitch before lowering to his usual pitch. After the voice cracks, a small burst of nervous laughter escaped the clone. It was not long ago that you and Gregor shared humorous laughter, and now all that joy had dissipated. You leaned forward, outstretching your arm to take the blaster from Gregor’s hand. Your fingers curled around the weapon and softly brushed Gregor’s hand, warm still through the gloves. As you pulled the blaster back to rest on your lap, Gregor offered you a small, yet warm smile, sincerity glinting in his eyes, wordlessly telling you not to worry.

At the console, Echo moved to pull the ship out of hyperspace. The streaking lights of passing stars shortened, congealing into pin-prick dots of light. Outside the transparisteel before you, the looming, dark shape of Teth emerged. As you got closer, you spied a bright white light at the location, and Echo deftly moved to send an alert to Rex that you were inbound. Gregor stood, leaning over one of the chairs closer to the console, and so you joined him, to get a better look at the scene. You saw a line of Imperial soldiers - you couldn’t quite make out their armor from here. Huddled before them, alert yet holding fire was Rex and the others… A glance over them showed you easily that some were missing - who you didn’t know. Blasted Imperials, you always lost good clones to them. What surprised you was that they didn’t try anything against the ship.

You pushed yourself to stand from your chair, and Gregor nodded to you, standing up straight himself. Echo swung the ship around for easy access to Rex and the others, and quickly you and Gregor sprinted down the halls towards the door. You gripped the blaster tight in your hand. If it came to blows, you were ready to take down a few of the Empire’s men in exchange for the missing troopers. With a swoosh, the door lowered, spilling white light from your ship against the bright spotlights of the Imperial ship. Before you stood the shadowy figures of both your men and the Imperials. It took you a moment for your eyes to adjust upon those who stood there. You looked to your troopers first - only Rex and Howzer remained, the rest were the Bad Batch, with their child and pet. Nemec… Fireball… Both of them were gone.

Anger surged through you, and you raised your gaze to glare at the leader of the Imperial troopers, intent on giving him the most venomous stare you could muster. Yet, as the details of the man were revealed to you, a crack suddenly shattered your heart in half. The blaster in your hand fell slack as you just stared… The one behind this, who’d allowed the deaths of Nemec, Fireball, and the others, was none other than the man you loved. Wolffe.

Beside him, the clone commando eased forward slightly, yet Wolffe raised his arm to tell the trooper, his voice quiet yet rumbling in a commanding tone, “Stand down.” You just about heard it, although his actions spoke louder than his words at that moment. He was going to let you all go, despite likely being ordered to take down your group. Before you, Rex nodded his head with respect for the commander. They were brothers, and loyal to each other even if they fought on opposite sides. That loyalty gave you hope, sparking up inside your chest where the ruins of your heart now lay cracked, perhaps to mend and bond that wound taken to it.

The Bad Batch, followed by Howzer, moved quickly back up to the ship, and Rex himself turned his back to Wolffe. With them, everything had been said and done, but you… You didn’t quite understand. Wolffe was disobeying the Empire at this moment, but he appeared to still be staying with them. You stepped forward down the ramp, brushing past the lanky figure of Crosshair, onto the rocky ground below. Wolffe’s gaze shifted from the turning figure of Rex towards where you stepped, pushing past those retreating in an almost defiant manner. Your eyes met, and the firm expression of the Commander shifted. His eyes widened in surprise, his lips parting softly; his left, natural eye with its caramel hues seemed vulnerable at that moment. Standing opposed to his brothers was different from standing opposed to the person he’d loved. Looking at him, you saw that too awkward stance again, echoing the past when he first truly opened up to you. There was hope, yet this was not a moment, or even such a thing, to be easily navigated. Not with the troopers at Wolffe’s back, and the Empire too. Not with your ship, your group of rebels about to depart. It wasn’t even as easy as giving commlink details on a crumpled piece of paper.

Rex’s hand met your shoulder as he stopped by you. It was hard to break away from Wolffe’s gaze, but you did. The look on Rex’s face told you everything you needed to know. That pair of amber eyes showed understanding, but an urgency, that nothing could be done now, and it was time to move on. You nodded your head slightly, your gaze meeting Wolffe’s, which had shifted to a more guarded look. There was still a hint of uncertainty in his singular natural eye, but his cybernetic one seemed dull and void. All you could do was offer the commander a nod, not unlike the one that had been shared with Rex, but this one told him that you’d be back, and that you’d both be able to reunite someday. Rex’s hand slipped from your shoulder, and with that, you too turned around. The captain allowed you to slip ahead of him so that he could secure safety as you finished boarding.

The steps onto the ship were hard, but you knew that this was not the last time you would see Wolffe. You did not dare look back, for if you did, you feared you’d lose your composure. Yet, thankfully, as you stepped back onto the firm flooring of the ship, you were surrounded by the clones that had supported you during this new reign of the Empire; Rex at your back, Gregor at your side, and Howzer at the front. The ramp raised and the door swooshed shut, leaving you standing there. The Bad Batch lingered around you too, and in that moment, you wished for them to be gone, to leave you with the ones you trusted, but you knew Echo would scold you for that, as they were his squad too. The conflict was evident on your face, it must be, because the pet of the Bad Batch snuffled its nose and came up to you, sniffing at you and rubbing against your legs in a friendly way. The child smiled at you, “Batcher’s just saying hi, don’t worry.” She seemed to have mistaken your expression for a reaction to the animal. It eased your mind a little, and you gave the kid a smile in response.

Rex shifted, stepping around you, and he headed over to the doorway that led to the corridor through the ship, “Come on, let’s settle down and… well… that was a lot. We all need some rest.” The largest clone in the Bad Batch, Wrecker, heartily agreed, followed by the child, then Hunter and the slinking Crosshair. There was no use in lingering here yourself, so you made your way down the corridor after them. In that walk, you realized that you felt as though part of you was missing, like there was a hole in your heart. It seemed that when it cracked when you saw Wolffe with the Empire, a part of it fell and was now left with him. You really would have to go back for it.

Once the ship was traveling at hyperspeed once more, and the Bad Batch was settled down in the cockpit with Echo, you found yourself sitting around that same table you’d been sitting at with Gregor before this all occurred. This time, you sat right next to Gregor, instead of opposite him, and Howzer sat in the chair you had occupied. Rex was standing to the side, stirring some sweetener into his cup of caf. Surrounded by your little mismatched squad, you finally felt able to breathe and to speak. Letting out a sigh, you voiced that which you’d been dying to say since you saw the commander. “I can’t believe Wolffe sided with the Empire.” Gregor shifted slightly, wordlessly putting a hand on your shoulder. These few clones were the ones that knew about your connection to Wolffe, so you felt safe to speak of it here.

Rex turned his head slightly, looking at you with his amber gaze, holding sincerity within it. “Wolffe doesn’t seem to know everything the Empire’s done. He’s likely still under the influence of the chip. But, like with all of us, he did show signs of resistance.”

Howzer added to Rex’s comment, shoving a thumb in the direction of the cockpit, “If Crosshair can be redeemed, then Commander Wolffe can too. That clone showed that he truly had changed today… and I still almost find it hard to believe, even though I saw it with my own eyes. If that can be done, then getting Wolffe to see sense would be like a sandstorm on Geonosis - inevitable.”

The missing clones from your gathering came to mind though, and you frowned, “But… Fireball… Nemec… Wolffe didn’t-”

“Actually,” Rex cut you off, “They were firing at us with stun rounds. There was one of those shadow troopers after us… That was who got Fireball and Nemec. Wolffe’s men appeared to be ordered to take us down with stun rounds.”

You exhaled softly. Wolffe was still loyal to his brothers, even those who fought against him, that was clear. There was no reason to lose hope, even under the dark rule of the Empire. It gave you purpose too; to keep fighting until Wolffe was finally by your side once more.

Thanks for reading!

[impala-dreamer]

Slipping Away

A Short Story

~ In his heart he’s lived a hundred lives, been through hell and back, loved a million souls. The heart is strong but the mind is weak, and in the end, only memory remains as his lives begin to fade.~

Jensen Ackles

954 Words

Bittersweet Angst

Thank you to everyone who read/shared/commented on my stories for @jacklesversebingo and specifically to @deanwinchesterswitch who organized such a fun, inspiring event. This is my final piece for the bingo, using the prompt "All But One Dies”. I hope you enjoy this swan song...

JacklesBingo Masterlist ~ Full Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

There’s an old man sitting at the end of the bar. His hair has long ago gone gray but a strand of dark walnut still peaks through now and then. The memory of reddish-brown plays over his jaw, but it’s all gone white. His skin has grown pale over the years, his tan freckles fading with it. He used to be covered in speckles like stars across the universe, but now, only a few remain. His tall frame is bent with a slight forward hunch- the consequence of years of stunts that should have been left for younger, more qualified men. His shoulders are still broad, but now bony, and his arms are weaker yet just as warm. 

His eyes are still the color of the forest, but behind them, not much else remains. 

Long, thin fingers trace the rim of a whiskey glass before gripping it tight and lifting the last sip to his lips. Once so plump and rosy pink, they’re impossibly cracked and pale. 

The whiskey soothes the ache in his bones and he sighs. 

Time has been cruel, but the life he can remember was good. 

Once upon a time, he’d traveled the world, meeting a million smiling faces and dodging hands all reaching out for him. He’d captivated every stage he’d set foot on, microphones twirling in his hand and carrying his laugh through countless auditoriums. He told hundreds of stories, some more than once, some exaggerated, all met with applause. 

How many times had he smiled for the camera or accepted hugs from strangers? How many pen strokes were wasted on his name? It was impossible to tell. He was barely able to remember those events now, let alone count the numbers. He knew he’d made them smile, he knew he’d left some impression. 

Memories were fleeting and sometimes painful. It was getting harder to sort through the flashes of history and make sense of anything. Some days it felt like he’d lived a dozen lifetimes. 

He remembered running through dark, damp tunnels with no more than a headlamp to light his way. He could smell the coal; feel the heft of the pickax in his hands. His breath was thick and heavy as he stalked his way down into the depths of Hell. 

He remembered pining for the girl- a beauty with long dark hair and bright eyes. He could almost smell her sweet perfume and hear her sassy remarks as he tried his best to woo her affection. He tasted oil and vinegar on his fingertips; felt the bacon grease pop from the griddle and sting his arms. 

There were times when he recalled the feeling of wind on his face as he leaped from rooftop to rooftop beneath a full moon. Clad in heavy kevlar, he moved through the shadows of the city, listening for screams or cackles of evil. 

Sometimes, memory inferred that he was the evil one. Striding with purpose through a warzone or locking his long fingers around some delicate throat. Power surged through his veins surely as the drugs he took, and it felt as if he were immune to the rules of life and the laws of man. He could do anything he wanted, be anything, kill anything. He was the epitome of strength, the emblem of America, the most powerful man alive. 

Those lives were disappearing faster these days. When he struggled to remember, he drank. When he cried for lives he’d taken or loves he’d lost, he slept. 

The football fields and shell necklaces, the cowls and capes, the flashes and stages- they were all lost in the fog of his mind. A myriad of lives lived and stolen by age until only one remained. 

He smiles when the bartender works her way back to him. 

Kate is short and curvy, with dyed pink hair that matches her neon tank top. There are silver studs in her ears and a hoop in her nose, and her shoulder is inked with scrollwork wrapped around an image he could never decipher. 

“Can I getcha another drink?” she asks, thickly painted lashes fluttering kindly at him. 

Jensen nods and pushes his glass forward. His voice is shaky as he speaks, but he soon finds a familiar rhythm.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I ganked an entire vamp nest by myself? Took out a dozen blood-suckers before Sammy even knew I was gone.” He laughs and reaches for the refreshed drink. “It was something. I was somethin’. Best hunter there ever was. Well, Sam had his moments, but I was good. Real good…”

The bartender smiles. She’s heard the stories before but doesn’t mind repeats. The old actor is sweet and tips her well, so she never minds watching out for him until his daughter comes to collect him. 

“If you play your cards right, Sweetheart, I may take you for a spin in my car.” He winks over the tumbler at her, green eyes slick with a flirtatious gaze. “Sexiest damn car you’ll ever see. My Baby. One of a kind. You know, I rebuilt her a whole bunch of times…” His voice trails off as he tries desperately to count the occasions, but time is twisted and pale. His brow creases with worry as another memory slips away. There is only one life left and it’s vanishing more every day. Tears well in his eyes and he clears his throat. “Anyway… I uh…” 

Kate gently takes his hand and leans close, catching his gaze. “Hey. It’s OK, Mr. Ackles. You’re OK.” 

The old man sighs and worry leaves him. He smiles and squeezes her hand. 

“Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I killed Hitler?” 

[helaelaemond]

REQUEST TIME Because of your beautiful, beautiful mind, this idea came up after reading your amazing Billy fic (Only worth living if somebody loving you).

How about a Billy who, as you showed, is turned on by taking care of his SO, but turned on so much that he cannot help but cum from this?

I know it'll be great, as the idea mostly came from you and the EYE CONTACT will break me.

thank you for this wonderful prompt, and for trusting me with it! In @myfandomprompts I believe!!!!!!!

Title: This Is My Idea of Fun - part of the It’s All For You series but can be read as standalone

Pairing: Billy Washington x female reader

Summary: You've come back from a week long holiday with your friends, and your boyfriend Billy has missed you. He's missed taking care of you, touching you and tasting you, giving you everything you need. And in giving you everything you need, he finds his own satisfaction.

Cunnilingus, breast worship, nipple orgasm (female), hands-free orgasm (male), mild praise kink, pet names, established relationship, fluffy smut.

Rating: E

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: references to Lana Del Rey (this whole series is based on Video Games - the lyrics and the vibes. JUMPSCARE I GUESS)

Tag list: @sylasthegrim / @myfandomprompts/ @arcielee / @babyblue711 / i forget who else might want Billy tags <3

"Billy!"

He grins as he waits for you at Stansted arrivals with open arms, and you fly to him. "Hey!"

Catching you in his embrace, he peppers your face with kisses, not caring that you're feeling gross from your flight, not caring that you smell of the stale aeroplane air, not caring, not caring, not caring. Behind you, your friends meet their partners, too, although none are as welcomed so lovingly as you (not that it's a competition - but it still feels good).

"I missed you!"

His heart leaps when you say that, and he runs his fingers over your hair. "Hmm. I missed you too. Didn't know what to do with myself all week. God, you look good. Look at your tan!" The Mallorca sun has warmed your skin and left you glowing, and he kisses your forehead. "You wore sun cream, right?"

"Of course!" you laugh, batting away his worries. "Factor fifty, three times a day."

"Hmm. I'm not sure it counts if you're adding tanning oil on top of it."

"Shut up!"

He grins and grabs the handle of your suitcase, and although you protest, he takes the rucksack from your back, too. When you turn towards the train station within the airport, he grabs your hand. "Where you going?"

"Aren't we-?" you gesture to where your friends are meandering to head back to central London.

"Absolutely not. No public transport for my girl."

"For God's sake!" you laugh again. "It's only a half hour train! You didn't have to drive. Couldn't wait to get me alone, huh?"

Billy ducks his head but gives you a glance. "You joke, but..."

You shove him playfully. Leaving him for a moment, you hug your friends goodbye and promise to see them soon, and then you go back to him. Arm in arm, you walk out of the airport. It's only been a week away from him. But you're giddy being back with him.

After some convincing from your side, you'd agreed that you'd text every day, but not go into detail about what you're up to - that way, when you got home, you could tell him everything. At first, it made him nervous, but now that you're animatedly telling him everything as he drives down the M11, he's glad.

It's magic, seeing you like this. It's a beauty to listen to you talk about anything, let alone something that makes you so happy. He listens almost in a trance, and as he sits at a comfortable seventy-five in the outside lane, he rests his hand on your thigh. God, it's good to have you back.

By the time you've returned to the flat you rent together, you've told him all about your week-long holiday. Inside, it's clean and tidy, and on the living room windowsill is a fresh bouquet of lilac and lavender.

"Oh, Billy."

He smiles and kisses your temple. "Welcome home."

"Thank you."

You hug him for a long moment, just happy to be in his arms. But then his kisses move to your neck, and you squirm away. "No, stop. I need a shower. I feel gross."

Billy's nose scrunches as he beams at you. "Alright. Want me to unpack for you in the meantime?"

You think about telling him no, that he doesn't have to worry, but he strokes your cheek, and you're reminded how much he likes to take care of you, in his own way. "Could you?"

He nods.

"Thank you."

You take your time in the shower. You scrub every inch of yourself clean in an attempt to scourge travel from your skin and hair. By the time you've finished, Billy's unpacked your bags and stuck a wash on. It makes you feel all warm inside, the little gestures he performs that show he loves you. That you're his person to look after. You wrap yourself up in a towel and pad into the living room.

"All better?" he asks from where he's sitting on the sofa.

"Yeah. I need a proper brew, though. Want one?"

"Go on, then."

In the little kitchen, you pull out two mugs. They're ones you painted together on a date when you were still teenagers. He painted sprigs of lavender on his. It's what you smelled of on your first date. It's his favourite smell now, and your favourite flower. The memory makes you smile.

Strong arms encircle you as the kettle boils. A sharp chin finds its place on your bare shoulder. You put a tea bag in each mug, and a teaspoon of sugar in yours. Where Billy's mug has your signature lavender painted on it, yours has yours and his initials in a purple love heart.

"Shouldn't I be the one making you a drink?" he asks softly. His voice is low and smooth, every bit a comfort as a cup of tea.

"You've done plenty for me! But you can wash it up later, if it makes you feel better."

He laughs lowly, and kisses your neck. "Mmm. You smell nice now."

"Yeah, I didn't enjoy stinking of eau de Ryanair."

"Mm. Much better now. All clean. Just in time to make you dirty again."

You lean back against him as you cackle in delight. "That's a shit line, Billy! You'll have to try harder than that."

The kettle shakes as it comes to a loud boil, and you pour the hot water, followed by milk. The tea bags can stew for a few minutes.

"You want me to try different lines?"

"Hmm. Depends what lines you've got."

"I don't think I've got any."

You turn to face him and give him a smile. "You must have some. You know the right things to say in certain contexts."

He tilts his head down almost bashfully. "That's different."

"Yeah?"

"It's easy to say the right things when you're already half out your mind."

Heat flushes your cheeks, and you rest your hands on his shoulders to pull him down for a sweet kiss. "That's true. And you always know what to say then, anyway. How do you know what to say?"

Billy gently presses you back against the counter and places his hands on it either side of you. His gaze roams down your neck and to your exposed collarbones and shoulders. "Dunno. You just make me want to say them."

"Well, I'm glad that you do. You know, Sofia told us that Tom doesn't even talk during sex?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Sometimes she has to even beg him to go down. He doesn't like doing it that much."

Billy meets your gaze with surprise in his eyes. "Really? Tommy?"

You nod.

"Huh. Maybe I need to get better friends."

That makes you laugh. "You should give him some tips!"

"I dunno. You think I've got anything worth sharing?"

You swallow. Butterflies have burst into your stomach. Just talking about it makes your skin tingle. And it's been a week. A week away from Billy might as well be a year. Yeah, a holiday with friends was really nice, but it had its drawbacks. On the second night you had cried because you missed him. Of course, your friends had laughed and rolled their eyes, and you'd got yourself together quick, but- but Billy.

"Yeah. You're alright at it, I guess."

His smile is so sweet as he leans closer to you. He tilts his head down and cocks it slightly to the side. "Only alright?"

You lick your lips. "Well. It's a better way for you to use your mouth than trying shit chat up lines."

"Wouldn't you prefer it was that way round, though?"

You try - and fail - to bite back your laughter. You're still blushing. "Yeah... when you put it like that."

"I missed it while you were away, you know?"

"'It'?"

He kisses your lips softly, nipping ever so slightly. "Your taste."

The power he holds over you is unreasonable. When he pulls away, your breath is still held. "My...?"

He watches your face for a moment, and then grabs the cups behind you. "C'mon. Let's go sit down."

Where he goes, you so happily follow. Back in the living room, you sit on the sofa next to him and cradle the mug in your hands. You blow on the top of the tea, and take a sip. Mm. Tastes like home.

"So what did you do with yourself while I was away?"

Billy positions himself on the cushions so that he's close to you, facing you, his knee touching yours. "Work. Saw Lana."

"How is she?"

"Settling in, I think. Mum and Dad are happy she's home."

"Bit of a different climate to the Middle East, though." You smile.

He sips his drink, too, as his fingers ghost along your shoulder. "Hmm."

"How's work?"

He doesn't answer. But his expression is soft. His sweet blue eyes follow the line his finger traces on your skin, up the side of your neck, and then down to where the towel is still wrapped under your arms and over your body.

"Billy?"

"Work's fine."

Another sip. And then he leans in and kisses your throat. The tea makes his mouth hot, and it draws a quiet noise from you. "I'm so glad you're home."

"Me too."

As he kisses your throat again, you take another sip. It's sweet, refreshing, soul-warming. The tea is nice, too. You smile softly.

When Billy's fingers carefully tug the towel open, you let it fall with a certain amount of relief. Since you came out of the bathroom in it, you've wanted him to do this. To welcome you home properly. From the moment he gripped your thigh in the car, actually, your heart has been quicker.

"Give me your cup." He takes it from your fingers, half empty, and rests it next to yours on the table. Another intimate gesture, a sign of him taking care of you.

Your body is dry now, clean and smooth and fresh. He runs his hand over your stomach and up your side, and his thumb caresses the swell of your breast. The other hand turns your face by the chin to look at him. He smiles slightly. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I missed you."

It never gets old, hearing that. "I missed you, too."

He kisses your mouth again. You close your eyes, and give into him.

How beautiful it is when you give into him, he thinks. You're clay under his hands, ready to be moulded, shaped, turned into something divine with the help of his touch. How you part your lips when he guides you makes his heart leap. He sighs when your tongues meet lazily. It's a hot and wet pressure that sends bolts of lighting down his spine.

He could kiss you all day and all night and never get bored, never need more. You're so soft and pliant under him. How sacred it is, to be wanted like this. Billy keeps hold of your chin as you share deep kisses, while his other hand spreads fingers wide and caresses your side. After a long moment, he guides you to lie back on the sofa.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes against your cheek.

You laugh breathlessly. "Even with these tan lines?"

Smiling, he traces the line over the top of your breast. Your skin is so supple here. "Yes."

"They look stupid."

"Better than there being no tan lines at all."

"I'd never sunbathe topless."

Just the thought makes his arms tingle. It makes him bite gently against the shell of your ear. His breath is hot against it. "You'd better not. Your body is for my eyes only."

That earns a soft sigh from you. "Says who?"

It's a poor attempt on your part to tease and challenge him, but already it's under his control that you've fallen. "You. Every time you give yourself to me like this, it's a promise that you're mine."

"You don't own me." But your voice is gentle, your smile wide.

"No? Then why have you stopped breathing?"

It's satisfying how you gasp under his touch. He kisses you deeply a final time before his lips find a path down your skin. He follows the curve of your jaw and the slope of your neck, and at your collarbone, he leaves careful bites to the bone. Between your breasts, he presses his nose and breathes hard.

Across your lower back, he splays his fingers and lifts you up slightly. You arch closer to him, and he hums lowly at the grasp on his sandy hair.

"So beautiful." He can't help telling you again and again. "You're so beautiful."

You laugh softly. "Stop being so sweet." But your eyes are closed, he sees as he glances up, and you're preening at his words.

"You want me to be cruel?"

Again, you laugh. "Alright. You can keep being sweet."

"That's my girl."

Billy kisses the underside of your breast, and brings one hand to the other to carefully massage it. He bites the delicate skin here and there, and makes a pattern of kisses around your flesh. As he neglects your nipple, you feel your areolas tighten at the stimulation and anticipation.

"Please," you whisper.

"There's no rush," he soothes.

"But I want you."

He kisses your sternum harder than before. "I know, baby. Just relax. I'll take care of you."

You whimper quietly. He's doing everything right, except this time he's being slow about it. He drags his pretty lips down your stomach and you tense, but then he returns back up to your neck.

"Relax," he whispers.

You try to let the tension go, but it's difficult when anticipation is coursing through you. You open your eyes to see him looking down at you. Against your waist, his thumb runs soothing circles.

"Take deep breaths for me," Billy murmurs. As he leans over you, his short hair falls over his eyes, and it makes you smile. You stroke his face affectionately. You do as you're told.

"That's it. In, and out, nice and slow. Good job, baby. Just like that."

As the tension slowly melts away from your body, Billy is satisfied. Barely holding back his hunger, he returns his attention to your breasts. As you lie comfortably on the sofa, focusing on your breathing, he strokes up and down your sides, fingers ghosting along the swell of your breasts. Circles replace strokes, the tips of all four fingers trailing wide over your flesh.

When his touch glides over your pebbled areolas, you sigh and smile. The expression on your face makes his stomach tense. God, he could come from that alone.

"Does that feel nice?"

The deep breathing you've been practising has you finally relaxed and almost in a haze of desire now, and you nod. Words are out of your grasp, but you give him an encouraging hum. The anticipation no longer feels like a burden - now, it's just a promise.

"It feels nice for me, too." Closer and closer, Billy's fingers get to where you want them. And then, with a careful grasp around the bottom of your breast, he licks over your nipple. The stimulation makes you whimper and arch up. He runs the tip of his tongue around it, watching your face carefully for your reaction. Against your other breast, his fingers mirror the action of his mouth.

Billy blows cool air over where his tongue has been. He smiles when you toss your head to the side in response. After taking a long sip of warm tea, he takes your nipple into his mouth and sucks. The heat and rush of blood is so good.

You try to rub your thighs together to relieve some of the tension, but his knees are between yours and you can't. Instead, as the tension at your chest makes your mind foggy, you clench and unclench, driving your pleasure higher.

He notices. He can read you. "Easy," he whispers. "Breathe." His eyes bear into yours, blue flame, and you nod, obeying him. He smiles. "Good girl."

Another whimper sounds in your throat. He rewards you with his mouth again.

"Oh, God," you sigh. "Yes. Please."

Not a single touch has drifted south of your navel yet, but that doesn't matter. The attention at your breasts is more than enough. Pleasure builds deep within your body at the touches Billy lavishes on you. Soon, your steady breaths are not so steady anymore. Your jaw is slack, your hands fists at your side.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

He pulls off your nipple only to latch onto your other one. His fingers replace his mouth quickly and between his finger and thumb he carefully twists and pulls on you. Teeth catch puckered skin, and the sensation sets your whole body aflame. It drives you higher and higher.

"P-please!"

His free hand is firm around your back and he holds you firmly in his strong arm. You're drunk on his attention, seeing stars, consumed by him, by your Billy. The attention on your nipples is everything you need, and it builds and builds and your vision blacks out, you lose all sense of the world, and, and-!

"Fuck! Fuck, Billy! Yes, yes-!"

"Good girl," he hisses with your nipple between his teeth. His eyes are fixed on your face. "Just like that, baby. You're doing so well-!"

"Oh, shit-!"

As your orgasm erupts within you, you swear and writhe, burning. You twist and turn and arch, pleasure washing over you and making you cry out. It's overwhelming. It rips through every cell until you're shaking and mewling.

Billy's attentions slow, and after a long moment of taking you through your long peak, he presses his forehead over your heart. Hands stroke your sides soothingly, down your hips and thighs, and back up to your arms.

Silence follows. It's only punctuated by your heavy breathing, his quiet noises of encouragement.

"That was so good," he praises softly. "You're so pretty when you come."

You sling an arm over your eyes, but laugh softly at the praise. With your orgasm, some tension has been relieved from your body, but the haze in your mind remains. "Billy..."

"You want more?"

With flushed cheeks, you nod.

"Where do you want me?"

You trace your skin and drag a long line down your chest, your stomach, your hip. You spread your thighs and rest one foot on the floor for balance. The other is thrown onto the back of the sofa.

Billy lets out a shaking breath. "Oh, baby. You're so generous. All for me?"

The arm that was over your eyes now reaches for him, and you hold his hand. Lacing your fingers together feels as intimate as anything else. The butterflies in your stomach take flight again. "You."

"I missed your taste so much." He slinks down your body and kneels in front of the sofa. Strong arms twist you so that your legs come to rest on his shoulders. "Look how ready you are for me. Oh, you're so pretty."

His mouth is watering at the sight of you. Glistening, swollen, hot. His toes curl.

"Please," you whisper.

"What do you want me to do, baby?"

The pet name makes your thighs twitch. You used to cringe when you heard people call their partners 'baby', but in the most intimate moments with Billy, it feels so right. You're his. "Your mouth."

"Should I use it for 'shit chat up lines'?" And despite the overwhelming desire that shrouds you both, he grins.

God, it's so pretty the way his lips pull up like that. It makes his eyes sparkle, brings out smile lines on his cheeks. He's so loveable. "No. The other thing."

"What other thing?"

"You know."

He kisses the inside of your knee where it rests on his shoulder. "I know. But I want to hear you say it."

You blush - you hear your heartbeat in your ears. You feel it rush between your legs. "Please, Billy. Eat me out."

He almost growls in relief. "God, you're such a good girl. Thank you for using your words for me."

The praise makes you whimper. He's so good at it.

Between your thighs, Billy bites his lip. And then he closes the distance, and he's home. There's no home without you, not really, and this is the hearth. Warmth, fire, comfort. He loves your soul - but it's your cunt he worships.

His fingers make a 'v' shape at the apex of your thighs to spread you wide for him. The sight of your swollen clit, red and wet, makes him groan quietly. He tilts your hips slightly and presses his tongue first to your entrance, and the briny saltness of your readiness makes his eyes close. Your taste. Your fucking taste.

"Look at me." Your voice floats in the air like a song. His eyes open quickly and meet yours. It sends bolts of pleasure through him to hold your gaze as he runs his tongue up your length. Beneath it, your pulse rushes. A testament to how much you need him. How desperate he makes you. It's a love letter, every beat.

His tongue is soft while he pries at your entrance. The nerves there are stimulated in response, and your stomach tenses and relaxes in a familiar rhythm. Like he did around your nipple, here, he circles in a steady pace until you're arching closer for something more. As he sucks on your soft folds, you throw your head back and whine.

"Billy," you moan. "That feels so fucking good."

You're rewarded with a long lick up to your bud. He can't resist ghosting his teeth over it, and when you squeal, he smiles against your cunt. Each time you glance down at him, you meet his gaze. He can't take his eyes off your face.

Between his legs, his cock is neglected and aching. There is no stimulation for him, no relief. But it's like he's sharing in your physical pleasure now. He applies pressure with the flat of his tongue to your clit and rubs it back and forth, and the pleasure that builds for you also does for him.

Then, he pulls back.

"Shit, Billy-!" You glance down at him, panting, and see how wet his chin and lips and nose are. It makes you proud. All for him.

He can't keep away from you for long, though. Only a few seconds of respite are given to you before his tongue finds its place back on you. You're so warm and silky against his mouth, it's heaven. So slick and wet, too, impossibly ready. Billy nods his head up and down - still holding your gaze like his life depends on it - and lets his tongue pry against your entrance. Just a little angle change, and his nose catches the underside of your clit.

"Yes!" you beg. "Just like that, right there!"

But he can do more for you. He can be better, always better. With your thick scent filling his nose, your salty taste filling his mouth, he nips at your folds and then finally, finally, seals his lips around your clit.

Stars pop in his eyes now, not just yours. His cheeks hollow out as he sucks on you. Arms clamp around your thighs, biceps straining to hold you fast. Your own hands bury into his sandy hair to stop him from moving, too. You're locked together, bodies and souls.

"Yes!" you encourage again. "Billy, I'm so close, I'm so close, keep going, please, pl-!"

His mouth fills with your taste, with his own saliva, and he keeps suckling on you. Pressure is building in your stomach and his, and your cries and moans and begs push him, push him, push him. It's too much, he'll crack soon, he can't last much longer, not with your own climax imminent-

"Billy! Billy! Oh my God, oh my God! Billy! Bill-"

The lips around your clit wrench an orgasm from you that makes you scream. Your knees tighten against his ears and your whole body shakes. It washes over you for five seconds, ten, fifteen-! Your throat is raw from the gutteral cries, your cunt is throbbing from the tension and release, tension and release.

And then Billy is moaning between your thighs. His blue eyes are fixed on yours. But they're blown wide, and his hands are trembling, and then his jaw is slack, and his whole body jerks once. You whimper when you realise what's happened. It's the hottest fucking thing you've ever seen.

He’s come just from eating you out alone. No touch, no stimulation. Just making you finish has him spilling in his fucking trousers.

After a while, you both go limp. He barely has the strength left to climb on top of you on the sofa, but somehow he manages.

Minutes go by. Your breathing steadies. It matches up. Your hearts beat in tandem.

Peace reigns in your home.

After a while - minutes, hours, who knows? - you return to your body. The weight of Billy on top of you helps. Your hands find their way back into his hair, and you slowly massage his scalp.

"Mmm."

You smile at the noise he makes. "You're brilliant. You know that, right?"

His face is tucked into your neck, sweaty and sticky. "For that?"

"For everything."

"Mmm?"

"Yeah. I mean, you're good at that." You laugh quietly. It makes him shake a little on top of you. "But everything else, too. You picked me up from the airport. You made sure the flat was spotless. You bought me lavender."

He kisses your neck softly. "This is all I think of."

"Mm?"

"It's you, all for you. Everything I do."

You pull him closer and smile, letting your eyes close in bliss. "You're my heaven."

Billy strokes your sides. "You're my home."

[plasticfreckles]

🌙 Veilguard Lighthouse Reunion Solavellan freestyle enjoy 🌙

"Fel'a'lath," she says, behind him, and he drops his brush and turns so fast it makes him light-headed.

Fel'a'lath. My last love. What he'd called her before he left her behind with Compassion.

"Vhenan."

She dashes into his arms with such a force he is shoved back into the wall, wet paint staining his clothes.

"You're here." Solas does not attempt to hide the sob, the tears, the shaky breath that makes him shudder against her.

He had missed her touch too much.

"I'm here. I have you." The whisp of her hand on his stubbly scalp, the intention of holding his head, of stroking the pain out of his soul. At least, if her left arm were still with them.

"How-" She pushes at him, makes him take a shaky seat against the table nearby. Her hands are on his jaw, earlobes tucked between ring and small finger.

He does not let her rise up. If he lost her again, it would shatter him. If the way he digs his nails into the soft skin of her shoulder pains her, she does not show it.

"I've been staying with Dorian." He has enough questions to fill all his years, but no energy to ask them. A pause, as they inhale the smell of each other. Rosemary, bergamot, the sharp mint of the mark still inside her somewhere. His heart sings, I can't breathe without your cologne in my nose, Gods provide, I overdose. Lines of poetry she'd improvised after Halamshiral, drunk on wine and victory and the thrill of courtly intrigue before he'd held her mouth shut and taken her against their chamber doors.

He hopes she smells more than just alcohol, oil paint and despair.

"And Morrigan filled me in," she whispers, into his neck. If she squeezes him any tighter, he'll burst like a blister, and he'll welcome it. "You stabbed Varric."

"I killed Varric." He chokes it out between deep breaths to keep him from breaking entirely. He won't let this be soiled by her having to pick up the pieces of his soul.

"Are you alright?" She pulls back, just enough to cup his cheek. They're both crying. There's new scars by her hairline, on her cheekbone and more - new - freckles on her face than he's ever seen on a single person.

The farmer's tan on her face, where even his magic did not hide she once bore vallaslin, has faded. She's paler than he remembers, smaller. The rings under her eyes have shifted from pale bluebrown to a deeper purplegrey. She cut her hair, just a little, but instead of knee-length waves, her hair is now straight and waist-long.

It looks nice, with the new tattoos on her arms, abstract lines and patterns in a colour that may as well be gold in her skin, with the tight black top bodice and the loose patterned skirt.

Her lips taste of salt and calendula.

"I'm in over my head, vhenan."

🌙

bc the ending is a bit of an anticlimax and I like my version better ngl

this is the hug

the "poetry" is from a song called Pretty by Georgia Cavallo, which has lived in my mind as rent free as Eggster God Solas since it dropped :)

now off to greener pastures (aka. lucanis brainrot FULLTIME)

@vespaer77 <3

[~rina]

[katsona-the-katsequel]

Cooking Is Heaven, Eating Is Hell

Today is Shinjiro's turn! Enjoy!

___________________________________________

"...Geez, why did I have to do this..."

"S-sorry Aragaki-senpai... agh! Ugh (cough, cough)."

"Y-Yukari-chan, are you okay?"

This is Yukari's private room in the dorm. Dressed in a cardigan over her pink pajamas, Yukari is coughing in pain as Fuuka gently strokes her back. Yukari had gone to Tartarus despite feeling unwell, and her cold had only gotten worse. Standing next to Yukari's bed was Mitsuru, who also looked worried, and Aragaki, who looked a little lost. In Aragaki's hands was a tray of steaming hot-looking food, the result of the "things like this" he had mentioned. It seemed that Mitsuru, who had worried about Yukari, had asked him to make the porridge that is the standard meal for sick people.

"Aragaki-senpai is really kind."

Yukari scooped up the dish, which at first glance looked like ordinary porridge, with a spoon and popped it into her mouth.

"What?! Oh well, it was just a whim. Don't worry about it. Just eat it."

In response to Fuuka's honest words, Aragaki simply said that and brusquely handed her the tray.

"Ugh, thank you. Cough..."

"How is it, Yukari-san?"

"It's so delicious! What is this, how did you make it? I can't believe it!"

Mitsuru asked with a motherly tone of concern, asking if it was too hot and if Yukari could swallow it properly, but right in front of her eyes Yukari's expression melted.

Yukari, who had looked distressed a moment ago, had instantly regained her strength and was now moving her hands and mouth with incredible vigor, and in no time at all the contents of the bowl had been emptied.

"Well, how do I do it... I just make whatever works. I thought normal porridge might not be nutritious enough, so I made Chinese-style milk porridge."

Aragaki said it was simple, but it's actually quite time-consuming. Garlic, ginger, and chopped green onions are fried thoroughly in sesame oil, and then rice and carrots and daikon radish cut into strips are added, followed by chicken stock. Then the lid is put on, and once it boils, the mixture is simmered on low heat for 30 to 40 minutes, being careful not to let it boil over. Once the rice is soft enough, milk is added, salt is added to taste, and the dish is ready. It contains carbohydrates and protein that boost the body's immune system, as well as vitamins A, B, and C, and beta-carotene, making it the perfect food for the sick.

Sanada and others had been saying for some time that Aragaki's cooking was on par with that of a professional, but when Yukari actually tasted the food, she was more impressed than she had imagined. Yukari honestly expressed her praise.

"There's no such thing as a proper answer! Aragaki-senpai is the best."

"You idiot... what an embarrassing thing to say..."

"Why are you being so humble? Food is the basis of being a human being. It's important. You can do that so well, Aragaki-senpai, it's admirable! I want the other guys to follow your example. As a person, you have to be able to cook at least a little."

Yukari's excited speech, which was non-stop, was suddenly halted.

"Wait a minute! J-Junpei? And everyone else?"

At the entrance to Yukari's room, the other dorm residents, that is, everyone who wasn't in the room, were gathered with Junpei at the head. Even Koromaru was peeking out from under Junpei's feet.

"What is going on?"

"Well, it smells so good that we just..." Sanada began to speak honestly, but Junpei cut him off with his whole body and pointed his finger at him.

"Yuka-tan... you made us angry!"

"Huh? Huh?"

"If you can't cook, you're not a human? You're a good cook, Takeba-sama, so that means we're not human, right?"

"N-no, I didn't mean that... And besides, it's true that Junpei can't cook properly."

At this, Junpei shook his finger from side to side.

"Not being able to cook is not the same as not wanting to cook, Yuka-tan. Besides, I'm not the only one you've hurt..."

Junpei theatrically covered his eyes with his hands as if to hold back tears.

"...Ah."

Mitsuru and Fuuka were standing beside the bed, their faces down, with a gloomy air around them. "N-No, um. I...I didn't mean to say that...Se-senpai? Fuuka?"

"Therefore!"

Junpei raised his head, which had been lowered, and declared in a loud voice, full of excitement.

"I challenge you to a cooking contest!"

"Huh?"

Thus, the first Iwatodai dormitory cooking championship was decided to be held.

"And so, I, Aigis, will be your host for today. How about you, commentator Amada-san?"

"...All of you must be bored."

"I see. So then, Mr. Aragaki, the chairman of the judges..."

"...Seriously, why am I in this situation..."

The day after Junpei's declaration, Yukari had fully recovered, and as it happened to be a Sunday, the cooking competition was finally held. Aragaki, who likely had the most sensitive palate among the group, was to be the chief judge, while Aigis, who had no sense of taste, was to act as MC. Amada was also encouraged to participate, but he turned them down, saying, "Why should I cook? What do you expect from an elementary school kid?" and took his seat as commentator. Everyone else was now both a participant and a judge.

At first, Mitsuru and Fuuka showed a complete refusal, but Junpei's sweet words, such as "It's like a festival" and "Everything is an experience," gradually softened their attitude, and finally, with a decisive word mentioning a certain person's name, "This is your chance to show off your skills to...", they were brainwashed, or rather persuaded, to participate in the cooking competition.

"Now, the competition will finally begin. First up, Yukari-san, please."

"Okay! Watch this, Junpei!"

The food that Yukari brought in high spirits was a wonderful dish that lived up to her confidence. It was a makunouchi bento that looked delicious. In addition to the standard side dishes of a makunouchi bento such as tamagoyaki (rolled omelette), grilled fish, and kamaboko (fish cake), it also contained Western-style side dishes such as small hamburger steaks and cheese chicken cutlets. Of course, the rice was formed into a cylindrical shape and topped with scattered black sesame seeds.

"Yeah, that's pretty good."

After taking a bite of the tamagoyaki, Yukari pumped her fist in response to Aragaki's evaluation, and the other members followed suit, one after the other reaching for their chopsticks.

"The grilled fish is marinated in Saikyo miso... nice job."

"Wow, the way you cut this kamaboko is intricate."

"Is Yukari already confirmed as the winner?"

Yukari said with a look of embarrassment and pride on her face as she received a constant stream of praise.

"Ah, but this time I have an unexpected rival... I'd like to try his food too."

The man in front of Yukari's eyes was the field leader who seemed to lack self-assertiveness, but from his face, which was only half visible due to his bangs, he seemed to exude a faint confidence that was not always there.

"Well then, let's continue."

At Aigis's urging, the second dish was brought out.

"Oh...!"

It was a clam and tomato pasta dish called Vongole in Rosso, which would not have seemed out of place in a small restaurant. The head judge, Aragaki, deftly wrapped the pasta around a fork and took a bite.

He put it in his mouth.

"The pasta is a little soft, but it passes the test."

"Let's have some too...oh, it's delicious!"

"Clams and tomatoes go really well together."

Surprisingly, he'd lost his parents at a young age and had been living alone for a long time, so his cooking skills were not bad at all. However, perhaps due to his simple personality, his cooking skills were limited to simple dishes such as pasta and rice bowls, which could be said to be a weakness.

"So, who's next?"

Aragaki, who had initially looked sour after being served one delicious dish after another, seemed to be in a good mood. A fun meal can really put people at ease. Perhaps Junpei had planned the cooking contest simply to try to close the gap between Aragaki and the other members, even if only a little. If that was the case, his intention was being fully achieved.

But that happy atmosphere didn't last long.

"What is this?"

"Um, well, ramen."

"It's instant noodles, isn't it?"

In front of Aragaki was a cup of instant noodles that you could prepare in three minutes by adding hot water. They were seafood flavored.

"No, it's a cup! I've got my own way of making it. I got inspired by Aragaki-senpai's milk porridge and made it with milk!" Aragaki made a disgusted face. The rest of the guys all looked disgusted as well.

"What? What? What's going on? It's really delicious!"

"Even if it's delicious... it's not food."

"Junpei, you are disqualified."

Aigis rang the bell next to her, somewhere.

"What?! No way..."

Junpei's shoulders slumped in disappointment. The only one who was there to see him was the field leader, who took a mouthful of the cup noodles and patted Junpei on the shoulder as if to say, "It's delicious, not bad at all."

"Next, Mitsuru-san, please."

Things were accelerating towards catastrophe.

"Duck confit with foie gras and truffles. All the ingredients were flown in from France."

Mitsuru held out a gorgeous silver plate with her chest puffed out, but sweat was running down her face. Staring at the food on the plate, Aragaki asked,

"Which one is the duck?"

"It's obviously t-that one."

"What's this black thing?"

"The truffles."

"And this black one?"

"Foie gras... I think."

"So, what about this black one?"

"Ummm... how about some leeks as a side dish?"

She didn't know what to say when asked that.

Aragaki was looking down with a wicked glint in his eyes and he spoke to Mitsuru in a low voice.

"It's all charcoal."

"Well, maybe I got the heat a little off. The ingredients are good. You have to try it..."

"Can you even eat this?! Next, next!"

He glanced over at Mitsuru, who looked as if the world was ending. The bell rang out from Aigis.

"I haven't done much cooking before. I wouldn't want to serve something weird, so I decided to copy Shinji's cooking."

Sanada's dish was a cloudy soup-like dish, apparently based on the milk porridge Aragaki had made the day before.

“If Junpei was going to take inspiration from Shinji’s cooking, he should have done it this way. Well, I do make some adjustments to my own recipes, too.”

Seeing Sanada already seeming triumphant, Aragaki replied with a wry smile.

"Hehe, Aki's cooking... You can't steal my style that easily."

"You won't know until you try it, right?"

"Okay, okay. Let's have it then."

He scooped up the porridge with a spoon, let it cool slightly, then brought it to his mouth. Then, after a moment,

*Bzzz*

Along with the strange sound, a milky liquid spurted out from Aragaki's nose and mouth.

"Wh-Wh-Wh-What is this?!"

"This is protein porridge that is higher in protein and lower in calories than milk...it's good for your muscles, right?"

"I can't eat that!"

"Finally, Fuuka-san, please."

Aigis said calmly as she rang the bell.

Then, 5 minutes later. An unearthly scream echoed from Gekkoukan Academy's Iwadodai branch dormitory. Police cars and ambulances were called to the scene after being notified by nearby residents, but they quickly left after finding no evidence of any crime. However, according to eyewitness testimony, the investigators and paramedics were all clutching their mouths and stomachs, looking as if they were about to vomit. No one was willing to talk about what terrible things happened that day.

"Listen guys! The key to cooking is the heat! And the salt! That's great, Junpei!"

"Y-yes!"

"And it's common sense, but don't put protein in your food! Got it, Aki!?"

"Oh, yeah, I get it."

"Hey, Yamagishi! Why did you add Tabasco in there? Don't add seasonings based on the color! Taste it! Taste it!"

"Y-yes!"

The day after the cooking contest, an impromptu cooking class was taking place in the dorm kitchen. If these guys' cooking skills were left unchecked, someone would eventually die. In fact, Aragaki, who had nearly died, demanded to give one-on-one cooking lessons to Junpei, Sanada, Mitsuru, and Fuuka.

"Why, why am I doing this..."

Despite their complaints, thanks to Aragaki's hard work and guidance, everyone's cooking was gradually improving to a level that was "edible."

"Hey, wait a minute, Mitsuru. If it starts to burn, take the frying pan off the heat... that's right. Just stay calm and it'll be fine."

"Yes, I understand."

Looking at Aragaki like that, Fuuka chuckled and said.

"After all, Aragaki-senpai is a kind person, isn't he?"

It's unclear whether her words reached him, but Aragaki continued to silently instruct them on cooking. However, it seemed as if a faint smile was floating on his face. Soon, perhaps having smelled the delicious aroma of cooking, Yukari and the others could be seen walking into the kitchen, also with smiles on their faces. As expected, a pleasant meal puts people at ease. It looked like tonight's dinner would also be a pleasant one.

And it was.

___________________________________________

Tag List: @kerto-p

[yanderenightmare]

NSFW ABC's

Bakugou Katsuki x darling

TW: NSFW, yandere

part V, W & X

Volume

are they loud? what sounds do they make? or do they prefer your sounds instead?

It comes as no surprise that Katsuki’s a loudmouth even in bed when he is one everywhere else.

He’s full-throated, with rusty growls and groans, hunting your insides like a wolf chasing down prey – only getting louder the closer he comes, rutting against you hard and fast with his face buried in your skin, softly biting and panting out damp breaths while his hands clutch you tighter.

He likes the sound of your moans too. They drive him wilder – fueling the beast within – making him go rabid. A hand closing around your throat, feeling your noises strum against his palm. Mouth his name, and he loses all composure – hearing it drip, sticky sweet off your tongue, along with drool and a whine. 

His head gets so hot and cloudy it becomes hard to think, only feel the pressure way down low in his pelvis, wanting to burst and bloom and spill and fill you up so good you get hearts in your eyes at the milky warmth.

Wild-card

something sexually specific to this character

There’s a lot of sweat. It’s a slippery sport for the two of you, and it’s only ever more wet come summertime.

But it’s quite a pretty site – the way it becomes like steam pilling and rolling off his tough glistening muscles, sparkly in droplets sprinkled on his tan sand-colored skin, dripping from the spikes in his hair like he’s melting.

It would have been more of a problem if it didn’t smell like sweet honeysuckle and caramel. Sweet yet somewhat burning to the taste, it’s almost like syrup and chili – and quite addictive, you confess while dragging your tongue over the dew on his chest, kissing the scars which paint him like a canvas, and licking your lips clean of the oils as he tugs you by your chin to look up at him.

You can tell he thinks it’s kind of gross – the way he leaves a damp print on the sheets after every sleep – or when the two of you walk together, and he doesn’t want to hold your hand. But you make sure to take him between your fingers, placing kisses to his knuckles – over those places where he’s split his skin on punches or torn and worn them on his quirk. 

He’ll tell you that you look like a pet

X-rated

dirty talk

Curse words, grunting, and filthy little nothings make up most of Katsuki’s dirty talk – plus curt encouraging exclamations of yeah groaned breathily against your neck as the two of you melt against one another.

But it’s when he’s tipsy that his tongue really loosens.

Unknotting into something truly unlike him – lovey-dovey confession just pouring from his lips, mouthing at your skin with his head bowed. 

And it’s not just him telling you how much he loves you – but much sappier stuff – angsty and almost just a little bit worrying stuff… 

How he needs you to be his forever and never leave him, how you should just get pregnant with his kid already, quit your job and be his beautiful housewife who stays at home with the kids, waiting for him to come back from work and fuss over him when he finally walks through the door.

You giggle at him come morning – teasing him for all his silliness while he lies with his head drowned in a pillow and a hangover. You stroke his hair and ask if you should be the good housewife that you are and go bring him breakfast in bed – and he’ll groan at you to shut up.

tip-jar: Kofi

[bumblebeehug]

Lovely Seasons - Summer

Summary: Natsu suffers from the summer heat for the first time - everything is Lucy's fault, according to him. Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 of the Lovely Seasons series Ao3

***

Lucy was sweating. Why in the world was she sweating this much? Natsu couldn’t understand at all. Sure, it was hot out, but she looked way sweatier than anyone else on the beach. She didn’t seem to feel that much warmer than everyone else though - and to be honest, Natsu would be surprised if she hadn’t built up more heat tolerance than that at this point. Being best friends with a fire dragon slayer wasn’t always without flaws. But she seemed comfortable as she read one of those steamy books she usually only read at night when she thought Natsu was asleep.

Yes, it was indeed a weird sight for Natsu. Not only did she sweat too much, but she was reading a book in public that she usually never would allow herself to be seen with! He couldn’t wrap his head around what was going on.

But for now that didn’t matter too much. Because he really, really wanted to play in the water. Sadly, the other guild members were inside today, complaining about it being too hot outside, and Happy was nowhere to be seen because he was on some self proclaimed mission to find the perfect gift for Carla. His effort was inspiring to say the least.

Lucy disrupted Natsu’s train of thought as she gasped softly. Her right hand slapped her mouth, suggesting that the sound wasn’t meant to be heard at all, but nothing could slip a bored dragon slayer’s hearing. Natsu tried to read over her shoulder without getting caught, but to no avail. If he went closer Lucy would hear his breathing, but he still couldn’t read the small complicated words. Maybe they were in another language.

He was still bothered though. Not by the suggestive sounds she was making in public, though that was a concerning part too of course, but mostly by her sheening skin. There was no way she could sweat that much without smelling - no offence, but it really just wasn’t possible. So Natsu did what he knew the best - he explored the possibilities.

It was sunny outside, no doubt about it. Not even the flies wanted to be outside in this heat, and that said something. But Lucy was since long used to this heat, that tolerance was not to be taken lightly. She could have used sunscreen, but he would have recognised that smell. Anyone could identify the smell of sunscreen, at least from this distance. As he was exploring the possible options, tanning oil popped up in his mind. Maybe he could recall one of their discussions where she mentioned tanning oil - Happy thought it was just a bad tasting cooking oil though, so maybe that was why he hadn’t been connecting the dots?

Natsu, who had been lying on his back up until now, turned over towards Lucy. Her hair was up in a bun, possibly to keep it away from her shoulder so the sun would reach her skin properly, but he wasn’t too sure. Maybe it was due to fashion or something.

As his eyes wandered down from her neck, he found himself looking at the crook of her back for an extended period of time. To be honest, he had no idea how Lucy’s genetics worked, because her waist seemed to be in perfect ratio with her… other assets… like those plump hips and that lovely round bust. The new tanning oil left a shimmery finish and made her long legs look completely flawless. Did she know how perfect she was?

Natsu looked up at her head again. Her bangs were sticking to her damp forehead and her cheeks were rosier than normal. She might not be aware of it, but summer was truly her season. She looked like the very personification of summer. As he started getting lost in his own thoughts, Lucy laughed out loud.

“What’s so funny?” Natsu immediately asked. He wanted to know why this book was getting more attention than him today.

“Hm?” Lucy seemed to snap back to reality. “Oh it’s nothing, really. It’s a joke that has been building up the entire chapter, it would take too long to explain,” she clarified. Natsu frowned a little.

“Can’t you just read the chapter for me then?” He really wanted some of her attention. Thankfully she seemed understanding.

“Sure, but don’t complain if it’s too long or too sappy,” she warned. Natsu nodded eagerly, finally getting the chance to be involved in her thoughts. Lucy smiled softly as she bookmarked her place in the book and went back to the beginning of the chapter. At first Natsu felt confused listening to all these random characters, and he wasn’t too sure what the actual story was, but as Lucy kept reading he slowly started getting the hang of it.

If Natsu was to put the story shortly, he’d sum it up as a romcom about a man and a woman. Not exactly his favourite theme. The chapter wasn’t too confusing as it contained short information about who they were and their relationship - mostly put in flashbacks or references to previous chapters. The man seemed to be quite laid back and oblivious to any feelings the woman had towards him, but since he apparently was in a high working position he must be reliable and serious when the situation called for it. Natsu liked the man, he often came up with funny one-liners and was surprisingly affectionate with the woman. The woman had striking resemblances with Lucy - she had the same working position as the man, but if Natsu was honest, the woman was way more reliable. She was hard working, had great discipline and did her job with elegance. The best part about her though was how she was with the man. As childhood friends they knew each other inside out, and the woman truly loosened up with him, joking around and playfully scolding him whenever he made things inconvenient for her. That’s how well Natsu understood the book so far. However, the chapter seemed to go on forever and Natsu was starting to lose his patience again. That was until Lucy suddenly started stuttering her words. Not much, only slightly, but it was enough for Natsu to notice. Lucy never stuttered when reading out loud - she was as excellent at that as she was at summoning spirits. Naturally, Natsu’s attention was piqued again. Lucy was now reading the part where she gasped earlier. Was he supposed to make her stop reading at this point? That would be awkward though, since the joke hadn’t come yet. All he could do was listen and try to get through it calmly. Calmly? How on earth could anyone listen to this calmly, any less read it! Lucy’s poker face was too good to be true - she was reading about sexual tension and only stuttered once, that had to be some record. Maybe she could get a prize for it.

As she continued reading Natsu started feeling this weird but familiar feeling that rooted deep in his guts. This was not a good moment to be feeling this. Could he play this off somehow? A boner didn’t suit bathing suits, and as someone who was well known for not falling for sexual charm it could shock Lucy more than he’d like. Thankfully she hadn’t noticed this. She was still focusing on staying cool while reading the steamiest things she had ever said out loud. Plus, Natsu noticed that he wasn’t the only one getting affected by this situation. Lucy was starting to smell a lot muskier, and even Natsu could sense a warmness from her that wasn’t there before. He had never actually been this close to an aroused Lucy - the only time he had smelled anything similar was when he snuck into her bed after a long day, sensing the smell in the bedsheets.

More suddenly than Natsu would prefer, the steamy part was roughly over. Natsu couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out to her at this point. It was as if it lived its own life. As he let his hand touch Lucy’s middle part of her back, he could feel Lucy shiver under her. Maybe she was too into the book though, because she didn’t shout at him like he thought she would. So without any negative response he allowed his hand to continue down her oily back. When he reached the crook of her back he could smell a certain… Let's call it warmth, coming from Lucy’s core. Was she… getting aroused from this?

Natsu was almost doubting his action, but when he saw Lucy glance slightly at his direction, basically waiting to see what he would do next, he allowed himself to continue. He felt quite intrigued in this himself, his own core heating up intensely as he grabbed her plump flesh in her hip. Shit. If he continued this he would get a noticeable boner. At least Lucy could somewhat hide any arousal she felt, Natsu would have to live with the embarrassment of showing off his hard on to everyone on the beach, and he honestly didn’t want to do that.

So he did what he did best. By pulling Lucy in slightly and lifting his own torso, he could reach down to bite Lucy’s tiny waist. Not hard of course, nothing to leave a mark, but the fangs against her sun-sensitive back made her yelp in surprise. Natsu just grinned mischievously, quickly jumping up on his feet to run into the ocean. He really needed to cool off. Lucy interpreted that as an invitation to chase him, anything to play this off as a silly prank. Even if they both agreed that it made their bodies react a little differently than a normal prank would.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Fifteen.

Because I'm going to be busy and nowhere near a computer tomorrow, I'm sharing the update a day early. It's a bit of a filler chapter, but we do have those on occasion. Enjoy, besties!

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen

Words - 3,022

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse.

Food smells. Emma was not used to returning home to find such wafting under her nose. Coconut milk, lemongrass, garlic and cilantro. They usually only ordered in when both were home to choose. Hmm. 

“Hey mister, did you order Thai food?” she called, hanging up her jacket, unclipping Axl from his leash and sliding her sneakers off, walking through to the kitchen. “Where the hell did you find a Thai takeout place in Santo-oh my god, you’re cooking.”  

Guero turned from the stove, placing the lid back on the pot he’d just stirred. “I am.” 

She was stunned. “You’re cooking, and you’re not burning anything!”  

He looked a little coy, his smile spreading as he greeted her with a kiss. “That part remains to be seen.”  

Setting her bag down, she basked in his affection, nails stroking the back of his head. “I'm shocked, this from a man who can't even boil an egg without making it look like it's been fossilised.” Moving to the pot, she removed the lid and inhaled deeply, the aromas making her mouth water. “Jesus fucking Christ, that smells good! Did you have help? Because I cannot believe for one second you followed a recipe without panicking.” 

Picking up his phone, he turned the screen to reveal an emailed explanation. “Lee. She sent me that this morning, instructions included.” 

So, that’s what he’d done with part of his day off, then, Emma reading through, laughing to herself. Lee typed exactly how she talked. “Put the chicken in with PLENTY of oil, but don’t fuckin’ let it start smoking, then keep it moving and wait until it’s GOLDEN BROWN, not fuckin’ cremated before you add the garlic and lemongrass! And for fucks sake, buy microwave rice pouches! My trust in you does not extend that far and I don’t want the damned wailing in my earholes if you end up burning it to the fuckin’ pan. Rice is tricky. Let Ben’s Original do that part for you.” 

“It’s gotta sit for a while now,” he spoke, arms sliding around her waist, mouth going to her neck as she placed his phone back down. “So, I got some ideas on how we can pass the time.”  

She felt herself be lifted, Guero seating her on the edge of the counter, beginning to undo her shorts. “But I’m all gross and sweaty.”  

Her complaint was met by a gruff rumble as he bit her earlobe. “You fucking smell great, as always. Now, shut up. I’m hungry.” He tugged at her cut offs and undies, slipping them down her tanned, slender thighs, her socks yanked free. He fixed her with the kind of stare that had her blood sparking, nuzzling her softly before kissing her with filthy heat.  

“God fucking damn, I love you so much.” His murmur preluded more of those steamy kisses, Emma tangling her fingers in his hair, her hands sliding to his back, pulling him against her. The heat of his skin whipped a tempest over her flesh, goose pimples rising, anticipating whirling.  

He felt it gnaw, his need eating at him with hungry teeth, yanking her closer to the edge of the counter. He pushed her body back a little, hands parting her thighs wide before he buried his mouth between them.  

The intrusion of a hot, wet tongue snaking between her folds had her eyes closing in bliss, hands gripping the edge of the counter, her head falling back with a soft gasp. The hungry suck he took sent sparks gleaming through her, muscles jolting as a soft purr slipped from her mouth.  

He literally growled around a mouthful of her cunt, fingers digging into her thighs. “Shit, you fucking taste amazing, mamas. God, you always get me so fucking hard.” Imagining the rigidity of his cock, coupled with the fast beat of his tongue across her clit had her trickling against his mouth, her arousal tingling her core as she panted, resting her feet up on his back as he ate her thirstily.  

“Mmm, you shouldn’t have mentioned that gorgeous, fat cock getting hard, because now all I can think about it getting wrecked by it,” she purred, her eyes a haze of allure as she stared down at him, the cute, yet sexually charged sight of her biting her lower lip making his insides pool molten.  

He turned his head, biting her inner thigh hard, the action making her gasp, running his tongue in a slow, firm lick over the red marks left behind, his eyes never leaving hers. “Yeah? Baby girl wanna get fucked real hard, does she?”  

Straightening, he yanked off his t shirt, Emma feeding two fingers into his mouth, grasping his jaw and pulling him close to her. “Yeah.” Her fingers slid from between his lips, turning her head to run a slow lick up his cheek, pulling off her vest and bra, all while fixing him with a look of roaring lust. “Now.”  

It acted like someone pouring an entire vat of accelerant upon his fire, but Guero held himself back, arching an eyebrow, shedding himself of his own clothes before shunting his body between her legs. One hand gently curled around her throat, the other grasped his cock, skimming the head through her soaking folds. “This what you want, huh?”  

“Mmm,” she hummed, her tongue flicking against his earlobe, teeth crushing in a soft bite. “So, so badly.” He turned his head, his mouth meeting hers, kisses of fiery honey exchanged as he finally caved and glided inside her. She pulsed around him, sucking him a little deeper, his grunt against her tongue a deep baritone that sent a spark flaring through her, his hand still holding her neck.  

The thick weight of him stretching her walls evoked her soft gasps, letting go of her clutch on the counter, arms wrapping around him, pulling him closer. Her nails slid over his back, a glide of sensual daggers, his grip on her neck releasing to instead grasp her thighs, pulling them wider, the roll of his hips sending him so deep into her she saw stars.  

He laid kisses to her throat, teeth peppering little bites, his groans all smoke and rasp as he pounded her voraciously, the wet slap of him filling the air as he fucked her. It rough and unrelenting, their mouths locked in blazing kisses, lightning striking tiny storms beneath their skin. He rutted her deep, fingers imprinting divots into her thighs, nerves lighting up as he felt her tighten around him, the velvet wet clasp heavenly.  

Lightning leapt up her spine as the hard shunt of his body pressed her clit, her thighs clenching at his narrow waist, her nails dug into his shoulder, the other knotted in his hair as her cries loudened, both chasing the dawn that primed to spill golden over their horizons. When that light finally shone and gilded, their groans reached crescendo, clung onto one another tightly as white-hot pleasure beamed through them, breathless and orgasm drunk.  

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she panted, stroking his face. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, moving to kiss her neck. “I’m amazing, huh?” 

“And so humble in your talents, mister.”  

He laughed, gently sliding from her, hands stroking her thighs as he lifted his chin defiantly. “I’m the fuck of the fucking century, and you know it!”  

With how proficient he was at making her come, she supposed she really couldn’t argue with that. His track record wasn’t every time for no reason. “Well, mister fuck of the century. I’m going to drink a cold beer in a hot bath. If I can walk.”  

Her wobble when she moved off the counter to her feet had him snort laughing, Emma picking up her clothes and taking them to throw in the machine before walking slightly bow legged to the bathroom.  

“Shut up!” she threw over her shoulder, Guero’s laugh filling the kitchen at her unsteadiness. One bath later, and she and Guero were curled up on the couch, eating large bowls of curry, curry that was neither burned or otherwise inedible. Quite the opposite.  

“You can do this more often, now that you know you can,” she commented, washing down a mouthful with a sip of beer.  

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “I had seventeen panic attacks making that, even with her majesties step by step instructions.”  

Speaking of her majesty, as Emma was laughing at his reply, her phone beeped, picking it up to find a text from Lee.  

‘Bish and I are going bowling, and I need other people there to distract from how fuckin’ much I suck! Come with? We’ll be there at eight. PLEASE!’ 

Putting the idea to Guero, she was met by noises of protest. “Hmm, nah. I’ve kinda gone full potato mode and I wanna stay that way. About the most energetic thing I’m planning on doing is piledriving you into the couch once I’ve digested.”  

Although that offer was tempting, Emma had been seduced now by the idea of an outing. “Oh, come on! Please? I haven’t bowled since I was a kid, and you’ll get to laugh at how abysmal I’ll likely be.” His face remained unchanged. “Please, honey, please, please?” Her gentle shaking of his arm coupled with her hopeful eyes finally got through, Guero smiling. 

“Fine, tell her we’ll be there.” He had a hard time saying no to her, knowing that of course she’d come from a life where she’d never been able to have anything her way. Her getting her own way couldn’t hurt either, he figured, Emma giving him a big kiss before jumping off the couch to go and get ready.  

An hour and a half later, donned in very bad shoes and drinking awful bowling alley beer, and Emma was showing that although after many years of absence, bowling was something she wasn’t too bad at. Lee, however... 

“Baby, aim central. Curve your arm,” Bishop advised, Lee chewing the inside of her cheek as she concentrated. She took her aim, the green ball leaving her hand and hurtling down the alley... straight into the gutter.  

She turned, her eyes fixing upon her husband, who to his credit did try not to look so thoroughly entertained. “It’s a damned good job I think you’re fuckin’ cute, Obispo Losa.”  

“What?” he laughed, shrugging as she sat back down with a huff. “I didn’t say a word.”  

Her eyes narrowed in an instant. “I see you, looking at me with that tone of voice.” 

He began to laugh immediately, transported back to many memories revolving around their time in the military together, and the one man she’d taken that very expression from. “You sound like Delaney, shit.” Guero and Emma looked blank, Bishop quickly taking his turn before coming back to explain. “Delaney was Luke Delaney, our commanding officer, and this guy was a fucking trip, I swear.” 

“He could be scary, that’s a given, but mostly he was just fucking funny as hell,” he continued, side eyeing Lee as his laughter grew. “One time, Lee didn't put everything required into her pack before we went out on training exercise, so Delaney punished her by finding this big assed rock that weighed roughly the equivalent of what she hadn’t brought and told her she would march with it. So of course, Lee being Lee, as soon as she got out on the march and around the first corner out of his sight, she put it down.” 

“Then he comes up to her afterward, right, and he fucking demanded to know where the rock was. She said, and I fucking quote, “Sir I lost your rock, sir! Couldn’t find another that big, sir, so sought a replacement, sir!” so then reached into her pocket and pulled out a fucking pebble the size of a goddamned grape!  

“We’re all trying not to laugh as she places it into his hand, Delaney is hanging onto it by the skin of his fucking teeth, and he fucking, he fucking just shakes his head, pulls a pen from his pocket and demands she sign her name on the stone. It stayed on his desk for the rest of his time there at the base because he knew he’d laugh at her audacity every time he saw it.” 

“That ain’t as funny as what he fuckin’ made you do a few weeks later in the mess hall,” Lee began, snickering immediately as Bish closed his eyes, reliving the mortifying memory. “This guy in our platoon, Ellis Bundy, there’s always one, ‘the guy’ as they’re known, and he didn’t follow Delaney’s orders to the letter, so he fuckin’ made him stand on the table and wave his arms while reciting the line “I’m a shit bird” over and fuckin’ over until told otherwise.  

“So Bish is fuckin’ killing himself laughing at him, cracking up, absolutely howling. Delaney spies it and roars, “Losa! On the table!” upon which he had to flap his arms and say “I’m a mocking shit bird” until he told him to get down! Inside, I was fuckin’ cry laughing at him, oh god!” 

“Ellis Bundy!” Bishop exclaimed, shaking his head. “That fool set off a goddamned live round in a tank one time, fucking deafened everybody in there, the fucking stupid cunt. Christ, he was a living shit show!” 

Hearing the stories of their miliary days warmed Emma, thinking it so lovely they had such a long history with one another. Friends for over twenty years, but as she’d learned from Lee herself, only married for eight after reconnecting many years after leaving the military.  

It was a beautiful thing, watching how in tune with one another they were, the party of four moving to the bar after their game, which Guero had won, and Lee and Emma had come in joint last place. Seeing a healthy marriage was something she wasn’t used to for the most part, of course only witnessing the awful abuse Marie had endured throughout her time captive within her home.  

Rocco’s hands had never reached for her with the same love that Bishop’s did to Lee, stroking her neck idly as she rested her head on his shoulder, listening to Guero tell her of his triumph following her Thai green curry recipe, little panic attacks aside.  

“Well, you ain’t ever gonna be as badass as Emma is in the kitchen, but there you are, you can do one thing at least now other than ignite chaos,” she commented, sipping her beer. “I swear, sugar. That fuckin’ thing you made with the bacon pieces, oh my god!” 

Emma thought back over her lunches made from leftovers she’d taken in recently, a box for Lee too unless it was a Friday, when the pair treated themselves to a delivery of burgers and fries. “The Bucatini all'Amatriciana?” 

“Yep! That's it!” Lee enthused, pointing across the table at her. “That one nearly made me get down on one knee and fuckin’ propose!” 

“And where would that have left me, sweetheart?” Bishop asked, entertained. 

“The spare room.” His wife’s statement roused a lot of laughter, Bishop furthering it. 

“Oh, great,” he rumbled, “you take a wife and I ain’t even allowed to watch. Fuck my life.” 

“Do I get to?” Guero asked, raising an eyebrow, Lee not answering for the excitement that followed after reading an alert on her phone.  

“Oh, baby look, they got last minute tickets for the midnight showing of The Exorcist at that little movie theatre just outside of town!”  

“Yeah? Get ‘em booked, we’re going,” Bishop nodded, Lee beginning to do exactly that. It had sold out prior to them deciding if they wanted to go or not, Lee putting her name down for email notifications should any cancellations arise. “Okay, there’s seven left. You guys wanna come with? I’ll get the tickets, y’all get the snacks.” 

Emma’s face lit up immediately. “Yes!” She then checked herself, turning to Guero. “Can we?” 

“Mmm, kinda wanted to call it a night after here. I’m tired,” he replied, his enthusiasm definitely not on par with that of his girlfriend.  

“Come on! You can sleep when you’re dead! Please, please, please?”  

He thought for a few minutes, Emma badgering at him some more before he finally relented. It might have been innocuous to anyone else, but Lee noticed it, just as she’d picked up on it in the past, too. Guero had a hard time telling Emma no and pretty much always caved to her wishes. With anyone else in his life, he’d have absolutely no problem with making his feelings known. A soft alarm sounded in her head, but she didn’t pay it further mind. 

Just over two hours later and they were sat in the packed out, independent movie theatre furnished with snacks and drinks, the iconic opening of the classic horror movie beginning to play, Guero wishing he had a coffee the size of the soda he held in order to stay awake. Halfway through the film, he found enough incentive, Emma repeatedly jumping out of her skin.  

“I swear,” he whispered, leaning close to her ear, his grin wide. “Watching you fucking crap your pants every five minutes is worth not being asleep for.”  

She nudged him with a soft elbow, offering him a kiss he happily granted her. It was close to 3am by the time they arrived home, Guero happy to faceplant the bed, glad outlaw hours meant he didn’t have to show his face until around 11am the following morning. As it turned out, though, Emma had other ideas.  

“Where are you off to, baby girl?” he asked, Emma kissing her way down his torso.  

“To say thank you for tonight in a way I think you might enjoy.” Might enjoy? Now, there was an understatement, Guero smirking to himself, feeling his cock swelling with anticipation. 

When her lips wrapped around his hardness, it was definitely the derailing of his original plans he preferred most that night. Sleep could always wait to be on the receiving end of the best blowjobs he’d ever received in his entire life. 

[askvashthetyphoon]

The Silver Mirror

AU- Wolfwood x Knives, implied mpreg kinda, weird alien anatomy shit lol

Wolfwood couldn’t have him.

For whatever reason, Vash the Stampede wouldn’t let them be more than friends. No matter how desperately he could see that the blonde, too, wanted more. The way his sky-blue eyes burned like lit cigarettes at night when they said their goodnights to each other. The way his cold, metal fingers would gently linger on Wolfwood’s shoulders for a half-second longer than they should against the fabric of his coat, the small of his back.

Wolfwood wanted him so badly. Every time he choked the one-eyed snake in the shower, in the bathrooms, the damn blonde’s name was on the tip of his tongue. He knew the smell of Vash’s skin: hot sand and dandelion fluff and gun oil. He knew his taste; they’d kissed accidentally at the bar in Octovern when they’d both gotten too drunk. It came to him when he was bleeding out in the sand on cold nights and trying to think of reasons to live. To raise another vial of that blue liquid to his lips. Of course, Nico couldn’t stick around as much as he liked. He had contracts to fulfill after all.

And it wasn’t long before he had signed yet another contract that parted them. It was temporary, but it ached to be away from him.

Working with Conrad wasn’t too horrible. It was Knives that was the problem.

They looked so similar. They smelled so similar too; Knives's scent being slightly lemonier and more metallic. Sometimes, Nico would feel his heart jump into his chest when the blonde entered the room. The blood rushing to Wolfwood's cheeks if he was lucky, southwards if he wasn’t. Gods, he was beautiful. A version of Vash scrubbed clean. Too cruel and vicious himself to ever be tainted and scarred by the filthy hands of humanity.

 What a beautiful and terrible thing he was: inhuman in every way that Vash was human.

Knives also seemed aware of the effect on Wolfwood and seemed amused. Very lightly touching him with those damn dangerous tentacle-knife things as he walked by. Switching from his hoodie to wearing that unbearable skintight outfit that made Wolfwood nearly too horny to think straight. Very much enjoying Nico’s irritated growls and the way he flicked the tentacles off. Noting the goosebumps they left on his darkly tanned skin.

For months Knives continued the gentle teasing touches, driving Wolfwood out of his mind as he touched and purred and teased the poor man. Just enough to be interpreted as perfectly innocent. Always walking just a little too close. Always giving those low weird purrs and clicks when they were alone that went right up his spine. Tilting his head and feigning innocence when Wolfwood pointed it out. Thank God they were given their own separate sleeping quarters. Knives was driving him mad with lust and sexual frustration. And sure, his own hand was at least some relief; but he didn’t want his damn hand.

Nico entered his room and shut the door with his heel. Shedding his shirt and placing it on the back of a chair before making his way to the shower, swearing softly under his breath. His rosary clinking merrily as he placed it next to the sunk.

The Punisher coming to a rest against the shower wall much less gracefully. Within reach, as always. Vash used to tease him about it, but he’d been ambushed with his gun out of reach before.

Not an experience he liked to repeat. Nico’s heart was racing at the thought of the two blondes coagulated in his mind. He needed relief.

He wanted one of them; he didn’t care which, wrapped around him.

Nico turned the shower knob: the small room began to fill with steam.

He wanted to feel their heat squeezing and flexing around him and milking him dry.

God, it hurt to even peel off his damn pants. He finally managed to get them off with some more swearing, kicking off his underwear and socks as well before finally making it into the shower. Pulling the curtain closed and sighing with relief as he reached southward.

Was Nai even warm on the inside? Or was he as fucking cold as the tips of those glittering knives that he so liked to show off at every opportunity? Did he even have a dick? If anything, he was so smooth down there, it kinda looked like he had a…

 Nico’s cheeks were red thinking about it. God, he hated doing this. But if he blueballed himself as badly as he had the last two weeks, he wouldn’t be able to perform his bodyguard duties when it actually mattered.

It hurt. It physically hurt, to be so alone.

Whatever. Masturbation was just one more sin to add to the infinite pile that was his life.

Click

He paused, holding his breath, listening. Weird.

For a moment, he thought he’d heard someone enter the room.

__________________________________________________

“Wolfwood?”

He paused, beyond shocked.

“Knives? What the hell? Get outta my room-!” He growled, yanking the curtain open just enough to slide a hand onto the punisher.

Grabbing at nothing.

Knives smirked slightly, giving Nico the tiniest wave as his metallic roots lifted the 300 pound weapon, placing it just out of Nico’s reach on the other side of the bathroom.

“You’re not going to need this. Now scoot over, Wolfwood.” Knives murmured, his hands reaching up around to the back of his neck. Undoing some sort of zipper or button at the nape of his neck that secured that weird metallic/nylon outfit to his form.

His white lashes were so long they left shadows down his cheeks. And in the steam, they held tiny water droplets. Casting tiny little rainbows and jumping off to run down Knive'ss perfectly white skin.

Marred only by the deep black beauty mark. Vash’s. But not.

“No- No you’re not-” Wolfwood heard his own voice, trying to be authoritative, but the tone squeaking at the end as Knives started shifting. Shrugging and slinking out of the silver garment in a smooth, catlike matter. His muscles moving so harmoniously that they were a symphony of perfection all by themselves.

And suddenly, Knives was naked in front of him.

And Wolfwood had the answer that he dreaded the most about the man’s anatomy. A perfectly folded set of pink petals between the man’s legs, censored tastefully by sleek white-silver hair. So he did have a pussy. Explained a lot, actually.

There was a strange purring noise in the air- vibrating, singing almost. Vaguely, Nico realized it was coming from Knives; his throat was moving ever so slightly. As the blonde breathed in and out, he was pushing powerful tremors out into the air. It raised the black hair all along Nico’s neck, his shoulders, his arms. His skin puckering into goosebumps.

“ I can smell your desperation. We can help each other, Wolfwood.” Knives’s voice was so low, lower than Wolfwood had ever heard it before. The same tone he used when he spoke to the plants. It vibrated up through Nico heels and ribcage and seemed to play with his very heartbeat. Shaking his resolve into jelly.

His hand was suddenly weak on the curtain, and Knives grabbed it, gently lacing his hands with Wolfwoods’. The contrast was something to behold. Rough, cracked, deep brown skin against soft, silken, feather white. “Knives-!, wait-”

Their eyes met. Wolfwood could see those blue, geometric markings beginning to spread from the pupil outwards. Neon as the lights that used to glow in the city of July. Growing brighter  with every heartbeat as the blonde leaned into Wolfwood's ear, his pupils sliding downwards, thinning, catlike.

Warm water dripping down his neck and shoulders as Knives whispered in his ear, “No. I am so tired of being alone- of pain. Aren’t you, Punisher?” A few fingers touching his cock so gently. A finger running up the shaft so deftly and feather-light.

Yes.

Something inside Wolfwood cracked. Some sort of glass shattering inside his psyche. Why did they deserve to suffer so much? Who decided it? His breath quickening as he looked at him. An angel in his arms. A man, a woman. One of the deadliest creatures he’d ever met by far.

But he recognized the pain in those blue eyes. They were a reflection of his own. Him, Vash, Nai. A cycle of pain and misery.

It hurts, so much.

“Yes…” Wolfwood whispered as he let out a tiny sound, grabbed Knives, and pulled him close under the hot water. Teeth mindlessly nipping along that collarbone, fingers and nails roaming, scratching pink marks into perfect skin.

He felt Knives do the same; weirdly, satisfying, to feel teeth on his neck, fingers digging into his hips.

 Wolfwood let loose a gasped whimper when Knives lifted himself up. Tentacles piercing in an odd pattern around him, wrapping the curtain rod, embedding deep just next to Wolfwood’s ear as Knives pinned him to the wall.

Impaling himself onto the Priest in one equally quick and desperate movement; almost as soon as Wolfwood had managed to get hard enough to take him. His lily-white legs on either side of Nicolas and squeezing hard to keep them both stable. Hips already starting to buck and demand that Nico move. Wolfwood was swearing and panting under his breath, grabbing Nai’s thighs to help keep him up as they moved together.

It was funny… he didn’t remember most of the act himself. Knives was the one in charge of the whole thing from beginning to end, the one in control.

It was almost a state of hypnosis, being with him. The purring playing his body like an instrument; getting exactly the right reactions exactly when the blonde wanted them.

The angel was letting loose rumbling purrs and growls so loud in his ears that Nico could scarcely hear at all. Feeling the water dripping down their bodies, the heat from Knives around him as they moved. His lemony smell. His soft, silken skin. His agonizingly sharp nails- bursting forth underneath human nails, sharp and clear as a cats’ as they marked him, scratching his back to hell as they moved up, down. Stroking in time with Wolfwood's thrusts. Knives’ tentacles wrapped around his legs and arms and squeezed him encouragingly as they moved together: the metal slowly morphing into now soft white roots.

The roots spilled from his back everywhere, filling the bathtub, the stall, spreading across the tiled floors. Hell, they were choking the sink too.

 He watched idly as leaves unfurled all along the roots gracefully. They were snow white, with dark blue veins that beat out the same pattern as Knives’ heartbeat.

But Nico wasn’t scared.

If he died, at least it’d be doing this. Taking him; the one that was almost Vash, but not quite.

 It probably wasn’t the best he’d ever performed. But then again, Knives seemed desperate too- the way he was yanking wolfwood in, shivering all over, his teeth dragging messily along his tan neck. It ached from multiple deep hickeys already, Perhaps Knives' d kill him if he was too terrible at sex.

But all too soon, the fun was over. He could barely whisper a warning into Knives’s ear before bucking helplessly up into him. The creature that was Knives purring and crooning as he did so. A thousand silver claws hooked deep into Nico’s tanned, narrow waist and the roots below keeping his feet anchored. Making sure he wouldn’t escape without giving Nai what he so desperately wanted.

As he came, Nico heard a wet ripping sound, like paper or... flesh? And gasped again softly. His throat dry from swearing and whimpering as he watched two… wings, bloom from Nai’s back.

But these weren’t like the one’s he’d seen in July. Not metallic but feathers. White near Nai’s back, fading so delicately to Robin’s egg blue, and decorated with a pattern of round silver flecks. They’d pushed violently from Nai’s back, a gush of blue blood splattering out and into the white porcelain underneath them. Circling peacefully down drain as Knives panted under his breath, “That was... unexpected…” shuddering softly in pain.

The blonde held tight to Wolfwood, the purring hiccupping to a halt when Nico’s seed bloomed deep inside him. Nudged deeper into his womb by Wolfwood’s violent and desperate thrusts. The roots sagged suddenly, and almost dropped Knives as they trembled weakly. Wolfwood grabbed Knives before he had a chance to tumble to the ground, blinking to try and clear his head.

“Knives? " Embarrassed at the tone of concern, of care, in his voice.

Nico adjusted his stance a bit, gently pulling himself free- and pulling Knives to his chest. Those ridiculously long legs looped over one arm, his torso tucked tight to his chest. Knives caught his breath and after a moment, seemed to come back to life. The roots shifted below him once more to hold him up.  The leaves changing shape, rippling and sharpening until they were back to the deadly weapons that Nico was so used to seeing. Able to bear his weight once more.                                                                                                                                 “Mm- yes.” He muttered, wincing just slightly as he sucked the wings back in. Folding them and somehow tucking them back under his skin as they shrank in size. The perfectly snow skin knitting together over the top. Blue streaks of blood the only sign that the wings had ever been.

The knife- tentacles helped to steady Knives as he gently slid free of Nico's arm and got to his feet. As silent and graceful as if nothing had ever happened between them. The walls around them bearing huge holes, the curtain rod bent, and the curtain itself almost shredded entirely. Flapping slightly in the breeze from a vent nearby.

The two men were still for a moment, panting. Sweaty. Exhausted.

A low hum of contentment coming from Knives's ribcage. “What the hell did we just do.” Nico whispered, turning off the shower finally.

The water was nearly cold by then and his hand was trembling.  Knives gave a strange little chirp of concern when he saw the treomor. Steadying Nicolas's grip and and murmured, “You know.” as he walked Nicolas out of the bathroom, and to the bed. Grabbing the Punisher with a metallic tentacle and propping it up next to the side of the bed. Ignoring his swearing and steadying him with a few of his knife-limbs when the priest stumbled. Damn.

It felt like Millions Knives had sucked the damn life out of him. Sex normally didn't leave him this exhausted.... then again, he'd never had sex with an independent before either. Maybe this was... normal?

“Sleep, Nicolas.” Knives muttered, rolling his eyes when Nico flipped him off with both hands.

“You’re not my fucking mom.”

“Wholeheartedly agree. Considering we just copulated.” Knives huffed, still naked and perfect as he sat by Nico on the side of the bed. The markings along his skin still glowing neon blue. Glowing brighter, then fading, with each pulse of his heartbeat.

His wings still demanding to be let loose underneath his skin.

Knives felt… slightly dizzy. Was this normal? After mating with a human? He certainly didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d been sexually repressed for 130 years, and he wasn’t going one more minute without a belly full of someone’s seeds. From everything Conrad had told him, he shouldn’t be able to get pregnant from a human, so he was in the clear in that regard. A small thought. Nicolas wasn't entirely human anymore though. For a moment, Knives's brow furrowed, his hand hovering low on his belly.

It felt suspiciously, amazingly warm. And full. Kinda.. tingly deep in his belly, and sweetly aching between the legs. Hm. Potentially a problem.

The reds and purples of the light from the sunset played with Nai’s hair as chucked the blanket over Nicolas. But as he went to leave, he felt Nico’s hand over his own. He looked over at the priest in surprise.

Nico squeezed hard, then gave a little tug. Pulling that swan-white hands towards the bed and giving the man a pointed look. Nai was surprised and raised a brow before sliding into the bed next to him.

“Don't wanna be alone.” Wolfwood muttered without meeting his gaze. His voice gravelly. Nai's expression changing slightly with softly lidded eyes. It was funny… his shoulders looked huge when Nai wasn’t hanging from the ceiling. And his skin was so wonderfully dark. And that fuzz on his chest!

“ I see.” Nai said matter-of-factly, sliding into the bed next to him. Resting his head on what looked like the fuzziest part of Wolfwood’s chest. Mm. He smelled even better washed. Nico growled and thought of pushing him away… then decided he was too tired.

There was a soft silence.

And before long, both men were asleep. For the first time in years, they both slept through the night.

And Nico’s last thought was;

Was I chasing the wrong one this whole time?

Nai had strange dreams of blood, and roots that branched from his belly upwards.

 And inside Knives, a new Independent, stubborn as his Type S father, began to bloom.

[burnwater13]

Image from DataWorks calendar. Scene for The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 1, The Marshal. Concept art by Christian Alzmann.

Grogu wondered why bantha put up with people riding them. They were big enough and strong enough to not have to be anyones’ beast of burden. Tuskens rode them everywhere and when anyone else managed to acquire a bantha they always ended up doing a lot of heaving lifting. Grogu didn’t think they minded. They seemed pretty happy. Maybe they didn’t notice? They were really big critters and Grogu knew that when a teeny, tiny, sand flea hitch hiked around Tatooine with him, he never noticed until his dad complained about being itchy. 

The little sand fleas didn’t bother Grogu at all. He either didn’t smell right or taste right or something, but apparently the Mandalorian was exactly what the little bugs liked. Grogu had once seen the bright red welt the tiny carnivore left on Din Djarin’s wrist when he pulled his glove off to scratch at it. Needless to say the Tuskens and everyone else they bumped into when his dad was scratching at whichever insect bite was bothering him at the time told him not to scratch it. That scratching just made things worse. Grogu just healed his dad whenever necessary and was glad that he could do that. The Mandalorian complained that Grogu was a magnet for the critters when he was traveling with the bounty hunter.

Grogu didn’t think that was fair at all. He was pretty sure it was his coverall. The tan, all purpose garment was durable and sized to allow for considerable growth. Grogu wore it every day. He didn’t really have a choice. For a long time it was the only garment he owned. Now he had other versions of the practical overall, but he still tended to wear this favorite one the most. It had hidden pockets and a lot of little nooks and crannies and he figured that was why the tiny bugs managed to travel with him without either he or the Mandalorian noticing them. 

He had expressed that theory to his dad once and the Tuskens they were staying with had laughed out loud at that. They were of the opinion that the tiny critters preferred not to travel on his dad because of how shiny his armor was. Grogu knew that the surface of the beskar could get pretty hot and maybe the critters didn’t like getting their even teenier, tinier feet/claws burned by it. His dad threatened to have a full set of beskar armor made for Grogu just to stop him being a transport vehicle for the critters. Grogu had grumbled at his dad over that. It wasn’t his fault that the Mandalorian tasted good to the bugs. 

Grogu asked the Tuskens how the bantha dealt with the bugs. That had been an interesting conversation, not that Grogu understood much of it. It was mostly held between various Tuskens and occasionally Din Djarin would make a comment or ask another question. But it finally boiled down to the fact that the bantha excreted a kind of waxy oil on the surface of their skin that seemed to keep the tiny critters at bay. Grogu guessed that was as good an answer as any. 

Then his dad asked a question Grogu hadn’t expected. Could they get some of that oil to put on Grogu’s coverall? Huh? Since when did the Mandalorian want him to be messier? Grogu counted on the Tuskens being sensible and saying no. He’d never said anything to their companions about it, but he thought bantha smelled pretty bad. He had always suspected that the lack of access to running water had created that problem and that the sand ‘baths’ the Tuskens gave them routinely only made things worse, not better. He really hoped they didn’t collect the stuff at all. He liked how he smelled and didn’t need any help with that. 

The Tuskens seemed to have told his dad ‘no’ and Grogu was relieved. He’d just keep smelling like himself and healing the bounty hunter whenever necessary. Grogu thought the matter was settled. This is the Way and all that. But nope. 

The next time they went to Tatooine, Peli had greeted them at the garage with a big grin.

“Hey Mando! Got some thin’ for ‘ya!” 

She bustled over to them holding a small, unlabeled can. 

“A can?”

“Yes. A can. Your friends from the desert showed up and dropped it off with me.”

“What’s in the can?” 

“Looks like some sort of lubricant. I put some on Treadwell. No more squeaky tracks waking me up in the middle of the night. Don’t worry. I left you plenty of the stuff. The only draw back is it kind of stinks.”

Then she handed the can to the Mandalorian and Grogu realized what it must be. The bantha wax! He scooted away as quickly as he could, thinking his dad was just going to smear him with the stuff. Yech.

Din Djarin opened the can and took a wiff and then handed it back to Peli. 

“Here. Keep it. I’ll just deal with getting bitten by the sand fleas.”

“You were gonna waste it on that? Here. I got some great stuff. Smells like flowers. Those little biters hate it. That’s why I smell like a bouquet all the time.”

Peli found a little spray bottle and handed it the Mandalorian. 

Yippee! Grogu was safe and his dad was going to smell like flowers! This is the Way!

Or was it? The Mandalorian had walked right over to him and sprayed him with the stuff. A lot of it. Now Grogu smelled like flowers. 

Ahchoo! 

Dank Farrik!

[notmuchtoconceal]

Exceptionally pale skin makes me weak.

It naturally plays on the fundamental components of eroticism, that is translucency, layers and the interplay between the two.

Sneaking a peek. Seeing more than you should.

Catching a glimpse of a sweaty armpit up a sleeve. A brief bulge up a pair of shorts. The rib of a pair of socks between the cuffs of joggers and gym shoes. Wanting to bury your nose in there.

To lick. To smell.

To taste. To know.

How this is only exacerbated with cut-offs which expose more skin, more muscularity. A casual nip-slip now and then.

The pink-eye beckoning. Light catching dips and striations. The fur growing more matted and rank with each drop of effort and exertion. Creating a gloss, a sheen between rubber and wet dog.

How the shorts may sag, exposing the waistband. You can let your imagination run wild wondering what they got under there. A peek of the elastic, maybe the whole brand, both beckoning pantsing.

The odor of ripe gym socks filling the room when the sneaks kick off, toes wiggling through the damp cotton, that satisfying thud of the chunky soles still ringing in your ear.

Hence, white briefs stark beneath white nylon, upping the contrast.

White briefs beneath mesh shorts of any color where the white pops through the pores. White briefs so much whiter than any human flesh, it pops and bleeds into the surrounding air no matter the tone.

It's the same quality you see in oil paintings. How the layers catch the light and create ripples. The thickness, the sheen, the gloss. The pigment trapped within a viscosity which freezes it like amber.

This quality of eroticism isn't necessarily tied to race, it being primarily a dimension of physical light and chemistry, though this entanglement can be difficult to unknot, as many lacking in sophistication would naturally presume racist over aesthetic tendencies, with the exclusionary nature of high-brow posturing in Western civ circles not doing much to mute this presumption.

Latino, Mediterranean or Middle Eastern men can be just as pale as Central or Northern European ones, and what you'll usually see is the hues on display tend to be more brown than pink, as a foamy late or oat milk in coffee, though I take my morning glory black as night.

Men with tans, in spite of their ethnicity, tend to give off less of an intense erotic pull. Same as with men hairy as shag rugs.

This is simply due to the quality of opacity, of obscurity.

Skin which is opaque to the point that it becomes a mirror with no reflection tends to induce a subtly more cerebral mood.

Again, this is impossible -- despite the primacy of one's aesthethic concerns -- to totally disentangle from race, as different races form in response to different environmental pressures, hence individuals whose ancestors come from hotter and sunnier climes will naturally have tanner and thus more opacified skin.

Yet it also cannot be left unsaid, how translucency inherently invites the act of stripping. A uniform, tightly bound and bundled, yearns to be pulled off piece-by-piece. A hairy chest or long flowing head of hair all but demands to be buzzed down and nicked clean.

The shaving foam so much like the castration wound which birthed Aphrodite carrying the severed tendrils of hair along a current like a tide carrying debris to splay driftwood along a sandy shore.

Pale skin, through which you can see the machinery of the veins and muscles -- every artery stitched together as so tenderly described by Mary Shelly in regards to her finest literary creation -- subtly compels one to take a blade and peel it back, as one would a box cutter to the seam of tape holding a package delivery bound and wrapped.

The skin, once claimed, transmogrified into a trophy or cloak, befitting a man's primal instincts to hunt and dominate.

I confess, absolutely, when I see darker skinned men, I have far less of an instinctual pull to flay them alive. You may consider me racist for this if it flatters your agenda, though I would naturally argue against such a demeaning and over-simplified reading.

No doubt there is an erotic quality to more opacified skin which is currently escaping me, though no doubt also I'll have a more complete understanding of this soon enough. The beauty of onyx or obsidian, where you can see yourself distorted: something chitinous like the exoskeleton of a beetle bending the light into armor.

Human skin is such a complex subject, and yet we use the phrase "skin-deep" to imply superficiality. We pre-sort people into binary categories to uphold ancient tribal biases. We seldom simply look upon one another and appreciate openly our diverse arrays of exquisite beauty, no doubt for how the fear of speaking our thoughts aloud invites the biases and torments of others.

What a strange thing to think about the body's largest organ.

[itanadvancedtanningstudios]

Spray Tan Booths

The introductory medium of spray tanning involves applying a unique mist to the whole body. This mist is typically scattered each over the body inside a cell that can be set up in several hi- end tanning salons. This mist consists of dihydroxyacetone( DHA), a chemical which reacts with the dead skin cells of the body cosmetically turning them brown. Hence, after a tan, the skin looks golden brown.

Depending on the type of cell, the mist used is either oil painting grounded or water grounded. People who have a sensitive skin should go only for water base. Several salons also offer a variety in the intensity of mists letting the client choose the degree ofdarkening.However, they shouldn't go for a veritably dark tan as that may look awkward and fake, irrespective of how good the product is, If notoriety is extremely fair-bearded.

Gives A Great Tan Spray tanning makes the skin golden brown, and not orange. The response changes the skin color, so one doesn't have to worry about effects like smear lines; also, if the products are taken from a well reputed company also that ensures that it'll offer a color which looks precisely like a natural tan. Indeed the fair-bearded people who typically turn pink than brown while tanning may profit from a spray tan.

How To Maximize The Tan Piecemeal from keeping the skin moisturized with the help of a water- grounded moisturizer, one must also slip before using a spray tan. slipping removes the dead skin cells, which means that the tanner will bepaint the skin which is likely to last for a far longer period of time.

After getting the tan, it's judicious not to rain for at least four hours, to permit the dihydroxyacetone to take full effect. Accordingly, Spray tan booths  this means avoiding any kind of physical exertion after the tanning. Do Spray tans leave an odor?

Some of the products are water- grounded, alcohol free and scentless. still, utmost mists leave a stiff smell. The smell may go down after raining, or may stick around for a many days. Safety

The companies that manufacture these tans make use of FDA approved dihydroxyacetone( DHA). This chemical is being used since the once forty times and contains no given toxin. still, the FDA does advice on guarding one's eyes, nasal passage, and lips while inside a spray tanning cell. Tasting the product is a bad idea.

Utmost experts believe spray tanning to be the stylish way to get a sunless tan, and the stylish part about similar tanning is that bone doesn't have to expose oneself to damaging ultra violet shafts.

Since DHA reacts with skin, some people may admit a veritably uneven and monstrous tan by using it. This comprises of people with damaged skin, mottled skin, and scarred skin.Spray tanning is a fairly new system of sunless tanning. Technically spot tanning system is commodity between tone- tanning cosmetics and tanning beds. You go into the spray- tanning cell where you're scattered by a special mist. After a many twinkles the process is over and in a short time you will the kind of suntan you want.

The mist used in spray tanning contains DHA, a chemical replying with the external subcaste of skin and dyeing it brown. Technically it works just like tanning poultices, but the cell and sprays assure that all the body will be inversely covered with DHA. Spray tanning doesn't bear any fresh sessions- one visit is enough to get a suntan you need.

Well, the skin relief process is necessary, but you can increase the lifetime of you tan if you do a many effects before beginning the spray tanning process. Then are they

[retrograderesemblance]

The previous exertions were incapable of sobering him, and perhaps that explained why he was so quick to sprawl out on the plush bedding. Dickie didn't bother pulling back the comforter, his skin still teeming with warmth from the bath; he faced the ceiling, though it was a detail that mattered little to him; his eyes were closed, his breathing slow, his body still, basking in the darkness no differently than he might bask in the sun on the beach. A part of him wanted another drink; something to prolong the his post-ecstasy haze.

He'd finished drying himself quicker than Elizabeth, and when she emerged from the bathroom, he listened to her quietly pad across the room, felt the bed dip as she hesitantly found a place to lay near him, separating herself enough so they wouldn't touch.

Was she shy? Did she have regrets? All thoughts that would never occur to him that night when his own pleasure was at the forefront of his mind.

They laid beside each other for he didn't know how long, but there was comfort in the silence for him. The only reason he spoke again was because he could feel sleep tugging at the back of his mind.

"How long are you staying? Mongi isn't exactly a tourist spot."

Opening his eyes, he was glad she'd left the bathroom light on; the dim glow was welcome when he turned his head, his hair already drying stiffly to his brow, his eyes tiredly tracing the shape of her shadowed form. He was hopeless with portraits, much preferring landscapes, seascapes, but the fleeting thought crossed him mind of asking her if she'd sit for him, as soon as the thought came into being, it was gone again.

"You're so pale, Bess." Rolling onto his side, he traced a nonexistent shape along the smooth skin of her abdomen, more so to compare the shade of his skin to hers. "You should get a tan while you're here."

Groaning quietly, he moved closer to her, his touch lingering as he did so, wondering if he could make her blush like before; the pink tint to her cheeks was fitting before under the harsh lighting of the bathroom - he wondered if she'd make the same sounds she'd made before, the ones that drove him mad, made him hard.

"What are you doing here? Really I mean." His movements were the opposite of graceful as he half hovered over her, pressing a kiss to her swollen lips, trailing his mouth lower, his tongue darting out to taste her as he sucked sloppy kisses against her skin; she smelled like the sweet oils she'd used in the bath. "Don't tell me our mothers are scheming again."

He smiled at the memories of their youth, back when their mothers made jests about the two of them practically being betrothed; he'd never liked the jokes, the entire thing making him feel as if the two of them were no better than prized stock, being matched for breeding purposes only. But then what did that make this? he wondered, taking her nipple in his mouth, grazing his teeth teasingly over the flesh.

He liked her soft gasps, the way she squirmed beneath him, and he wished it was enough to get him hard again now, but it wasn't the right time; he'd make do though.

Reaching between her parted thighs, he almost laughed at the slickness awaiting him. It was a wonder she hadn't taken care of herself during the time they laid there.

"Elizabeth, what a mess you are." He chuckled, his mouth was at her stomach now as he began slowly circling her clit. "This is your room. It's very rude to expect me to play host."

He handled her like he not only wanted her, but needed her. Many a time Bess had told herself that Dickie needed her, or at least someone, to look after him, with all his careless, galavanting and reckless spontaneity, but for him to express it so physically sent her head reeling. The sensual motions of his thumb over her clit was maddening. It was just enough to keep her ensnared in his grasp, at his mercy as she finished him off. 

Then he moaned into her mouth as he came, Bess sank against him, the water clouding with his ardor. She’d barely had time to pull herself together before he’d anchored her by her chin, only capable of staring into his hazel eyes in a heated daze. She wanted to be praised, to be further needed.

Leaving the tub and being ushered to the bed was all a blur. She’d hardly dried herself off before falling into the plush comforter. Lying on her back, she stared up at the intricate designs that littered the suite’s ceiling, every curve and pattern as overwhelming as the pounding in her chest. 

Briefly, she pondered slipping her fingers between her thighs to satisfy herself, but ultimately decided against it. So much had just taken place and she needed a minute to sort it all out in her head. Dickie wouldn’t be of any help in that department. He didn’t need rationality or reason behind his decisions. He simply did what he wanted. What must that footloose freedom of mind be like, she wondered. 

Curling her legs until her feet were resting on the edge of the mattress, she idly toyed with the wet ends of her curls as she caught her breath, any and all words failing her in that moment.

[watermelonlipstick]

Three, Two, One

Working through my list of requests, I was really grateful to be able to fulfill this one from anon, who asked: 

I have ptsd, and really loud, sudden noises and sudden touches can make me have a panic attack, so can you do something where there’s a really loud noise or someone touches the reader and sends her into a panic attack and Dean helps her?

It felt a little too obvious to go with a gunshot here. I’m also imagining this set in early seasons both for aesthetic and for Bobby’s house. Hopefully it’s something like what you were hoping for!

Title: Three, Two, One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Word Count: 1069

Summary: Dean grounds the reader after a panic attack brought on by a loud noise. 

Warnings: oblique description of panic attack, description of loud noise

           The way he was right in front of you at virtually the same second the car backfired almost made it worse at first, to be honest, filling your field of vision as he’d flown out of the front seat of the car where it sat in Bobby’s salvage yard.

           “Shit, I’m so sorry, I thought I’d fixed it—here, sit down,” he said, guiding you over to a folding chair on the edge of the garage. You let him ease you to the metal, feeling the heat and pounding starting to build in your head already. Dean crouched in front of you. “Water? Let me get you some water.”

           He was back in a flash with a plastic bottle, sweating so much in the humidity that the paper label on it hung loose and ugly. You took it from him with a shaky hand once he’d cracked the cap off, and took a quick sip more to feel the coldness in your mouth than out of any real thirst. Dean reached out to pat your thigh and pulled back at the last second like he’d been burned, remembering that sometimes touching you made it worse. “Can I—um?”

           You nodded, grateful for his asking and worried if you spoke you wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. His palm over your knee was just this side of too hot, beach sand baked in the summer sun, and you tried hard to bring yourself back to reality, focus on that point of heat seeping through your jeans.

           “1 to 10?” he asked, gentle but firm as he fell into his script.

           “7,” you answered honestly.

           Dean nodded, just once, almost to himself, flicker of a quirk at one side of his mouth gone so fast you might’ve missed it. If you weren’t clawing to keep yourself above water you might’ve been able to appreciate his pride in heading off the worst of it by his rapid action.

           “I’m right here, you can close your eyes. Not going anywhere,” he continued in that poundcake voice; soft, sturdy, and sweet. Through trial and error you’d found that skipping to the three—three things you could hear—of a 5-4-3-2-1 grounding strategy was better for you; less risk of a surprise touch to add to the panic at its worst and increased contrast from whatever loud noise that had triggered it slowing the reins of your mind faster, letting you grab ahold and take control again. If you closed your eyes you could focus even harder on those small sounds, but so often it was impossible to beat back the anxiety enough to let you do it—this was one of the things Dean had been working on with you, ability to give the burden of watching out to him when you were buried in the tunneling foxhole of your mind. You tried your best to take a deep breath and let your eyelids slide shut.

           Three things you could hear.

           “Deep Purple.” Either the battery on the car was still good or he had that old boombox somewhere in the garage.

           “Underrated as always. That’s good; another?” he encouraged.

           “Windchime on the back porch.” Just a light twinkling; just barely below breeze to make the weather perfect.

           “Damn, you can hear that? I need to stop cranking the stereo so loud. Just one more.” Even knowing he was intentionally putting in the casual commentary, it helped to latch onto the light, easy conversation.

           “Cicadas.”

           “Annoying as hell, right? Okay, now two.”

           Two things you could smell.

           “Motor oil, you.”

           You could hear the smile in his voice even with your eyes closed. “And what do I smell like?”

           “Sweat, Old Spice, Coors Light.” And that little underlying note you could never place; the closest you’d ever gotten being a kind of sweet leather—leaving a cupcake in a hot car, maybe—but you were already at five things, technically. Feeling a touch of the panic start to lift, you were able to give him a weak facsimile of your normal cheeky smile, keeping your eyes closed as he chuckled gently.

           “Yeah, you love it,” he teased. “One?”

           One thing you could taste.

           “I don’t know, chapstick, maybe?”

           “I’ll call an audible and say you can swap for something you can feel,” he offered when you couldn’t think of anything.

           “Your hand on my knee.”

           He waited a beat for you to try to regulate your breathing before saying anything else. “1 to 10?”

           “3.” You opened your eyes to see him where you knew he’d still be, unmoved from his crouch on the weedy gravel in front of you. He still looked a touch concerned but primarily his face was open and hopeful as he searched your expression for more clues on how you were doing. “I’m good, sorry,” you sighed on the tail end of another deep breath, relishing the relative loosening of your lungs from a few minutes before.

           A smirk spread across Dean’s face, whites of his teeth impossible contrast to the light tan he’d gotten in the last couple weeks and spray of new sun-dyed freckles across his face, especially with the smudges of grease he had from working all day. “Nothing to be sorry about, kid. Should’ve double checked before I had you come check it out, that’s on me.” There was a shade of guilt there, and you wrapped your fingers around his hand where it stayed on your knee, giving him a little squeeze.

           Clearly that wasn’t enough to assuage Dean’s guilt, but what ever was? He held your gaze for a second before easing up to standing, grabbing a wrench out of his back pocket and tossing it in the general direction of a toolbox before wiping his hands sloppily on the back pockets of his jeans and rubbing the close-cut hair at the back of his neck. “Can I make you a sandwich? I’m starved.”

           It was another apology and fighting Dean about it wouldn’t help; the sandwich a continuation of the rapid response to your panic attack in that it was a manifestation of the best way Dean knew how to show affection/gratitude/apology, that wrap-you-in-a-blanket, take-you-under-my-wing care always so much easier for him than putting into words what he meant.

           You let him have it. “Yeah, a sandwich sounds good.”

           The way he smiled in response as he held out a hand to pull you up and sling an arm around your shoulders would’ve been enough to make you eat 20 sandwiches.

           One thing you could taste.  

-

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