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iamprchung · 12 days ago

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The Wan Ton Weekend

Yep, this fever-dream nonlinear narrative is back!

A long forgotten one-off that an awesome reader sought out and inspired the repost. Thanks @gloriousqueenfest!

Everyone enjoy the chaos that is Skinner/Scully!

Available on AO3

Synopsis: Scully’s weekend takes a wild turn when Mulder calls from Vegas with shocking news. What starts as a desperate attempt to stop his latest questionable life choice quickly spirals into a snowed-in misadventure featuring takeout, tension, and one very patient Assistant Director. A comedy of errors ensues—complete with misunderstandings, chaos, and maybe just a little bit of fate.

Notes: This is absolutely a Fever-Dream PWP (Plot? What Plot?) repost from the annals of X-Files SSR fiction.

I think this is the fluffiest excuse for smut there ever was. And this is written in a nonlinear narrative style that some readers may find confusing—but give it a chance.

And before I forget, because I do that frequently with these types of things, this symbol (that I hope shows up for most in this post) “福” is the Chinese symbol for “Good Luck.”

And I’m sorry – I have removed the use of the word “undulating” because—wow, could that get anymore cliché?

Music referenced and of note: Appropriately the Barenaked Ladies, ‘It’s All Been Done.’ Also ‘Pinch me’ by the same band seems appropriate as well but isn’t represented in the story.

Special Thanks: Paula and Tina (You know who you are)—your influence and beta recs are still all over this story, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. And a huge thanks to a long-time fan who sought this out and inspired me (lit a fire under my procrastinating butt) to clean it up and repost it.

Oh and that terrible cover art here is nothing compared to the original cover art... LOL.

The Wan Ton Weekend by PR Chung

January 15th Saturday Morning

"Hel..." her voice degenerated into a grotesque guttural gurgle upon answering the phone. She cleared her throat and tried again, "Hello?"

"Scully? Scully!" It sounded like Mulder, but the voice was partially drowned out by his own shouting.

"Mulder?"

"Scully, I had to call you, I had to tell you wonderful-fantastic news!"

"Okay..." she tried prying her eyes open, but it made her head hurt. She tried just opening one eye and it wasn't so bad. "What's the news..." she asked reading the time with her one good eye: two-thirty-six AM. "It's almost three in the morning..."

"Not here!" His voice peaked.

She sighed. "Mmm… kay, where are you?"

"I'm in Vegas…”

"Really?" She muttered slipping back into the fuzzy warm place she'd been swimming around in only a moment ago. "Did you get some kind of good holiday rate..." “I'm getting married!” he laughed excitedly. Scully frowned. “What?”

"Scully, listen, just listen," he was excitedly saying, "she's beautiful, she knows me- She's a Goddess!"

"Hmmm..." she murmured, "all right, I'll talk to you about it tomorrow... bye."

She clumsily pressed the off button and aimed blindly at the receiver cradle, missing. She was already drifting back to sleep before the cordless handset skittered to a stop on the hardwood floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Watch out for the seat belt-

"Whoa-"

Something large and very solid stopped her impending decent on the pavement. Half in- half out of the back seat of the car, Scully looked up into twinkling green eyes. Joel loomed over her, like a Gap ad come to life, supporting her weight effortlessly and grinning. He was obviously amused by her predicament.

"Careful there, Dana," was all he said and lifted her fully out of the car, placing her on the ground. He held onto her a moment longer, steadying her. Was she wobbling? Well, if she wasn't, her apartment building certainly was, she thought looking past him.

"Hey, walk her to the door," Michelle called over the sound of the car radio and soft bing-bing of the open car door chime.

Scully threw a half-baked glare back at her friend, embarrassed yet thankful for the extra help in getting this guy to the door. Maybe, finally, he'd kiss her. She'd thrown all her subtle and not so subtle charms at him, willing his attention- his full attention... But she was afraid she'd had a wee bit too much at the wine bar, and just maybe, perhaps, that wasn't so attractive.

"Mademoiselle?" He offered his arm to her, and she latched onto it happily. He shut the car door and lead Scully up the walk to the front steps of the apartments. She mounted the steps almost gleefully, but he didn't follow. Still clutching his rock-solid bicep, she nearly toppled backward when he stopped at the foot of the steps.

She turned and he was peeling her hand off his arm, almost finger by finger, appearing panicked by her resistance.

"Um," he grunted as he freed himself from her, "it's… been… a fun evening," he continued, backing away slowly.

"It really was," she agreed earnestly, starting back down the steps toward him, "maybe we could do it again sometime—"

He threw his hands up, she stopped. Then, self-consciously, he smiled and lowered them, saying, "Good night, Dana."

Nodding, she smiled thinly and hugged herself against the cold that was suddenly penetrating her coat and the warmth of the alcohol. "Okay, night."

She watched as he got back in the car, returning Michelle's wave as they drove away.

The taillight's red glow disappeared from sight, but Scully stood on the brick steps listening to the fading sound of her friend's car engine, her breath clouding the cold, still air. She remained there a long while, rummaging through the freeze-framed images of the night, wondering when exactly it was that she had gone past adorably tipsy and fell headlong into annoyingly drunk.

A cat crossed her line of vision, at first there were two, but once she squeezed her eyes open and shut a couple of times it was only one little tabby. She absently watched it snake around parked car tires, rubbing and sniffing things, doing cat things, until she found it no longer interesting and went inside to go to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stood there in the half open doorway blinking back at her, confounded. "Married--" Skinner started, then went on with, "what?"

"Mulder's in Las Vegas and he's getting married." She declared perhaps a little too loudly.

Skinner frowned at her and seemed to sniff the air between them. "Scully, have you been drinking?"

Her mouth dropped open, aghast at his inference- then realized she had been drinking.

"No-Y-yes- Some."

"Scully," he sighed and leaned against the door to his apartment with unaffected casualness.

"Sir, we have to stop him... I don't think he knows what he's doing."

Skinner chewed at his lip.

"He's getting married." She stressed again.

"I'll congratulate him the next time I see him." Again, her mouth went slack. Skinner straightened, agitated. "All right, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I-I don't know... Help me."

"Why don't you get his friends," he gestured past her toward the hall, "those gunmen guys..."

"They don't answer." Her shoulders sagged.

"I didn't answer," he declared, emphasizing by placing a hand over his chest, "that didn't stop you from coming over here... Did you drive here?"

"I took a cab- But your phone was busy, and… I knew—I hoped you were here at least..." her voice was beginning to take on a sort of whimpering quality.

He cocked his head, started to say something, then changed his mind, saying instead, "I was on-line."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh my God!"

Her head felt like it was going to explode when she came straight up from the mattress into a sitting position. Her head was pounding, her mind racing. The vague recollection of Mulder's words doing a clog dance on the foggy fringe of what sobriety she had managed to hang onto.

The bedroom was black but for the eerie red glow of the digital clock, this only added panic to her already skewed perception of time and place. She jerked around looking at the clock: two-forty-eight. What time had it been? She racked her brain frantically trying to remember what time he had called, she knew she had looked at the clock. Had only a few minutes passed? Yes, yes, just a few minutes- She went leaping from the bed, her feet tangling in the bedding...

Shards of smart pain zipped through her knees as she picked herself up off the floor, cursing the bedding, cursing the floor. Not quite done cursing she snapped on the light and headed for the closet. She caught a leg in her jeans, she cursed some more and tore a nail on the zipper—

"Shit."

She had a sweatshirt over her head before she stopped to wonder what exactly she was doing.

It wasn't like she could just jump in the car and drive over to Las Vegas, now, could she?

"Damn," she hissed yanking the sweatshirt back off, taking her pajama top with it.

Bare from the waist up she collected the cordless phone from the floor and dialed Mulder's cell phone number. All she got was the recording again and again, the monotone and android-like voice telling her the customer she was trying to reach was— Oh, hell, how many times had she been down this road?

She hit the speed dial programmed for the lair of the Lone Gunmen. The line rang twice before she realized she was half naked- She hung up abruptly. She couldn't talk to Frohike in this state, never mind that he couldn't see her- She just couldn't do it!

Jammies back on, she dialed again.

"Hello?"

Scully's heart stopped at the groggy sound of her mother's voice. She had hit the wrong speed dial number! Her mouth was moving rapidly but nothing was coming out. What to do! What to say-?

"Hello?" Now her mother was beginning to sound concerned. Oh, no, not scared even...

"Sorry," Scully dropped her voice so deep she nearly coughed, but managed to finish her baritone disguised apology, "wrong number."

The phone clutched in her hand, her heart racing, she squeezed her eyes shut against the queasiness in her stomach- the dizziness in her head. She took a quick breath, collecting her wits and dialed more carefully.

There was no answer.

How the hell could there be no answer? Weren't these three utterly nocturnal in nature? Weren't the three of them constantly on third watch- Okay, well, maybe not so much Byers, she rectified the presumption. He really seemed the most normal, the most reality-based of the three, with his neat and clean, socially appeasing appearance.

She plopped down on the bed blowing her breath out. Now who? Now what?

Her head felt like it was caught in an isolated whirlwind- localized just in her bedroom, just in the exact space her cranium occupied...

"Oh, why'd I drink so much...?" she whispered to the walls, holding her head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was just lying there, stretched out over the length of the sofa, asleep. His jaw slack with relaxation in contrast to the tension of his hand that was clutching the TV remote to his chest. His posture, his entire appearance suggested an evening of excess, although she could tell this wasn't the case. More of a night spent quietly surfing the web and twisting the heads off a few friends...

She glanced toward the desk and eyed the beer bottles glistening in the light of the television.

About six to eight friends...

Turning back, she let her eyes linger over him, hovering in absent thought over the place where his shirt had hiked up over his stomach... A flat... fuzzy... stomach. Was it as firm as it appeared? Or was that just gravity doing its thing? She had suspected at times, while in his office, that he was sucking it in every time he got up from behind his desk. He just had that look about him, like he was holding his breath... Could that have been for her benefit? Nahhhh...

Her eyes traveled over the length of his forearm, mesmerized by the thick fine blanket of dark hair, a physical feature sadly hidden by dress shirts. Her gaze followed the toned curve of his muscles. She cocked a brow, a mischievous notion striking her. A notion constructed from unfinished business earlier in her evening... Freeze framed flashes of her fingers being peeled off that guy’s arm... What the hell was his name again?

Skinner stirred.

Scully caught her breath, beginning a nervous little dance in place, knowing she should go but somehow not being able to pry her eyes off his body.

Too late—

Skinner opened his eyes, and her heart crammed itself into her throat.

Looking a bit dazed he glanced around until his focus fell on the television... without ever noticing the shape hanging motionless at his feet. Rediscovering the remote in his hand he reached out with it, shutting off the TV.

The room went dark. Scully took relief in knowing she was completely hidden now; all she would have to do is slowly start back stepping before he ran over her in the dark.

Step, step-

She saw him coming off the sofa, his figure blotting out what scant city lights there were beyond the balcony window blinds. As though magnetically drawn, he headed straight toward her— of course he had the advantage of knowing his way around his home in the dark, knowing the placement of his furniture- but Scully, on the other hand, did not.

Trying to get out of his way before the inevitable collision she back stepped quickly and immediately into the end table.

Aside from being aware of the rattle and crash of everything on the table, and the table itself tumbling over, Scully realized she was going down with it...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Scully, just go home," he told her without much ceremony. "He'll be fine. It's not like he's in any immediate danger other than one wicked headache in the morning..."

Her feelings of immediacy were beginning to wear off, or perhaps it was just the alcohol that was wearing off. She knew he was right; Mulder wasn't in any danger. Why had she been so panicked anyway?

"Can I use your phone?"

"Wha- Why?" More irritation seeped from him.

"Well, I told the cab not to wait."

"Don't you have your cell phone?" He didn't mean for it to sound the way it did. It was more concern for her safety, her ability to call for help if need be, rather than a reluctance to let her in to use his phone. But what he meant and what she had heard were obviously two very different things judging by her expression. "Fine... Yes, you can use..."

"No," she shook her head. "No, thank you. I wouldn't want to disturb you any further."

She plucked her cell phone out and held it up for him to see, then walked off unsteadily down the hall.

Without a second glance he shut the door.

Damn it.

His hand was still resting on the door handle, the guilt already starting to prick at his guts. Wrenching himself away he walked across the living room slowly, drawing a hand back over his head. He could have at least offered her a ride home... He glanced over to the desk, eyeing the empty beer bottles sitting next to the computer in a sad neat row. Perhaps he wasn't running around jumping to conclusions in the middle of the night, but he didn't believe he was in the best shape to be driving either.

He went closer to the desk, studying the computer screen for a moment, his thoughts no longer on the images tiled there. Somehow, letting a less than straight Scully stagger off into the night (the snowy night, he amended the thought with a glance toward the balcony) had deaden his interest in fake nudes of Shania Twain...

Damn.

He switched off the computer without going through the hassle of shutting it down and went to the balcony, sliding on his bare feet across the slick tiles, stopping himself at the rail short of going over the side. Recovering, his heart still thudding from the near miss, he looked down, seventeen floors to the street, searching for a sign and found, with a stab of responsibility, a tiny little red-headed figure huddled against the cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snowflakes landing on her face, Scully glanced up at the high-rise, eyeing the sparse sprinkling of lit windows across its face and wondered for a moment if she should have done this. She turned back and looked at the cab driver, "maybe you could wait for me?"

"I will have to run the meter, miss lady." The dark man called back over the seat to her in a thick and ambiguously foreign accent.

She had already poured a fortune out, and her cash on hand was limited. "Um, okay, never mind."

She lingered on the sidewalk, peering up again at the building wishing she could stop swaying long enough to count up to his... Surely she would be able to figure out which of these hundreds of windows belonged to Skinner... She grabbed her head to steady it, stop the spinning, the pounding.

After the world was fixed again she headed off toward the entrance ignoring the fact that she was still wholly uncertain about coming here. He hadn't answered the phone either, but it had rung busy, so at least she knew he was home. But what was Skinner doing on the phone this late and for so long?

The line rang busy again even as she traveled up in the elevator.

She put away her cell phone, noticing the battery needed a serious charge.

Maybe he took the phone off the hook, she thought heading down the hall toward his door. What if he's taken the phone off the hook to get some sleep— What if he's got... company? She suddenly thought, her knuckles wavering just a hair away from knocking.

She bit her lip and forged ahead, rapping the door hard.

There was a long beat before she heard the tumblers turn in the lock.

She tensed, batting away the intense urge to shut her eyes.

The door came open on a man she might have never recognized in a line-up as her superior; without his glasses, bare foot and wearing baggy gray sweats and a faded navy tee shirt with stray threads jutting out from where there used to be sleeves and a jagged tear from the neckline down that created a "V" the manufacturer hadn't intended.

Staggered, her eyes widened.

He was scowling at her, but her eyes had roamed away from his direct gaze and lit on the hint of chest hair escaping the homemade V-neck.

"Scully, what are you doing here?"

She jerked her attention back up.

Taking him in on the whole, she swallowed hard finding that she really wasn't quite sure now why she'd come all the way over here in the wee hours of the morning and through the falling snow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ass over heels, she went with a "Whoop!" Crashing down, her feet flew up and she felt her foot smash something, and heard Skinner let out an undeniable "Oof!"

What in God's name had she kicked? She miserably wondered as she tried to pick herself up off the floor in the dark.

The lights came on— track lights running the length of the living room ceiling— like stage lights and she was the center attraction.

"Scully?" Skinner all but yelled, one hand still on the light switch across the room, the other cupping himself as though shielding them from further attack.

"I-I couldn't see when you turned off the television." She explained.

"Well, what the hell were you doing anyway?"

"I wanted some aspirin?" It came out more of a question than an answer.

He was staring at her as though he couldn't believe his eyes and she realized her tee shirt- his tee shirt- was hiked up around her thighs exposing the crotch of her emerald green panties.

She yanked the hem down, scooting back out of the wreckage of his end table.

"Watch out," he warned, suddenly coming toward her in a sort of stumble. "There's glass here-"

She just missed putting her foot right on the jagged piece of colored glass that had been a.. a candy dish or... well, something only moments ago.

"I'm sorry... I'll replace it."

Gingerly picking glass from the carpet Skinner shook his head, grunting, "I didn't like it anyway."

She looked at a shard she'd collected for him and wondered aloud, "what was it?"

"An ash tray."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Great."

She had only just started to dial the cab company's number when the battery died on the cell phone. She checked the lobby for a pay phone, there were none. Stuffing the cell phone back into her coat pocket she looked out the front doors to the bare street out in front of Skinner's apartment building, curious as to what her chances of a cab passing by were.

She went out and stood at the very edge of the awning, looking up and down the street through the falling snow. There wasn't a moving car in sight.

She held herself against the cold, analyzing what the hell could have been wrong with her- coming all the way over here when he hadn't even answered. Sure, the busy signal had told her he was home, but what had she expected, Skinner to eagerly start packing his bags?

She huffed at the stupidity her drinking had blanketed her in.

"Scully..." She turned to see Skinner standing in the doorway. He'd thrown on a jacket and loafers, no socks. "Just stay here," he said to her humbly, "it's too late to be crossing town."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sir?"

She was at the door, softly knocking.

The cursing, the grunting had increased to the point where she could no longer ignore it and became concerned, suspecting he had gotten a piece of glass in his foot.

When there was no answer she called again through the door, "sir, are you all right-?"

The door came open. "Yes," he breathed, standing on one foot.

"You have glass in your foot, don't you?" she asked, eyeing his impression of a flamingo.

His breath left him in a low, long hiss of resignation. "Yes," he said refusing to make eye contact.

"Do you need help?"

Rather than nodding, wrought with indignation, he swung side to side and hopped back into the bathroom.

"Sit down," she needlessly instructed as she took the tweezers from him. He gave the toilet a leery glance, he didn't need to say anything. She sighed gesturing toward the tub, "sit there, then."

Looking unmistakably miserable with the situation he sat down, still making no eye contact.

"Which one is it?"

"The right," he answered propping his ankle across his left knee. First, before allowing her to see, he looked at the bottom of his foot, grimacing. "It's really in there."

Scully fit herself between the wall and his foot, leaning in to see what she could see, thinking how huge his feet were... You know what they say about men with big fee... Shut up!

She tucked her hair behind her ears and went to work. “Do you have any alcohol?”

“Haven’t we had enough tonight?” he cynically asked.

“Rubbing alcohol…” she explained opening cabinets in search of something to sterilize the tweezers. “Left side, I think…”

Coming back, she winced. "This is probably going to hurt a little," she warned him.

"It can't hurt any worse than when I put my weight on it."

He was wrong.

When she dug into the skin he'd already torn at trying to dislodge the shard he flinched, losing his already precarious balance and started to fall. Scully went to steady him precisely as he blindly grabbed for support. His butt slid off the tub side just as he latched onto her, his weight dragging her with him backward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How many?" She looked at him, striking a blank.

"How many aspirin do you need?" He asked her again, gesturing toward her with the open bottle primed to dispense pills.

"Just two," Scully answered, her jaw dropping immediately—she could have sworn that she saw his mouth move, saw him mock her. “Just two…”

"Tap or ice water?" He grunted, handing her the pills.

"Tap," she answered and watched him get a glass and draw the water.

He was really very gracious despite the way he was grinding out every question. He'd invited her into his home rather than let her cross town alone late at night. He'd given her his room for what was left of the night. Even giving her free reign over his dresser drawer with the instructions to wear what she wanted; she had carefully picked through the neat stacks of tees and sweats but only found a shirt long enough to cover her, no matter how she had tried (and she really had) his huge sweat pants wouldn't stay up over her tiny hips.

And what thanks had she shown for all his kindness— ogling him while he slept, crushing his end table and breaking his knick-knacks? It was no wonder he was growling like a big surly bear.

She could have always said no, she mused heading back upstairs to the bedroom.

Why hadn't he offered her a ride home? Too late for one reason, but more certainly because he too had been drinking. Drinking alone and in front of the computer. She climbed into the bed thinking of how really very sad that picture was.

Shifting in the bed, feeling out of place, and not so much uncomfortable but nervous. She was now lying in his bed, her skin against the same sheets his body touched. The sheets were crisp and clean, and this almost surprised her. She had known a few single men and their beds; the sheets were rarely changed if they were lucky or mindful enough to own a second set of bedding. The bedrooms were another story altogether; smelling of dirty clothes hampers or some obscure source of mildew. Skinner's room smelled good, like sandalwood or cedar, warm and inviting, maybe even a little mysterious.

It was all around actually; on the bedding, in the pillows, dusting the shirt she wore.

Her cheeks began to burn as she languished in the mysteries of Walter Skinner's scent, drifting sleepily down the stairs to the sofa, to his side...

A knock sounded at the door suddenly.

It was soft, unintrusive to the point that she believed he thought she was already asleep.

She said nothing, staring at the door in the dark.

A moment passed before the door came open slowly, soundlessly and Skinner's silhouette appeared, cut in the dull light from downstairs. Holding her breath, her body flushing with nervous anticipation, she watched him enter the room- come toward the bed... She caught her breath shakily, preparing for... And he kept going, right past the bed and into the bathroom.

When the lock clicked she sat up and hit the mattress, mouthing a curse as the light came on in there, slipping out under the door in a sliver. Dowsed desire turned to curiosity as she listened to the hushed sounds from in the bathroom: drawers and cabinets opening and closing, rummaging and shifting. Then, what had started quietly grew louder, the level carefulness dropping dramatically as the search, for whatever it was he was hunting, became more deliberate and concentrated.

Curses began slipping out from under the door.

Then, silence for the longest time.

Okay, well, she couldn't just listen like this, she decided and laid back down pulling a pillow over her head. Give the man some privacy for God's sake...

"Damn it!"

Scully came up off the bed again at the sound of the curse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A tangle of arms and legs, struck at inconceivable angles, Skinner and Scully tumbled into the tub. He caught the full brunt of Scully's weight atop him, his head going back from the force, smacking the tiles hard.

Once the initial shock wore off, he groaned dully.

Scully could fell the vibration of his voice, it was hard not to the way she found herself pressed between him and the tub side; her nose smashed into his armpit, her shoulder twisted down and half under his weight, her left leg still over the tub side while her right was shoved precariously close to his crotch pinned by his thick thigh. Although not entirely an unpleasant experience, pinned against his body this way, except for his arm pressing into her ribs like she was lying across a telephone pole.

She realized extrication was a must... and it wasn't going to be a simple matter.

"Pull..." he started to say as they began to work together on this puzzle, "no, can you just...?"

He was trying to scoot back and help her up, but there was no leverage to be found.

"You... turn toward me," she instructed hopefully.

After a great deal of grunting and struggling, attempting a good deal of care not to pinch, squeeze or otherwise injure (or offend) either of them, Skinner could clearly see only brute force was going to do the job.

"Hold on," he warned.

She hesitated, leery of what he was about to do. "Okay," she timidly answered.

He as well was hesitant, aware of the dangerous proximity of her knee to his genitalia. If he wasn't precise, if he didn't calculate his move just right...

Prudence abandoned, he heaved himself toward her, turning on his side. The move shifted Scully onto her back, jarring her teeth and sending her left foot into the air- slapping the shower handle full to C!

Ice cold spray blasted them, Skinner taking it full in the face while Scully caught it through-and through over her back and butt. Gasping, shocked, a living exhibition of approach avoidance, they scrambled clumsily away from the icy deluge while at the same time kicking at the handle together. Somehow, more luck than accuracy in aim, Skinner caught it just right and the glacial rain cut off.

The drain drained and the shower head dripped its last drip. What seemed the length of eternity passed in silence; each sound amplified a hundred-fold.

She was soaked.

He was soaked.

Scully fought off shivers, almost afraid to look up at him.

His face was covered with wetness, droplets of water beaded on his bare scalp rolled down over his creased brow and into his eyes. Squinting, he licked the water from his mouth and said, "Just one less thing to do in the morning."

Her laugh came out in a robust burst.

"You had this planned, didn't you?" He accused her, beginning to laugh as he reached up to wipe water from his eyes.

"What?" She laughed.

He shook his head, a broad, unconditionally uncharacteristic smile spreading across his mouth.

"This reeks of a scheme..."

She giggled, a motion that set her body shuddering against him.

His smile suddenly waned and she slowly stifled her merriment. He looked down on her, his eyes growing dark and fixed. She felt his leg pressing more firmly against the cleft between her legs and caught her breath, thrown by the intense response.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"...Mid-level disturbances over this area, so we won't be seeing a change for at least a while."

The weather report wasn't promising.

It was downright awful, but Dana Scully had nowhere she needed to be- except for right where she was.

She stretched herself long and hard, luxuriating in the coolness of the sheets against her bare skin, delighting in the cause of her soreness, her exhaustion. Nowhere, she thought again and rolled herself up in the bedding, turning from the television to the window. Nowhere at all but right here, she smiled seeing the morning light creeping through the blinds.

"You better not be asleep." She turned back seeing Skinner coming into the bedroom, balancing a plate of- what all she couldn't tell in the bad light.

"I'm not," she grinned and sat up, watching him come around the bed, high stepping clumps of shed clothes and discarded towels. She reveled, watching him stroll before her, magnificently bare, seeing full well that he did not have to suck it in.

He stopped suddenly and seemed to hop sideways, as though he'd stepped on something unexpectedly.

"What is it?"

He searched the floor in the dark for a moment, and then said, "I think I'm going to need to have my carpets shampooed."

Scully covered her mouth, but the laugh came out through her fingers. "I'm sorry."

He blew his breath out. "Takes two to tango," he chuckled, climbing back in bed beside her, careful not to spill the contents of the plate. "I hope left over Chinese is all right."

His feet were cold, and she jumped when they touched her leg under the covers.

"Sorry," he apologized handing her a fork and napkin. "The kitchen floor is like ice."

"Just like the rest of the area," she said around a cheek full of what she thought was Orange Chicken and pointed toward the TV. "Weather channel says it's only going to get worse before it gets better."

"The weather channel always says that" he replied, intently trying to load his fork with fried rice. He carefully brought it to his mouth, cupping one hand beneath the wobbly heap- only to have the rice cascade into his lap a hairbreadth from his lips.

"Let me get that for you," she said putting her fork down and taking the plate from him, smiling mischievously as she leaned over toward the spill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He considered her for a drawn instance, a low hum escaping him, a sort of "hmmm," as if he were pondering what it was going to be like, relishing in the anticipation, resisting the fascination.

Water dripped from his chin onto Scully's lower lip.

Slowly, with full eye contact, she flicked her tongue out and lapped it away, tilting her head back, her chin up.

What more invitation did he need?

Something snapped- all good sense- wisdom and care tossed aside...

Startling her, appearing more to fall rather than making any controlled descent, Skinner covered her mouth with his, stealing her breath away. She moaned in sweet surprise and heard him echoing her sound, feeling his weight press against her, his fingers plunge into her hair.

She gathered herself up closer to him, fretfully freeing her arms from under him to throw them around his neck. His fingers tangled in her wet hair, his palm pressing against her scalp urging her more deeply into the kiss, his tongue parting her lips.

Urging was needless, her entire body was singing.

In a furious sudden gesture, he drew back, rearing up onto his knees, his back straight, his torso stretched and towering over her as he yanked his shirt off. He threw it wantonly from the confines of the tub, looking after it as it hit the floor, then back down at Scully. There was a deranged look in his eyes and his mouth- his jaw, was working in his furious deliberation to continue.

With singular strength she never believed herself to possess, Scully lifted her torso and peeled the wet tee shirt off over her head. Dropping the garment over the tub side she left her arms up over her head, stretching her body out before him, arching her back and thrusting her pelvis into his groin, offering herself fully.

"Hmmm?" She questioned him, her eyes half lit and beckoning him.

A brutish growl issued from deep in his chest, his answer his hands dropping onto her stomach, his fingers raking down across her hips and hooking the band of her panties...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Again, with the "Oof!"

Scully straightened and could have sworn his eyes were crossed. Some dark mischievous part of her nearly laughed at the sight.

Misjudging distance, Skinner reclined perhaps a little quickly, a bit too eagerly accepting her offer to clean up the spill of rice in his bare lap and promptly banged the back of his skull against the headboard.

"God," she declared just looking at him dumbly, "are you all right?"

He rubbed his head, blenching.

"Couldn't be better..." he replied and after a moment he looked at her with a wry smirk, "but I think we need to begin immediate medical procedures to reduce swelling..."

"Really?" she grinned, and without breaking eye contact began to caress the inside of his thigh.

He scrunched down into the bed, closing his eyes and taking a shuddered breath as her fingers traveling lightly over his skin and brushed ever so softly over his hair, teasing every she passed over.

Blood coursing, he began to throb and reacted to the sensation by thrusting his hips up with the desperate hope of making full contact with her hand.

"Hold on a second," she abruptly said, suddenly taking her hand away and turning from him.

Complete and unendurable frustration overwhelmed him. "What-Where are you..."

"I've got to get rid of this plate before we're rolling in Moo Shu..."

"I've already got rice all over me, what difference does..." he broke off, she was already off the bed, clearly not listening to him.

He blew out a tremendous gust of air, feeling like he would explode.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bathroom mirror reflected their frenzied dance, and they liked the quick, transient snatches they caught of their own images; clumsy and bungling scrambling, groping and grabbing, sordid and guileless- the starved served a feast.

Interruption came but once when all but the sink faucets were savagely cleared from the counter top, swept aside— a shower toiletries clattered to the floor.

Scully squeaked; the countertop cold against her bottom when he deposited her up there. Her legs spread and wrapped around his waist, her hands roamed his back with rash swipes, her fingers digging into his flesh in anxious response to his fiery touch. She rubbed herself against him, realizing it was his stomach she was slicking her juices and tried lowering herself as much as the counter allowed.

"Wait," he breathed prying his mouth from hers, his hands from her breasts.

He grappled with the band of his sweatpants, trying not to put his full weight down on his foot- they hadn't quite gotten around to getting the glass out, exactly. Fevered, she reached down to help free him, working blindly with her face buried in his chest, her hands tangled with his.

Maybe a little too anxious, she jabbed him with a thumb nail in the process of stripping him bare, causing him to jump and take a step- pressing the sliver of glass home.

Yelping, hissing, he brought his foot up and hopped back trying to catch hold of the door jam.

Scully covered her face, unable to bear watching him fall out the door, his sweats pulled down around his knees. Once she heard the thud, the unmistakable sound of his full weight hitting the floor, she jumped off the counter to her feet.

"I think someone's trying to tell us something..." he panted, flat on his back and staring up at the ceiling, his exposed erection struck up like a spire.

She looked at it in light of the bathroom; thinking the only thing missing here had been a “boing!” sound effect.

"I can't hear anything," she whispered, dragging his sweats the rest of the way off before slithering along his outstretched body. "How's your foot?" she asked him and deliberately let a breast graze the dew dolloped head of his penis.

"What foot?" he muttered reaching down to capture her under the arms and hauled her fully atop him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rice brushed from himself and the sheets, his brief consideration to take matters into his own hands was interrupted as she collapsed into the bed beside him. Without hesitation, leaving no room for any further interference, he gathered her up in his arms and rolled over, pinning her beneath his weight.

He heard her catch her breath for the umpteenth time, the sound propelling his excitement, invigorating his want.

He bathed her neck with impatient kisses, plunging down over her collar bone to her breasts, first flicking at her nipples with his tongue then suckling as he wedged his knee down and eased her legs apart. He slipped a freed hand between them, touching her, slicking his fingers in the wetness, tracing the sensitive skin surrounding her folds, feeling her body instantly react.

Gulping in air, she strained against his weight, trying to rock herself against his fingers.

He satisfied her desires, separating her, slowly exploring, seeking and learning the map of her body, the places he would touch that caused her to shudder.

She caught her breath, and he knew; beneath his fingertip, hard and like the tinniest, he brushed and pressed, in rigid circular motions. Alert to her every breath and motion, he increased and decreased the pressure, savagely keeping her on the brink of orgasm.

"Please," she begged him, her body writhing with blind yearning. "I want you in me so bad..."

Hearing her breathy plea, the nastiness of her statement, he groaned as a whole new level of arousal surged through him. "You're so wet..." he exclaimed, dragging ragged breaths in as he positioned himself between her legs, almost unable to see straight.

She had already opened herself to him, pumping herself upward repeatedly, rocking her hips. "Fill me up again, please..."

"Oh, Christ..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 16

Sunday Evening

The snow had stopped falling, but the melt was far off...

The balcony enclosure was packed full of fluffy white that blanketed the city. According to the news the airport could reopen soon, flights were delayed of course, but at least people would be able to get back into DC if they had so desired to travel during the three-day weekend- those lucky enough to have Monday off...

* "... You were right, I was wrong. You said good-bye, I said goodnight...

It's all been done. It's all been done..." *

Music was blaring from in the living room.

Scully had the stereo turned up high and was dancing around the furniture carelessly.

Skinner had come out of the kitchen ready to scold her, demand her to lower the volume- God knew he'd had enough happen in this apartment to piss the neighbors off- but seeing her flinging about in his dress shirt, bare buttocks exposed with every twirl, he just couldn't bring himself to do anything other than go to her.

Nearly forty-eight hours together without a break, out of control and not giving a damn about the consequences, and her ability to ignite his hunger with a single word or gesture had not diminished

* ".... It's all been done. It's all been done!" *

He heard those lyrics and thought how nothing could have been more appropriate for the occasion, as he glanced at the hand cuffs dangling from his right wrist, then, his bareness, unable to remember exactly when he'd had clothes on the last time this weekend.

It had been too long for the two of them, that fact was more than obvious. They had gone beyond good judgment, thrown all caution to wind and had some of the best sex he could remember ever even contemplating. Good, fantastic, ungoverned, gleeful all-over-the-place, rug burn, clear-the-kitchen-table, chafing, leave-your-DNA-sample-at-the-door sex.

He caught her around the waist from behind in mid twirl, spinning her the rest of the way around, pulling her to him and kissing her in a motion so fluid, so natural, it surprised him.

She swayed in his embrace, returning the passion, her tongue exploring his mouth with all the delight of their first kiss, tasting him as though for the first time. An overwhelming sense of renewed longing rapt her, and perhaps it was that all the eagerness, the unbridled impetuosity gradually tapered and left between them unhurried tactile study, a savoring of the kiss that had suddenly taken on a decidedly tender and compassionate bearing.

* "If I put my fingers here, and if I say "I love you, dear"..." *

Something changed then. A tug, a pull, a touch, a caress... Something shifted, and all the wildness disappeared.

They parted, gaping and staring at one another, shocked and dismayed. In an instant the unpleasant knowledge that their time together was coming to an end passed between them. He touched her face, traced the curve of her neck and chin, feathered his fingers over her cheeks and brushed her hair back from her face, searching her eyes, studying her face as if to memorize every nuance.

She sighed softly and closed her eyes, enjoying his touch... until the handcuff clipped her clavicle. She shrunk away, whimpering against the unexpected pang.

"I've got to get these off before the delivery boy gets her," he told her, smoothing over the area the cuff had hit.

"He won't be here for a while in this weather," she said and grinned as she coaxed him to the floor with her.

She laid back flat on the floor looking up at him with a smile. Fumbling against the dangling cuff he worked to unbutton her shirt. Finished, he drew back the folds slowly, baring the smoothness of her torso, the fullness of her breasts, the cinnamon tuft of curls covering her inviting mound.

Her skin tingled with pleasure and anticipation as he ran his hands languidly over her stomach, her ribs. Closing her eyes, she moaned softly when he reached her breasts, pulsations coursed through her lower body, stifling her breath. Sightless, instinct driven, her hands went to him, passing over the incredible heat of his body, lavishing in the feel of his skin against her palms, the tickle of soft hair that trailed up his stomach, the texture turning coarse as she reached his chest and the well-defined swell of his pecs.

Enraptured, she inhaled sharply, feeling him slipping his hardness torturously slow over her, flirting penetration, slicking up and over her, discharging through her a fierce jolt of pleasure. She surged up, thrusting her hips toward him, sensing him trying to back away, knowing he wanted to make the moment last, but she couldn't wait.

Surrendering, he dipped into her, filling her, pushing deep inside. She was burning him up inside her, swallowing his strength as she constricted her muscles around him, drawing him to the brink of climax. Needing her to join him, wanting her to climax with him. As if sensing this, she reached down where they had become one, stroking herself, equaling his rhythmic strokes within her.

Staggered, half moans issued from her throat as she tilted her head back, feeling the wave of tightness beginning in her stomach, the seizure crawling through her insides, drawing the muscles of her vagina so taut for a brief moment she felt as though she could lose control, the sensation so intense.

Concentration shifted to a perverse level as they surged together, driving each toward orgasm with more forceful thrusts, matching the harshness of their ragged breathing. Paralyzing in suddenness Scully felt herself succumbing. She gasped in response to the twinges, the liquefied heat of him pumping his orgasm deep inside her.

His strength drained he collapsed over her, finally lowering his torso from its rigid up right position, bracing himself on his elbows. The sudden move caused him to slip from her and sent a shudder through them both. He buried his face against her neck, his breath was hot across her shoulder. She shivered as little aftershocks raced through her.

He muttered something and despite the closeness of his mouth to her ear, she couldn't understand him. "What is it...?" she wheezed a little, her hands absently messaging his shoulders and back, perspiration across his back cool to her touch.

He lifted his head just enough to speak, his voice spent, "I said, what have you done to me?"

Feeling flattered, she offered a breathless giggle in response and ran her fingers over his head, feeling the perspiration on his bare scalp, the dampness along the sides as she raked through his closely cropped hair.

She was beginning to sense a possible rug burn along her spine and tail bone when he finally lifted his weight from her and rolled to his side facing her, still touching her body with his. They laid together content and tried to ignore the stereo blaring music through the living room around them. For the moment this was their private oasis, a patch of earth untouched by any other than themselves—

Rambunctious, cop-like knocking suddenly erupted through the front door.

That was, of course, except for the delivery boy.

Invigorated with a new energy, Skinner came off the floor as if caught in the act- well, nearly- snatching the throw rug from the easy chair, wrapping it around him as Scully sat up pulling his shirt back together over herself. "Where's my wallet..." he began muttering, hunting blindly around without his glasses.

"The kitchen bar- the counter thing," she stammered and pointed toward the dining area. "Over there, I think."

He staggered forward, his legs quivering as he called toward the door, "just a minute!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the door came open he wasn't quite sure what to think, or say for that matter. Was there really anything he could say?

The epitome of disheveled, Walter Skinner stood in the open door looking back at Mulder with what hair he had standing straight out from his head as though he hadn't combed it all weekend, a throw rug precariously wrapped about him and a wad of money clutched in one outstretched hand that just happened to be sporting a set of cuffs.

Mulder stared back at his superior, awestruck.

"Uh," he said trying to process this quickly, get past it even quicker, "I've, uh, been trying to call you since Saturday, but your phone's been busy."

“I’ve been on-line." Skinner shot back, unruffled- outwardly.

"For two days?"

"I was downloading a big file."

“Must have been some big file…”

"Do you have enough mone—" Scully appeared and jumped, her question bitten off at the sight of Mulder just past Skinner's arm. Dumbly, she actually jumped back behind Skinner for an instant, hiding from her partner.

Mulder took a step back, a lop-sided grin smeared over his mouth. "I guess this answers that—"

"Mista' Skinna'," a voice came from behind Mulder and made them all jump.

A fresh-faced young Asian man poked his head around the corner, grinning immediately and holding up a huge brown bag. "House of Wang," he announced.

"You got that right," Mulder muttered.

Skinner shoved money at the delivery boy and snatched the sack from him.

"Lots of extra wonton for you, Mista' Skinna'," he declared graciously and started counting the money. "You’ve been very good customa' this weekend."

"This is wrong on just so many different levels..." Mulder muttered, shaking his head at the scene playing out before him.

"Thanks.. thanks a lot." Skinner's cool facade was beginning to crumble as he handed the bag off to Scully still cowering behind him.

Pleased with his tip, delivery boy gave them all a quick salute and was gone.

The silence stretched to the breaking point between the three of them before Scully finally poked her head out form around Skinner to ask Mulder, "Did you get married?"

He shook his head, shifting his gaze between them for so long that Skinner was ready to shut the door in his face if he didn't say something soon— Then, finally, shaking his head, Mulder pursed his mouth a thoughtful instant before he told them with an air of whimsical denial, "there's just really no good way to end this, is there?"

Skinner shook his head. "No."

Mulder nodded, thoughtful. "I guess if I say 'I'll see you at the office' that would only intrude on this situation?"

Scully nodded, hugging the delivery bag. "Yes," she said.

Mulder nodded, reflective, then, stepping back from the door, smiling as he went, he said, "enjoy the wonton."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 福 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Done. Over. Fin. ~~

~~ A crack PWP production by PR Chung ~~

#The Wan Ton Weekend #skinner scully #walter skinner #the x files #xfiles #the xfiles #skinner #scully #xfiles fanfic #skinner scully fanfic #mulder #skinner x scully #fever-dream fic #smutty little fun romp

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birinboom · 1 year ago

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7 (👀 i see you’ve listed a deku fic as a project!! 👀👀👀), 55, and 72 for the fanfic ask game! ✨✨✨

Thank you so much for asking! 💖💖💖 I’m sorry to tell you though that the Deku fic is still only a draft (I’ll never get it finished for New Year’s 😅) so I’ll post a different WIP snippet at the end.

55. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

I’ve noticed that I use the phrase ‘couldn’t help but __’ a lot. I know that I also use nature themes a lot, but generally I’m really bad at noticing these kinds of things 😅 Have any of you noticed patterns that keep reappearing in my fics? 👀👀

72. What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

I’ve gotten quite a few sweet comments like ‘didn’t know I needed this’ and ‘omg you should all read this!!’ but one of the ones that really sticks out to me is a comment that my writing was (partially) the reason a reader started writing again. The feeling that I’ve inspired someone that much - even if I was only one part of a bigger bout of inspiration - really makes me happy 🥹

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

Okay, so this needs a little bit of explanation. It’s from an upcoming fic called ‘Dragon’s Heart’, a fantasy fic with human!reader and dragon!Kirishima. The reader has been poisoned and has been suffering from high fevers and delirium and Kiri has been taking care of them for several days at this point.

「The first thing you noticed, as you fought to pull your mind from the depth of sleep, was Eijirou’s soft voice. It rose and fell, repeating the same pattern again and again. It took your addled mind a while to realize that he was singing to himself, and even longer before you could make out the words of his song.

Frigid winds are howling Ravens cry and wolves are prowling Seeking food and seeking rest Snowflakes fall, the cold is stinging In the trees no birds are singing Taking shelter in their nests

It slowly dawned on you why your fever dreams were full of the cries of birds and wolves, he must have been singing this exact song while you slept. Staying still, you listened as he drew in a deep breath, then continued,

All around are yearning For the warmth, yet frost is burning Still the wind blows from the North Come South-West who bests the winter Earth will thaw and ice will splinter As she guides the springtime forth

Springtime. You could barely wait for spring. Eyes slowly closing again, you fell back asleep, your mind filled with the image of dots of vibrant green and yellow peeking out through the snow.」

Not sure when I’ll get this finished, I’ve been working on it for years at this point 😅

The song is a very loose translation of a Danish folk song called ‘It Is White Outside’ (��Det Er Hvidt Herude’ by St. St. Blicher). I’m so sad that I couldn’t include the part about South-West and their wings of fog. It literally goes ‘come South-West who bests the frost / come with your wings of fog / come and release the bound earth’ (Kom sydvest som frosten tvinger / kom med dine tågevinger / kom og løs den bundne jord)

Fanfiction writing asks

#asks #birin rambles #a11eya #lovely moots 💖

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roosterbruiser · 1 year ago

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what inspired cruel summer?

it’s seriously probably the best fic i’ve ever read (and i’ve read a lot lol) but there’s just so much detail and intense plot points and i have no idea how you came up with all of it

first of all, I'm elated at your kind words. thank you so much. it is truly so humbling and exciting when people tell me they love Cruel Summer! so thank you so so so so so so much!

secondly--what a question!

I am a horror girl through and through. I love every type of horror movie, but have always been partial to slashers and supernatural stories. figured I could make a love child with the both of them and make this story.

I'm also so inspired by past decades--especially the 1980s. what a peculiar time!

I feel like when I think of the 80s, I think of kinky hair and colorful taffeta and scrunchies and Cyndi Lauper. but there was also something so horrific about it, too! ultra conservatism combined with the satanic panic and the threat of nuclear warfare...I mean, what a fever dream!

I was definitely inspired by 80s slashers like Friday the 13th, but I was also heavily inspired by modern horror and its take on grief as the central antagonist. plus the imagery of blood and guts in movies like Blood Feast and Assassination Nation.

super inspired by the images of nostalgic summer camp, especially as someone who was a camp counselor for three years! and the thought of being responsible for so many lives under such dire circumstances!

at the end of the day, I'm a pretty rotten-flower writer (which is what I call it when writers write a beautiful scene and juxtapose it with foul language or themes) and literal nature inspires me a lot.

plus humans just inspire me. touching noses with another human when we love them, putting cotton over cuts when we're injured, salt leaking from our eyes when we're sad--it's all so intriguing.

#this was long!#so sorry!#millie mail #cruel summer

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globalworship · 2 years ago

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a blessing for the life you didn't choose

This is written by Kate Bowler, PhD, who is a New York Times bestselling author, podcast host, and a professor at Duke University. She posted this on her website at https://katebowler.com/blessings/a-blessing-for-the-life-you-didnt-chose/

a blessing for the life you didn't choose Blessed are you when the shock subsides, when vaguely, you see a line appear that divides before and after. You didn’t draw it, and can barely even make it out. But as surely as minutes add up to hours and days, here you are, forced into a story you never would have written. Blessed are you in the tender place of wonder and dread, Wondering how to be whole when dreams have disappeared and part of you with them, where mastery, control, determination, bootstrapping, and grit, are consigned to the realm of before (where most of the world lives), in the fever dream that promises infinite choices, unlimited progress, best life now. Blessed are we in the after, loudly shouting: is there anybody here? We hear the echo, the shuffle of feet, the murmur of others asking the same question, together in the knowledge that we are far beyond what we know. Show us a glimmer of possibility in this new constraint, that small truths will be given back to us. We are held. We are safe. We are loved. We are loved. We are loved. And best of all: We are not alone.

+++

Read about Kate's journey with Stage 4 cancer, which partially inspired her blessing -poem above, at https://www.npr.org/2018/02/12/585066841/a-stage-4-cancer-patient-shares-the-pain-and-clarity-of-living-scan-to-scan

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severance-official · 2 months ago

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We are not Ben Stiller, but we would love to see your rendition of the second season!

#not sure how to bring art over from bluesky. we'll see how it goes #severance #s1

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archivistsammy · 3 years ago

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Stackednatural Wrapped

well. 327 episodes and 257 days later, stackednatural has ended.

let’s recap.

there were 87 days with two or more episodes, for which katharine created 104 comparison gif sets and a video. plus an additional six gif sets and a video connecting either some but not all of the day’s episodes or episodes that aired on different days. all found here.

combined with six gif sets and two videos made for single episodes, the grand total comes to 120 stackednatural edits.

not even gonna count our combined non-edit stacks found here.

a few highlights and observations from katharine under the cut.

many of the parallels drawn were fairly innocuous. others induced major brain worms, such as:

october 1 - 5.4 // 6.2 - dean reckoning with his becoming a version of himself he does not want to be

october 12 - 2.3 // 13.1 - #notallmonsters merry-go-round

october 17 - 8.3 // 15.2 - sam and amara (and, by that token, dean and chuck; see also: january 16)

february 1 - 2.13 // 13.12 - sam hitting his faith limits

april 20 - 1.20 // 7.19 - bobby > john

may 15 - 3.16 // 8.23 - same point, opposite argument

a handful of stacks were so powerful that they became MEGA stacks:

november 1 - 3.5 “bedtime stories” // 14.4 “mint condition”

january 23 - 8.11 “larp and the real girl” // 15.10 “the heroes’ journey”

february 7 - 1.14 “nightmare” // 3.10 “dream a little dream of me” // 14.13 “lebanon”

april 1 - 5.16 “dark side of the moon” // 10.17 “inside man”

may 3 - 2.20 “what is and what should never be” // 13.21 “beat the devil”

non-stacked honorable mentions:

1.4 “phantom traveler” // 8.1 “we need to talk about kevin”

4.4 “metamorphosis” // 8.2 “what’s up, tiger mommy?”

15.16 “drag me away (from you)” // 4.6 “yellow fever” // 3.4 “sin city” // 14.3 “the spear”

9.10 “road trip” // 12.1 “keep calm and carry on”

*looks down* *smiles shyly* if you wanted to tell us YOUR favorite or most brain-worm-inducing post(s), our ask box is open.

stackednatural also inspired a number of meta reflections, including:

sam believing he needs someone to serve as his moral compass. and how that works both with and against his role as keeper of the faith. believing he can determine an alternate solution while not believing in himself. and how this dynamic plays out between not only sam and dean but also sam and cas.

sam’s ambivalence about sharing the monsters-are-real secret. with him repeatedly saying it is safer for people to never learn the truth (2.12, 12.15, 14.16). admitting that he wishes he never learned the truth (1.18, 5.6). never telling jess. never telling amelia. shocked that dean told cassie. and yet sam apparently told several people as a kid (4.13, 5.12). resents dean and john for repeatedly keeping him out of the loop. is uncomfortable with doing the same to jack.

the sheer number of times dean tells someone that they are not themselves or who they say they are or who others perceive them to be. dean is chief of performativity and thus main arbiter of identity, apparently.

finally, a partial list of episodes we would prefer to never watch again: 6.8, 8.4, 8.15, 9.4, 9.20, 10.15, 11.19, 12.5, 12.9, 13.11, 13.15, 14.16, 15.19, 15.20

if you joined us for any or all of this journey—hey, look at us. if you had no clue what stackednatural was and put up or even engaged with our posting anyway, condolences. and thank you x

#stackednatural #about us #cowboycoven #we have been watching spn pretty much non-stop since march 2020 #completed three series watches together during that time #so... we might take a little breather from watching #not spn posting tho #i used stackednatural to make all kinds of edit plans #i also fully intend to have a samwena summer

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years ago

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Tepid Bath

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #23

Fandom/OCs: Hannibal TV

Title: Need You Now

Words: 1402

Inspiration: The phrase “I can smell that fever on you” originally came (I believe) from @victoriablackrose and her witcher fics!

Author’s comments: Much more dark and angsty than yesterday’s fill, but always with a happy ending. It was only fitting to make both of the murder husbands sick this month if I was going to write them twice, so today enjoy the sick, pathetic wet kitten that is Will Graham when he’s missing Hannibal. Set in the same post-canon cottagecore AU as yesterday’s fic.

Will was in bed when Hannibal returned. He had been in bed for… a while. It was hard to be sure how long. Since he'd fallen into the river, whenever that was. At least a few days, he thought.

Everything was hazy. Will, alone, wandering around the frozen river, trying to find a good spot for ice fishing. Tired. He never slept well without Hannibal (hardly slept at all, really) and Hannibal had been gone for over a month on one of his mysterious trips.

Will, out on the ice. Not paying close enough attention. The sudden crack, the splash that at first seemed distant and separate from him, until he felt the cold. Cold, hot, cold, numb. His body didn't know how to respond to the frigid water. He briefly feared for his life as his legs refused to move, to save himself from drowning. But at last he could kick, so he kicked against the rushing water and his wet, heavy clothes. He broke the ice with his arms until he reached a spot where he could stand and walk up the bank.

He felt as if he were watching himself from a distance as he made his numb, shivering way back to their cottage, almost a mile away. His limbs were barely responsive, frozen as his blood seemed to be, so walking was more than difficult through the deep snow, but he also felt cold, stinging pain over his whole body. His teeth rattled in his head. His arms were locked around his torso in a futile attempt to retain any non-existent body heat.

He reached the cottage somehow. Unlocking the door was almost the hardest part as he couldn't feel his hands and couldn't hold them still. Somehow he managed that, too, though. He stripped off his frozen clothes the minute he was in the door, frightened at the unnatural, waxy color of his skin. He staggered into the bathroom and started the shower as hot as it would go.

The shower brought him back to life, at least for a few moments. He could feel again. He could think again. His skin turned pink, then red. He wiggled all his joints, focusing on the sensation.

Eventually the hot water ran out, so he was forced to leave the shower. He bundled himself into several layers and considered starting a fire in the fireplace, but instead decided to rest for a while in bed. He thought it would be just a nap. He thought he was just tired. He slipped into sleep, wrapped in several blankets, and did not wake again for a long time.

He partially woke more than once. The dreams would become more solid, and he would realize that he was at home in bed. He would listen for Hannibal, needing him, and be disappointed when he realized he was still alone. It would occur to him that he should eat, or see to his chores, or shower again, but before he could act on these thoughts, the tides of unconsciousness would pull him under once more.

He was so, so cold. From the moment the hot water had begun to peter off he had been shivering again, through both dreams and waking. He was curled into the tightest ball, wearing several layers of clothes and covered in several more layers of blankets in a well-heated house, but all he could feel was the icy river water. The dreams passed in and out of nightmares, and he wasn't sure if he cried out or just imagined it.

Somehow he knew when Hannibal arrived. There was a shift in the dreamworld. He was aware of Hannibal's presence nearly as much as he was aware of his own. Hannibal's presence was like a rope he could cling to, to help pull himself out of unconsciousness, the thing he needed now more than ever. He grasped it desperately, yanking himself past the surface of the icy river at last.

Hannibal was speaking to him. Asking him if he was well.

" 'm tired, Dr. Lecter," Will heard himself mumble, hardly intelligible. " 'm so cold."

"I could smell your fever the moment I walked through the door, and now I can see it, too. What happened?" Hannibal knelt at his side, solidifying even more, and Will tried to focus on his face.

"Fell into the river. Few days ago. Broke through the ice."

Hannibal's hand on his face made him jump, but it was something else solid that he could cling to, to remain awake.

"Your fever is dangerously high. We must bring it down immediately." Hannibal spoke matter-of-factly, rising to his feet again. He turned and strode out of the room, and Will faded out once more.

A hand on his back wakened him. The hand was forceful, pushing him to sit up, as was the other hand around his wrist pulling him forward. Hannibal’s face was hovering in front of him again as he was helped to stand. Steely strength outside of his own propelled him to the bathroom. The water in the tub was running, and it had filled about halfway. Will noted all this absently, giving it no connection to himself, until the same strong hands began to strip off his layers of clothing. The cold encroached closer and closer until he was standing naked in the bathroom and being helped into the tub, shivering so violently that he couldn’t stand on his own.

The water was not warm. The shock of it made Will hiss in surprise and fear. He pulled back from the sensation, splashing and writhing to get away, but the strong arms behind him were unrelenting.

“In you go, Will. This is for your own good.”

Will couldn’t bring himself to put more of his skin into the water, but he was given no choice. He was pushed down, gently but firmly, until he was lying fully in the water that to him felt freezing cold, submerged up to his neck. He struggled to get out, imagining the tiny bit of heat he’d been maintaining slowly leaching away, but Hannibal wouldn’t let him. He held him in, rubbing his chest and shoulders soothingly. Eventually Will had to stop fighting. Hannibal was still so much stronger than he.

Will realized after a while that he was actually, finally awake. He looked at Hannibal and truly saw him for the first time. Their eyes met, and held. Many emotions flooded through Will, and he struggled to verbalize a thought.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he finally said. “I needed you.” It felt totally inadequate, yet summed up his thoughts better than anything else.

“As am I,” the doctor replied softly. “And I’m glad to see you’ve rejoined me now too, in mind as well as body. That must mean this treatment worked. I think I’ve tortured you enough for one day.”

A gentle hand was offered, and Will took it gratefully as he stepped out of the bath, which he realized was really tepid, not cold. Hannibal quickly helped him dress again before leading him back to bed. As soon as he was lying down, a cold rag was placed on his forehead. Will sighed in relief, realizing the cool was now pleasant, rather than painful. Lastly, Hannibal handed him a handful of pills and a glass of water, both of which Will swallowed gratefully.

“Thank you,” Will whispered earnestly, meeting Hannibal’s eyes. “I guess you’ve saved me again.”

Hannibal chuckled fondly. “As always, it was my pleasure. Though by my reckoning, we’re fairly even on that score. I’m glad I returned when I did, and I won’t be leaving you alone again any time soon if this is what you get up to when I’m gone. I won’t even be able to leave this house for the next few days until we get that fever under control, and all this could have been avoided if I’d been here when you had your accident in the first place, so you see where I’ve landed us.” The pair shared a warm smile, though Will’s was decidedly sleepy. Hannibal squeezed his hand.

“You can go back to sleep now. I’m watching over you.”

That was all the permission Will needed. He let his eyes slip closed and the dreamworld was waiting to meet him with open arms as he slept deeply for the first time in weeks.

#sicktember 2022 #prompt 23 #hannibal tv #sickfic #everyone is hotter with a fever

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cryptidmads · 4 years ago

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alright, so i went through the ama with wan hazmer and daim dziauddian on twitch and picked out every little tidbit i could about the megastars bc i knew you guys would want to know. this is a long post and i’m on mobile atm so i can’t put it under a read more — sorry about that! bosses are in chronological order, starting with DJSS and ending with Eve!

DJ SUBATOMIC SUPERNOVA

- djss took the least amount of time to develop out of all the bosses (haz says his fight took about half a year.)

- daim purposely tried to make djss' name as long as he could. he was specifically looking at negasonic teenage warhead from deadpool for inspiration.

- haz and daim do have the briefing/kliffnotes for djss. they discussed sharing them at some point, but idk when that would happen.

- related to the above, daim says that dj is in his mid thirties. EDIT: his kliffnotes were shared on twitter and they say he’s 41. daim must have goofed haha

- when asked if djss actually has a face and how he eats, daim compares it to kenny from south park and how you never see his face. he thinks dj does have a face in there, but that we just never see it. as for the “how does he eat” part, daim says that sometimes they don’t have to show everything.

- daim is a djneon/neonnova shipper, and it’s one his favourite pairings alongside zuke/mayday.

- daim said that uncle ali basically instantly landed the role as djss. he was that good.

SAYU

- sayu was obviously inspired by hatsune miku and other vocaloids, but haz brings up one particular commercial involving miku and google chrome, which involves a bunch of people collborating on songs and concept art for miku, similar to how sayu started as a collab between remi and tila in-universe.

- someone asked about the models for sayu's crew's apartments. there wasn't much on that, but haz mentions that one of his favourite nsr fanfics (yes, he reads them) is "Road to Redemption," and there's a scene that takes place in a studio where the crew works on sayu, and he really likes that.

- the devs wanted sayu's name to sound both malay and japanese at the same time (as well as a nod to miku). haz says it means “warm water” in japanese.

- akusuka is a direct copy of akihabara in terms of locale.

- sayu’s shellfish commercial is a homage to a real snack in malaysia named mamee monster, which is hugely popular with kids. the format of the commercial itself was inspired by a pocky commercial that featured hatsune miku.

YINU

- her game design (for her boss fight) was partially done in ms paint by music director falk (who made the base version of her boss theme)

- yinu's mom doesn't have a name. she's just mother/mama.

- haz confirmed that yinu's father is, in fact, dead.

- daim thought yinu’s name was a nod to yuna (a popular malaysian artist). it’s not.

- natura is daim’s favourite district. he likes how calm it is compared to the others.

- daim said that they wanted a hint of hope in all three of yinu’s backstory photographs, to show that no matter how bad your life gets, there’s always that glimmer of hope and that good things can still happen.

1010

- the members of 1010 do not have any official names.

- the assets for the autographs were made by the artists at one of the partner companies working with metronomik on nsr. haz and daim didn't really have anything to do with making them, and while daim did approve them for the final game, he was sorta skimming through a bunch of assets along with the autographs, and he didn't realize what they really were at the time until later. haz is impressed with how the fans managed to decipher them.

- 1010's fight was purposefully put between yinu's and eve's as a break from the emotional stuff.

- michael jackson was used as a reference for 1010's animations/moves.

- the Bio Tactical Shield that you get for zuke after beating 1010 is a reference to BTS.

- tangibly related, but the collectable figurines are supposed to serve more as a backstory to vinyl city as a whole, rather than 1010 or neon j. daim describes the figures as what events were going on and what people were doing before the events of nsr.

- 1010’s appearance from older trailers (where they all looked the same) were actually placeholders. 1010’s actual designs weren’t finished yet when those trailers were released.

- parts of 1010’s designs (for their bodies/outfits) were inspired by tron uprising, a project that daim worked on.

- somebody asked why 1010 and neon j have sculpted butt plates. daim and haz have no idea, but daim suggested that ellie (who designed 1010) and jan (who did their character models) put them there to up the “sexy robot” factor.

- daim’s favourite member of 1010 is purl-hew/blue, and haz’s favourite is eloni/green.

- the members of 1010 were designed based on popular tropes in boy bands. rin/white is “the main guy,” zimelu/red is the “bad boy,” purl-hew/blue is the “cool guy,” haym/yellow is the “young/innocent one,” and eloni/green is the “weird/funny one.”

- eloni/green not getting fan mail was based on how the “funny guy” of kpop bands/idol groups don’t seem to get as much attention as the rest of the group.

NEON J

- haz and daim didn't expect neon j to become so popular. haz joked about blaming it on ddaddystar, who did that doodle of djss and neon j from the credits.

- when asked about neon j’s age, daim said he’s definitely older than djss, and that he could be in his forties.

- related to the age thing, someone in chat said he should be older if he went to war in the sixties. haz replied by saying they never mentioned what year the game takes place in, so it doesn’t necessarily take place in the present/2020.

- a lot of people asked about the border wars, and daim and haz said they like leaving the bulk of it up to fan interpretation.

- daim said that neon j’s organs were preserved in a robotic shell after the war, and that’s why he’s considered a cyborg.

- as stated above, daim is a djneon/neonnova shipper, and it’s one his favourite pairings alongside zuke/mayday.

- neon j’s monologue was slightly longer, but it was cut down because zul (neon j’s va) didn’t do very many takes for the monologue, and the takes he did do didn’t have the comedic punch that daim was looking for, so it got shortened.

- the singing parts of neon j’s lines were ad-libbed by zul in his audition, and daim liked it so much that it stayed for the final game.

- neon j’s monologue had to be altered in the japanese dub so that the jokes/comedy would make more sense.

EVE

- the color changing paintings from her boss fight were created by accident.

- eve was put as the last boss because of how emotional her relationship with zuke was and how complicated and intricate she is as a whole compared to the rest of the bosses.

- daim considers eve to be the "final boss" for zuke, while tatiana is the final boss for mayday.

- eve took the longest to develop out of all the bosses. she was orignally a lot more complicated, and daim said they had to "filter" a lot of things about her in order to tone her down and fit her into the game.

- eve was almost scrapped from the game. daim said her concept as an eccentric artist wasn't as well known as the other four bosses’ concepts, and combine that with how long it took to finalize her... yeah.

- none of the artists have set in stone heights because of how the gameplay works, but eve is the tallest one. the closest scene in the game that has them at their actual heights is the ending.

- her name was originally eva, but it was changed bc there’s already a popular artist with the same name.

- daim explains that a big part of eve’s concept and theme is her embracing herself. he uses the example of eve’s backstory where she starts out hating herself and trying to cover the pink half of her face, but then starts doing less of that overtime. he also mentions that all the body parts (hands, arms, legs, etc.) from her fight also come from her embracing her body and using it in her artwork.

- dream fever is haz’s favourite district.

- daim didn’t originally think of zuke and eve as being an actual couple until later down the line when the story heavily implied it.

- eve’s younger designs were done by lzbros, who did all the 2d animation for the game.

#long post #no straight roads #nsr #dj subatomic supernova #nsr sayu #yinu nsr #1010 #neon j #eve nsr #madison speaks #this was fun! good stream good facts #nsr ama #1k

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Popping Pearls and Purple Skies (Din Djarin x f!reader)

Summary: While in your home system, Din takes you to your home planet for your favorite treat.

W/C: 3.6k

Warnings: food mention, Star Wars cursing lol, mentions of physical fighting, mentions of trauma

A/N: okay. this was inspired by me thinking Grogu would love popping boba bc he loved the frog lady’s eggs so much!! I hope I did it okay :) Siruus, reader’s home planet, is supposed to be a mishmash of cultures, none specifically, I just picked cool elements from a variety of cultures!

One of the delights you missed most from your home planet was, you discovered, practically unattainable on any other planet. You’d scoured far and wide, hoping maybe you’d cross paths with another Siruusian or an admirer of the culture, but found nothing. It was only on Siruus that you could find your favorite drink: a milky tea with popping pearls.

Din knows you miss your home. Late at night, in the hull of the ship, he’d confide that he missed his home planet too. He told you tales of growing up in Aq Vetina, the feather-light and velvety robes that he wore every day, the spicy foods his mother would cook- which later made him a great Mandalorian.

Did you know that the Mandos love spicy food, cyare? We have a whole vocabulary to describe the heat of a dish. It’s traditional. I was raised on it, and the comfort of a burning mouth was a universal sensation: one that reminded me of my real parents and my adoptive clan.

Rarely did the Mandalorian man let his guard down, but never had he completely done so like he has with you. From the moment he hired you to care for his little green son, he’d been entranced by your laughter, the smooth sound of your voice in the language you’d been raised speaking. He caught you teaching the kid some vocabulary, and he’d quiz him on it when you weren’t around. The kid couldn’t speak yet, but he could point and match words to images or objects, which he attributed entirely to you. You were the child’s primary caretaker and kindergarten teacher in one, and Din admired your care and commitment.

Something about you spoke to him, and over time he thinks he came to realize it was the fact that, though you’d never heard of The Way before meeting Din, you were the holistic ideal of a Mandalorian. You valued knowledge and valor, and though you didn’t work in the traditional Mando fields of bounty hunting or working as a warrior, you embodied another aspect: that care for children.

Watching you with the kid was what made him realize he was in love with you. He’d told you everything. When you looked over your shoulder and laughed, the baby watching you too, the gaze was a love Din has never felt but immediately recognized. It hit him and his whole body shuddered, harder than it had when the Maldo Kreis cold had seeped into his bones, even through the beskar. At the same time, he felt too warm in his own skin, like the fever he’d had as a toddler that threatened his life- he’d told you that story too. Dank Farrik. This was not in the plan.

You had told Din all about your home planet too. You told him of the bright flowers that bloomed in the cold of winter, that released a pollen that made the birds in the area start laying their eggs. He listened intently every time, clinging to every word he told you like he’d never hear that beautiful voice again. He’d hear you singing Siruusian lullabies to the baby, and on nights you missed home.

He’d offered to take you back many times. Any time you were near, there was a standing offer to pop in for a visit. But you’ve always declined; the child and Mando would bring too much attention to your quiet little planet, you explained. That was only partially true, so you didn’t feel as bad lying by omission to Din. You’d neglected to mention, every time, that this was your life now, and more specifically that you never want to leave his side again.

Din really is something. You’d never even heard of Mandalorians before he swept you off your planet, never understood the intricate Creed and their strong beliefs. It didn’t matter to you, that you couldn’t see his face; at least at first. Of course you’d respect the slightly terrifying man’s customs.

But over time you’ve fallen for him, and that’s made everything just a little harder. The man seemingly made of steel was warm and gentle beneath it, with you and the child. He’d wrangle a bounty into the carbonite freezer then tenderly tuck a flower he found behind your ear, calling you sweet names in Mando’a that you didn’t understand. The juxtaposition of the man’s very being- covered in impenetrable, freezing metal to hide an ooey-gooey center like that of a warm pastry- was exciting and beautiful to you.

How could you not fall in love? The three of you became a little family, even as you joined Din on the quest of returning your little green son to his people. You’d treated the baby as your own son, the way Din did too. You’d tried to shepherd him away from the Frog woman’s eggs, only to find him munching on them moments later, scolded him with love and promptly hidden the container.

That day made you miss home even more. The eggs reminded you of the popping pearls you loved so much- no wonder the kid loved them. You’d never eat the Frog’s eggs, of course, but you’d sung the baby to sleep that night in the hull of the ship, another lullaby from your youth. Maybe next time you’d take Din’s offer to visit home seriously. Maybe. There was still another reason you didn’t want to return: if you came home, you weren’t sure you could leave again.

Now you’re in hyperspace, nestled into the small bunk, your child snoozing softly above you with gentle grunts and snorts of sleep. Din is up in the cockpit and you can’t sleep. You wonder if he’s awake too. Maybe you’ll go check.

Sliding on warm slippers to pad your bare feet from the cold metal of the floor, you climb the ladder to the cockpit and see Din sitting in the captain’s chair. You’re unsure if he’s awake or not; it’s hard to tell through the beskar. His shoulders shift a little as he hears you moving and you can tell he’s awake. “Hi. Couldn’t sleep,” you admit as you assume your regular position. The chairs move with the pull of a lever, and you scoot yours closer to Din and prop your feet on his arm rest.

Din nods, resting against the chair. “Me neither. The kid?”

“Asleep,” you confirm and nod, slumping down in your seat.

It’s nice and quiet between the two of you, a relaxed silence as the stars fly past and the Crest hums its low rumble of engines and filters. Just being in his presence soothes you more than being alone in that coffin of a bunk. If you think this is calming, you ponder, just his presence, imagine his arms around you while you sleep. Imagine his warm skin beneath the beskar surrounding you and radiating heat.

He’s thinking the same thing. You look impossibly soft and warm. Your plush skin prickles with the cold of the cockpit and Din wants to put an ungloved hand over it and let the heat of his flushed body sink into yours. He doesn’t. He just stares off at the stars. “We’re approaching your home system,” he murmurs softly. “Would you like to visit?”

Well damn. You hadn’t expected to be confronted with the question so soon, and you’re not quite sure how to answer. “I don’t know.”

It’s quiet again. Din’s silence invites you to speak your inner monologue, to throw your tangled thoughts into the open so he can help unknot them with his nimble mind. In response to his lack of words, which say as much as any sentence, you respond. “I haven’t been there in so long. I don’t know if I want to go back. I like my life now, and I’m scared I’ll want to stay if we visit.”

Din nods as you speak, processing the meanings of your words. “Well,” he begins, “what if I rephrase it like this: would you like us to visit?”

Us. What the kriff does that entail? The three of you, your little family, perhaps? You and Din as friends, as coworkers? Or as something more… your mind spins and you can’t make sense of it, so you give it up. “What does that mean?”

Din turns his chair to face you, moving your legs to drape across his lap. Even through the gloves, he holds back a shiver as he rests his hands atop your shins. “We’ll go, all three of us. If you like your life now, we’ll be your reminders of it.”

Your mouth curves into a warm smile, your body feeling soft and fuzzy all over. “How kind.”

“I’ll even buy you that tea you ramble about,” he offers.

Gasping in excitement, you clap your hands together. “Will you try it? Oh, Din, you’ll love it, it’s the most delicious thing in the galaxy.”

“We’ll see about that,” he chuckles through the modulator, a sound you wish you could hear without the mechanical suppressor.

Popping up, you kiss the top of his beskar-clad head in excitement before you can stop yourself. “Thank you, Din.”

“Anything for you, cyare,” he says with a certain warmth to his voice, a large hand finding your waist. “Go get some rest, lie down. We’ll be there in about half a day.”

“Only if you rest too,” you tell him and your hand rests over his. It’s the most he’s ever touched you purposefully, and now all you want is for him to slide that hand back until he’s wrapping you in his muscular arms. Din nods and you pat his forearm. “Sweet dreams.”

The ramp comes down and your mouth forms a soft ring in excitement. It’s a beautiful day, the nearest sun making the atmosphere the beautiful purple you grew up under. The oranges and yellows of the architecture surround you, and you instinctively clutch the Mandalorian’s hand. “Welcome to my home,” you tell him with a grin and lead him down.

Your little green child is strapped to your chest in a baby carrier, a birikad in Mando’a, and he looks around in wonder, squealing excitedly. As you walk through the streets of the small city, vendors call in Siruusian, a language Din is slowly learning from you. He thinks he recognizes a few words here or there.

Venturing to the side, a stall sells small animals made of a gorgeously embroidered fabric. You had many of these as a child; your favorite was a blue and silver bantha, an exotic animal you’d never seen before your adventures with Din. The child coos at the menagerie in front of him and you squat so he can look at them.

“Toata,” you coo in Siruusian, a word to mean little one, “can you pick the frog?”

That’s one of the words you worked on with him. A tiny, green, three-fingered hand grabs a gorgeous yellowy-brown frog and holds it up in triumph. “Good job, cutie! Aren’t you a smart little thing?” you grin and kiss his forehead. “Is that the one you want?”

Din watches from a few meters back, grinning beneath the helmet. When the child nods excitedly and squeals, he almost laughs softly at the beautiful sight. You pay for the frog and Din meanders over, the baby already chewing on a long leg of the plush.

He wants to see you like that for the rest of his life: glowing with excitement, the little kid strapped to your chest, absolutely at ease and relaxed in the place you used to call home. “You want one too?” you ask.

He shakes his head at first, but after a little haggling, Din purchases himself a copper and yellow blurrg and a mudhorn made of silver for you. The symbolism of the mudhorn, of Clan Djarin, is not lost on you. It makes your heart flit nervously around your ribcage as you wander through the market, making your little mudhorn and the baby’s frog pretend to fight. As always, the littlest member of Clan Djarin triumphs over the mighty mudhorn.

An aromatic smell wafts through the air and your face lights up to see a stand selling your favorite beverage. Din spots it too and makes his way over, getting in the line, his hand holding yours once again. This time, he initiated it. You like that. It makes you giggle and squeeze his fingers softly.

“What do you usually order?” he asks you.

You frown and scan the menu. You explain your drink to him, an orange-colored, sweet and herbal milk tea with your favorite citrusy popping pearls in the bottom. He asks what you think he’d like and you pick a drink for him: a blue, warmly-spiced milk tea with the same pearls. “It’s not the proper drink without it,” you explain.

Picking the baby from his carrier to face you, you ask him questions by the process of elimination. “Okay, toata, do you like… mushfruit?” He makes a noise of disproval. You knew he hated that one; you wanted to ensure he was listening. “No? How about…” you pretend to ponder it. “How about panga?”

The baby squeals in excitement. The green fruit has always been his favorite when you and Din require him to eat his fruit. “Wonderful, and a panga milk tea with you. Do you remember froggie’s eggs?” You ask him, pointing to the frog toy he holds. He tilts his head in confusion.

“The snackies I said no?” That clue does it. He nods, cooing and giggling. “These taste like those! You’ll love it.”

The rest of the time in the line is quiet, shuffling forward slowly to reach the stand. “Is it what you’d hoped?” Din asks after a while.

You nod and smile. “As soon as I get my tea, it will be.”

“And you… you don’t want to stay?”

“Nope,” you agree, popping the p with your lips.

He doesn’t know quite what to say. He’s not the wordsmith you are. “Well. I’m glad. I, uh. I’d miss you if you left.”

The words are simple but they warm your heart. “I’d miss the two of you far too much to leave,” you assure him. “For different reasons, respectively.”

Your flirtation is more than mild, but it hangs in Din’s mouth like a spicy Mandalorian food. He knows what you imply, and the thought that you could feel the same practically sends him into orbit, above Siruus’s atmosphere and next to one of its 4 moons. He can’t respond. He just tightens his grip on your hand.

Once you’ve acquired the drinks, Din holding his and the child’s, the three of you make your way back to the Razor Crest so Din can enjoy the drink too. Walking up the ramp, you sigh as the air-controlled atmosphere warms your slightly-chilled skin from being outside for so long in the Siruusian spring.

You unpack the kid from his carrier, and grin as he toddles to his father, making grabby hands for his green drink. “Oh my, toata,” you tease. “Your drink is the same color as you!”

Din laughs softly, and sets the drink on the floor for him. The baby tries to hold it and walk but the cup is too tall to move with his tiny body. You lift it for him and move it so he can sit in a circle with you and Din, cross-legged on the floor.

The baby plops down in front of his drink then realizes it’s too tall for him to sip from the thick straw while seated. The baby makes a little whine of frustration and you scoop up the kid, putting him in your lap. You hold the cup for him, and his two tiny hands grab the straw to drink from. The baby squeaks as he pops a pearl in his mouth. It’s just like the froggy eggs, and he couldn’t be more excited.

Your free hand holds your drink, and you close your eyes in happiness when the first sip of your tea reaches your tongue. You make a content little moan at the flavor, then open your eyes to see the child vigorously slurping up the drink. “Woah, little man. Slow down.”

Din just watches the two of you, smiling to himself. When your eyes return to him, he lifts his drink. “I’m not really supposed to do this,” he admits as he grabs the edge of his helmet. Both you and the child watch in bewilderment as he lifts his helmet just enough to expose the bottom of his nose, his lips and chin.

You’d never really processed that Din would be… well, so human. The strip of his face, exposed, reveals warm skin, dark stubble, and lips that look ridiculously soft. It’s a sight to see, a Mandalorian cross-legged on the floor and sipping tea with popping pearls. It makes you grin, and both you and the baby lean in closer to try and look under the helmet further.

“That’s as much as you get,” Din teases as he lowers the helmet, once more covering his entire face.

You frown, but the excitement of Din trying your favorite treat overwhelms it for now. “What do you think?” You ask.

Din tilts his head and does exactly that: thinks. “It’s very good,” he nods as he looks at the child, nearly halfway done with his green milk-tea. “I really like it. That’s delicious.”

“Yay,” you smile and sip your own drink again, sighing. The three of you continue like that for a while, sitting together and drinking your tea. Every time he lifts his helmet, you consider those plush lips, the scruff coating his defined jaw and chin. When his tea is gone, you frown to realize the moment of intimacy, of seeing just a little of his face, is over.

The kid is tuckered out from his day. You put the baby to bed in his hammock over the bunk, kissing him goodnight and singing him a lullaby as you rock the knit cradle. He falls asleep quickly, tummy full of a delicious treat very similar to his favorite snack. While you put the child to bed, Din pilots you safely out of the sky harbor and away from Siruus, out of the purple-tinted sky and back into the darkness of space followed by hyperdrive.

You climb up to the cockpit, entering and standing behind Din’s captain chair. “I had a wonderful time today. Thank you.” You put your hands on his pauldron-covered shoulders.

“Thank you,” he insists. “I’d never go there for any other reason. The drink was wonderful and the kid absolutely loved everything about it.” “Maybe we’ll have to vacation there sometime,” you chuckle, spotting Din’s little toy blurrg peeking out from a pocket on his utility belt.

Din turns and stands from his chair, looking at you through that black t-visor. You’re not sure why he does it; in all honesty, he isn’t either. You stare into the helmet, where you suspect and hope his eyes are. “You’re very handsome under there,” you tell him, putting a hand on the divot of his helmet, where the beskar caves inward over his cheeks.

“I’m nothing special,” he shakes his head, a hand covering yours. “Nowhere as special or as beautiful as you.”

Heat rises in your skin, blood flowing closer to the surface. “That’s not true, Din.”

“It is. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve seen in the galaxy,” he murmurs, his other hand cupping your cheek through leather gloves.

“Well, thank you,” you laugh softly, almost nervously, “but I meant you’re very special. I haven’t even seen all of your face and I know you’re absolutely gorgeous beneath that helmet.” You pause, tracing the curves of the beskar. “What color eyes do you have? I want to finish the mental picture.”

“Brown,” Din breathes out, barely able to control himself with you this close.

“Din?”

“Mesh’la.”

“Can… can you do what you did with your helmet to drink the tea?”

He lifts it just enough, just exposing those goddamn taunting lips and the scruffy jaw. “Like this?”

“Exactly,” you exhale before cupping his soft jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your palms as you press your lips to his. Those lips are a little dry but warm and strong, just like you’d assume the rest of him is. He puts a hand on your waist and pulls you in close, kissing you back deeply.

The beskar right above his lips makes it more difficult but not impossible. He lifts the helmet a little higher so he can tilt his head to the side, can kiss you with the energy and passion you’re putting into it. Mentally, he adds this to his lists of favorite tastes: spicy Mandalorian cuisine, your favorite tea with popping pearls, and you.

It lasts a while before you break away and Din lowers his helmet all the way once more. You breathe heavily from the fervor of the kiss, lips swollen and damp. Maker, he wishes this visor had a photo capability to take a picture of the way you look. “Come rest with me. Please, Din.”

Din can’t say no to that. He retreats downstairs with you, strips himself of the beskar save for the helmet, and snuggles into your side. Your wish comes true then and there, when you learn that he’s as good of a cuddler as you’d hoped. “Goodnight, Din. Thank you,” you murmur.

“Goodnight, mesh’la. Thank you more.”

The baby above you gives a little snort in his sleep. That’s the last thing you remember before falling asleep in his arms.

Taglist: @remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles @1800-fight-me

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian #baby yoda #pedro pascal fanfiction #grogu #din and grogu #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction

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robinrunsfiction · 2 years ago

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OTPTOBER - Modern AU

Author’s Note: They say don’t kill your darlings, but I’ll be honest, this was on death row. This was the origins of the WIP I refer to as “the normal AU” but that has expanded and gone so far from here that this no longer fits the narrative of that story. So I had I marked to be deleted, and then things clicked in my mind, at least partially inspired by @thewordworrier’s Modern AU for this same challenge. Enjoy!

🖤🖤🖤

Lux blinked her eyes at the bright morning sunshine filling the room. Her head was spinning as she sat up and tried to figure out where she was. But at least her ears weren't ringing. That was oddly nice, she couldn’t remember the last time they weren’t.

As her brain began to settle, she took in her immediate surroundings. She had been laying on a couch, wrapped in a plush blanket, but there wasn't a couch in the diner. Then it dawned on her, she wasn't in the diner. Panic struck through her as she tried to untangle herself from the blanket around her legs, stumbling to her feet. The window was filled with leafy green plants, soaking up the sun, and the room was warm and cozy. She stumbled unsteadily until she found her way to the kitchen, opened a cabinet and grabbed a glass. How did she know where the glasses were? She wondered, looking at the glass in her hand. Something about her hand didn’t look right, not nearly so worn and scarred. Turning to the sink, she poured herself a big glass of water and chugged it down. She noticed then how dry and sore her throat felt. What had BLI given her? Where had they taken her? Lux wracked her brain, but couldn't remember anything.

Then she spotted a small radio on the counter. Looking it over, she turned it on and a familiar voice came through the speaker. "You're here with me, Doctor D, on 109.1 FM. Checking on the traffic, the usual backups are building on the 405, and there is an accident blocking things out on Vine."

Lux shook her head, turning the radio off. That was Dr. Death Defying's voice, but that wasn't the sort of traffic report he usually gave. There was nothing about dracs or scarecrows unit sightings, killjoys getting dusted, or even a weather report.

"Hey, feeling better?" The voice startled her, making her jump, dropping the radio back onto the counter.

"Kobra!" She gasped.

He looked at her, confused. "What? Mercy, are you okay?"

She took a step back, her heart rate picking up as her back hit the cool metal of the refrigerator. "What did you just call me?"

"Mercy, are you still running a fever? I can call Gerard and Shelly and tell them we aren't gonna make it over for dinner tonight?"

Shelly…Gerard… The names started to clear the fog in her mind. She shook her head and looked at the man standing across from her. "Mikey?"

"Yea?"

She shook her head again, pressing her hands against her eyes. "Shit, I'm sorry babe. I think I was still half asleep. I had the most vivid, wild dream. You and me and Shell and Gee and Frank and Ray, everyone was there. But we weren’t ourselves, we were like… rebels! And we lived in the desert and everything was so colorful! We fought against these bad guys that wanted everything to be white and sterile. Fuck, I feel like I lived a whole lifetime there.”

"You did crash really hard after you took nyquil last night, I'll make some coffee," he said, with a smile as he walked across the kitchen, and placed a kiss on her forehead. "I think your fever finally broke. You should really write all that down, it sounds like a good idea for something."

"Yea, I suppose you're right," she nodded as she watched him work. She felt herself continue to wake up, the familiar, comfortable feeling of domesticity comforted her. "Did you feed Josie?"

"Yea, while you were still asleep, so she’s probably napping."

Mercy nodded before pacing back into the living room, picking up the blanket she'd left strewn on the floor and grabbed her pillow, taking them back to the bedroom. Josie, their big Maine coon stretched in the patch of sunlight she was napping in. Mercy gave her a quick scratch behind the ears when Mikey walked in with two mugs of coffee.

"Ohh thank you," Mercy murmured, taking a sip. "That feels good."

"Is your throat still sore?" Mikey asked, sitting on his side of the bed.

Mercy climbed into her side of the bed and pulled up the blankets as best she could without disrupting the large feline at her feet, setting her coffee down on her bedside table. "A little raw. But I'm not very congested anymore."

“You’re sure you’re feeling up to going today?”

“Yea, I feel better than yesterday for sure.”

“Good,” Mikey smiled. "I don’t like having to sleep apart from you.”

“I was in the living room, ya softie,” she laughed. “How are you ever gonna get on with your next tour without me?”

“I’ll just have to bring you along,” he smiled at her. Mercy rolled her eyes before snuggling into his side.

“Good thing I love you,” she mumbled.

“I agree, I’m very lucky,” he laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

#kobra kid x killer lux #kobra kid x oc #mikey way x oc #mikey way x mercy #the normal au

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angelic-serenade · 4 years ago

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“losing game” || fukuzawa yukichi

gif does not belong to me, nor do the anime & characters

fandom: bungou stray dogs

pairing: fukuzawa yukichi x gn!reader (1st person pov)

warnings: angst, lots of hurt and no comfort, emotional distress, barely mentioned mental instabilty, plot twist

a/n: just a little something i managed to write during the few moments of free time from uni. read as a letter to yukichi from the second paragraph onwards!! hope you enjoy, let me know if you like the new lyric-prose style i’m experimenting with!

word count: 1434

synopsis/prompt: “a broken heart is all that's left, i'm still fixing all the cracks” ― arcade, duncan laurence

there is something noteworthy and indistinguishably patronizing which marks the mere presence of one fukuzawa yukichi – be it his wise and almost all-knowing gaze or his imposing posture, the way he manages to command respect without so much as a gesture anywhere he stands. he is authority and justice and that’s the only manner he allows himself to be, the only partial impression he allows others to make of him. sometimes i fret there really might be nothing more behind the carved, relentless shadow than the steely stares and unmovable frowns, lines so deep and intensely depicted that one might think of them as unforgiving – of what one may never know, if the unforgiveness staggers from the same place where the thoughts in his mind convince him that peace is something to be fought for but to never be attained. though sometimes the rough edges, the hollowed lines marking a tiredness which some days, some way feels all too familiar for comfort give way to a softer, unmistakably caring look; it’s almost imperceptible, the way he manages to turn the cold and unforgiving watercolors into a beautiful masterpiece, the true talent of the unrecognized artist – his eyes lose the usually guarded edge which serves to protect everything but himself, his strained lips imperceptibly curl at the edge of a smile and the way he almost lets his shoulders abandon the weight he carries as if it were an old, battered companion brings to mind a tender sort of sympathy that sticks and can never really be forgotten – or forgiven for that matter.

akin to the flourishing of the most precious cherry blossom, you never allow for these moments to last too long, nor do they recur as often as to make those you care for expect them – in that, i think of you as more alike to the orchid than the cherry, for whenever the mysteriously grim orchid blooms, one knows not to hope for more time than its evanescent beauty can offer. cherries come to be expected, granted, but orchids never kiss and tell and you end up entangled either way. and after all, is it not the inevitable transience of things that makes them all the more desirable? if you heard me talking this way, with flowers and art and everything fulfilling in this life on my lips, singing your praises as if you were my last day of spring and sunlight, i’m sure you’d scoff the silliness away – this is your way, the way things have always been and always will be. no matter what you seldom sternly say, i’ll always be fonder of orchids than cherry blossoms anyway, for in their grave allure i found my own kind of tragic beauty.

by now i am convinced that you know and have always known exactly how much power you yield and how little you’d need to make me forget my own sadness – those moments, the careless slips of that bleeding heart of yours, are never meant for me. it pains me so to stand by your side without being able to bask in your praises, but that’s just how things are supposed to be – i am in your life, and that’s all i will ever need. sometimes you look at me as if you expect to see something - or someone – else in my place and i always end up trying to fill the void left behind by an illusion i don’t even know the name of. there is a hole that feels like an aching fever permanently carved into my soul, it spreads like an illness each and every time your voice creeps into my mind; even now i think of you and suddenly i feel much worse and better at the same time because you can never be the cure, but you sure as hell turned into my favorite medication. when i’m not by your side, in your beloved agency with your beloved family – the only ones allowed to walk alongside you into the sun - i delude myself into thinking i somehow may get over these terrible feelings that stretch my mind and hollow my heart, desperately convincing myself that time will wash away all of the promises kept in your sleeve. but sometimes, times that are just some and so unbelievably others, far in between and still so unfathomably precious to me, sometimes you let me hope and crave and i am almost convinced it could maybe be enough. the truth is that i have only ever known pain and i learned to make an addiction out of it.

once you called me by your side and i was quick to follow, as i always am because it’s you after all. under the feeble setting sun, the words spilled faultlessly from your lips, as if they had been composed to the likelihood of those poems about tragedy and grace i was stubborn enough to keep reading at night, and i stood in awe as you let me sip the most bitter of nectars, an aftertaste so haunting i knew it would forever ruin any chance of escaping this, of escaping you. welcoming the sudden flood with far more haste and yearning than i’d like to admit, you told me many things that day – about the agency, about your duty, about mine-, but you did not dare to utter my name even once, as you never did. you thanked me – me, little old, battered and faded, wide eyed and heavy-hearted me with no home to turn to and no more dreams in my closet to spare. you who had retrieved the pandora box and sealed it shut with your bare hands, you who had showed me another way, another path that nearly splintered my spirit all over again. i smiled still and for the briefest passing moment i almost hoped for you to reciprocate the minutest hint of affection; you raised your hand and rested it on my shoulder – it was warm, and it felt like water, like the purest form of unattainable salvation and i almost found myself crying in front of your unshakeable stance.

there was another time when you did gift me the smile i so desperately wished to keep for myself and i burn still, because look at what you made of me and what did you reduce my integrity to – i am neither blessing nor curse, the limbo of your love turned me into a willing martyr rejoicing the smallest act of kindness. you ruined me and i let you. i let you because a singular moment of bliss was worth the relentless tortures of your inferno.

i follow you around and keep you company still, but you never seem to acknowledge my unyielding pestering (just like before). when you let your guard down, my eyes lose themselves in yours because i can never completely understand what goes on in that obliviously rigid mind of yours – you look apathetic or sad or something that’s quite in between. oftentimes i worry for you, but you have always managed to cope and stand strong even as the tide came to wash away the last footprints of a decaying era, i believe you ought to keep doing so for another lifetime still. you have people who are dear to you as you are to them and for how much you’re unwilling to admit it, i also know that you keep a picture of me in your pocket, the one hidden on the inside of your austere kimono, somewhere between your contrite self-loathing and the lovely remnants of the day. when you think i can’t see you, i notice you make a habit of touching the spot where it’s concealed as if to remind yourself i am something right within your grasp, but that you’d never allow yourself to have. you never take me out of that pocket to properly relish the view and i will never ask you to. you grew fond of another illusion, as you’re prone to always do.

“the road to hell is paved with good intentions” i chant to myself when no one is listening, for my good intentions have only ever been inspired by you and burning and rotting in hell now barely sounds like a threat at all if i got to hear your praise just one more time.

today as you once again kneel pathetically curved upon my solitary grave, i can hear you weep yet; it’s been a while since you came to see me but finally for the first time, you call my name –

maybe you really did love me after all.

#bungou stray dogs fukuzawa #fukuzawa yukichi #bungou stray dogs #fukuzawa yukichi x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #bungou stray dogs imagine #oneshot #fukuzawa x reader #angst #bsd #bsd x reader #fukuzawa x y/n #bsd x y/n #armed detective agency #inspired by music #arcade by duncan laurence #i love this man ngl

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mellointheory · 3 years ago

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Alright, I got very carried away, so here’s every hd art I’m planning/currently working on:

Just a drawing of hd!Gumi because I would like her hand in marriage

hd!Velvetfrost on a date (and by on a date I mean attacking hd!Purpled’s city lol)

hd!Punz being a badass because I love them

I checked the hallowed devourer tag looking for inspiration and saw you mentioning rocketduo as semicompetent demon hunters and I can’t just not draw that

hd!Gumi and hd!Ant hanging out because they deserve so much happiness no matter how fucked up they are

Cita, DreamXD, hd!Dream, and hd!Drista because FAMILY DYNAMIC POG

This list expands every time I read hallowed devourer and though I can’t guarantee I’ll post or even finish all of these, I can guarantee the list will continue to expand especially now that I know you’re okay with fanart because I love all your work but hallowed devourer will always hold a special place in my heart for being the most beautiful fucked up fever dream of a fic I have ever read

:D :D rocketduo have made appearances in partially-uploaded hd prequel about ant and velvet so there are more details about those two there but kjfshgd you have basically as many hd-related wips as i do

#mello asks #also do u wanna join my discord?

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a-shakespearean-in-paris · 4 years ago

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Matrimonial Bliss

This is chapter 29 of my Modern AU longfic, but you can pretty much read it by itself. Newlywed, first time smut with Cullen and my gal Lydia Trevelyan:) Smut. NSFW.

Pinned beneath him on their wedding bed, her light but needy touches froze at his words, I’ve never done this before.

He had never done it before?

And therein was her folly. He misunderstood.

Tentatively, ashamed, he moved off of her. “Cullen!” She exclaimed, rising from the bed and following him as he sat at the edge of the bed. With his back toward her, on her knees she wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her hand rested over his beating heart. He covered her hand with his, and therein was some softening, some victory.

“I was only surprised,” she assured. “That’s all. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I don’t know,” he replied with a sigh, though there was only a small semblance of defeat. “I…it was embarrassing I suppose.”

“It’s not embarrassing at all.”

“Well, I’ll be honest. Never really had the interest. Never dated really.”

“You’ve never liked anyone before?”

At his silence she sat by his side on the edge of the bed. Even as flushed and embarrassed as he was, he was a vision, with mussed hair and swollen lips from their previous kissing, and lightly stained with her red lipstick. Certainly, the two of them were making up for lost time.

She would have waited as long as he needed, but it was only a moment after she partook in her own version of the female gaze when he admitted he had one crush in his entire life, at the Circle before he came to Kirkwall, but he didn’t elaborate and she sensed he didn’t want anymore of that discussion in their bedroom on their first night of matrimony. Out of respect, she didn’t pry.

“But that was nothing, compared to this,” he admitted. “This is…you’re…” His eyes fixated on her lips, and she knew to him, she was extraordinary.

She would have wanted him even if it wasn’t new. She would have wanted him no matter what. Kicking off her shoes, she rose from the bed, standing in front of him. She took his hands in hers, and he too rose to his full height. This was one of her visions and fevered imaginings before he ever asked her to marry him, she remembered with the tiniest of smirks. The two of them, standing in front of a bed, their eyes dancing across each other’s bodies in a prelude dance before a dance of another sort began. But before, she could never have imagined the full richness of his amber eyes that were wide with desire, or the way he bit his lip to quell his want. She could never have imagined how warm his hands would be, or that she would take a Cullen with a scar across his lips, rough under her tongue, received after he defended her. Nor could she ever imagine that he would want her to make the rules.

Oh yes. He waited for her, ardently so, to move to kiss him, move to undress either herself or himself. She could be theatrical, grand and too much, so she threw her arms around him and lightly caressed his cheek with the back of her fingers. If he wore a tie she would have grabbed it, but instead she undid more buttons on his shirt as well as the suspenders he wore to their wedding, and skimmed the tip of her finger down as she went, the golden hair their tickling. He smirked, and she heard him inwardly call her a minx, a wildcat, his.

“How do you want it?” she asked, her voice like sugar.

“Anyway,” he said without hesitation.

She didn’t expect that. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

“Are you patronizing me?”

He spoke with laughter in his voice, and she returned it with the most daring thing she had done yet snake her hand down below his waistline, though she was tentative at first, light. When he responded with pulling himself closer, feeling his want against her belly, she squeezed his arse. He burst into a fit of giggles, burying his head in the crook of her neck.

“I wouldn’t dare,” she replied. “Just want to make you happy.”

“I am. Are you happy?”

“Happier if you kiss me.”

He obliged, capturing her lips, letting them fall to the bed, even though he was very vocal about wanting their clothes off, tugging at the satin straps of her gown. Asking her to hold on, he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, dexterously throwing it to the ground in only a brief moment that broke the flow of kisses and caresses. Back on top of her, her eager hands glided across his bare shoulders and back, and he pressed deep kisses to every part of her face, every part of skin that her dress didn’t cover. He would have been content to kiss her all night she thought, as kissing was so new to them, and yes, it would have been enough for her.

But Maker. She ached, she longed.

And the night was only just beginning.

“Cullen,” she whispered in his ear. “Lay down.”

“Hmm?”

She repeated, “lay down.”

“Why?”

She laughed—a stubborn one he was, kissing her neck, but she was just as stubborn. “Because,” she said, “you should feel good.”

“I do feel good.”

“Cullen, let me take care of you. Take care of me all you want later, but now…let me. Please.”

He answered her by doing what she wanted, laying down, propping his head on a pillow. He was half undressed, while she was still in her white gown, though he had done a decent job of pulling down the straps. She left them there, as a treat.

“Lydia…”

“Shhh,” she bade, stroking his forearms, his abdomen, the line of his trousers, his clothed cock. He shivered, but still she asked if it was alright. Biting his lip, he nodded. When he was at last bare after pulling off his trousers, laying on the bed, and she was bedside him, letting the silk dance of her dress dance across his skin, she hovered on top of him, sinking down on his cock, regretting she didn’t get a better look beforehand. He gasped at the feel of only this, partially because even though he wasn’t inside yet she was still encasing him, partially because he was surprised that she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. Of the last point, he admitted it with a chuckle.

“I took them off when we came in,” she offered as a secret. “They were uncomfortable.” She let him in on another secret. “I’m also not wearing a bra.”

“Shame, I don’t get to see.”

He was already gripping her hips, moving along with her gentle movements. This was a first for her, she had never sat on a man’s thighs before with the intention to ride, and it took more thigh strength than she realized. But with each movement, there was a sweet ache, and the image of him. He threw his head against the pillows, and she quivered, her wetness bleeding onto him. Flushed, amber eyes peaking up at her, he nodded.

“Lydia,” he begged.

She took his tip, and then all of him at once. She cried out—for her it had been a long time and he was deep and fully encased. He asked if she was alright, said he didn’t mean to hurt her.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she promised. “It’s just…”

“Am I big?”

He had a smile of masculine pride. “Perhaps,” she offered, before telling him the truth, “yes.”

“Do you need to get off, or…?”

“No. I want to see you.”

It took a few moments of sweet torture, Cullen gripping her hips before Lydia took Cullen’s hand, kissing his palm. Maker she loved his hands—strong as they were and rough but not unpleasant. They were lived hands. Hers.

One more kiss to the palm, and then she moved.

He wasn’t a quiet lover. He didn’t even attempt to quiet his moans as she sank on top again and again. It inspired her to cry out, even as she craved more and began to touch herself. He became mesmerized by her own fingers, eyes trailed were she gathered up her skirts, and she hadn’t touched herself in so long that she had herself coming within near moments. And then Cullen came too, moments after her climax faded and he rose to kiss her. He came with their arms wrapped around one another, their lips barely touching. He was still so flushed, eyes sheepish even.

“I shouldn’t have."

“It’s alright,” she promised. “We talked about it earlier, remember? I’m on the pill.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but he did tug at her hair, study her lips and eyes with intensity. And Maker he was still inside.

“Thank you,” he muttered sweetly.

Their foreheads touching as they floated along, she kissed his damp temple. Angling herself off, mourning the loss that was at first too much, the two of them positioned themselves on the bed, Cullen wrapping an arm around her as she curled to his side. As she wondered if she should take off her dress, she peeked at him. He was still smiling, and would stay smiling until he fell asleep.

But before he did, she asked him about something he muttered earlier, when they first entered their bedroom in matrimonial bliss. She was standing by the window, looking at the lake outside. He chuckled at first, before explaining that he muttered “Cliodna,” to himself.

“What’s that?” she wondered, and he explained Cliodna was a character from old Ferelden legends, an Avvar priestess who roamed the world, searching for her lover. When he was little, his mother used to read him the story.

“You looked like her then,” he said, before amending it to “you look like her,” and she beamed with a strange pride. She reminded him of a childhood hero, a figure of his dreams. It was something she never thought she would want a lover to think, but everything she ever dreamed.

She put her hand against his beating heart, kissing him lightly. She could get used to those kisses. But he muttered something that surprised her, “I should have made you feel good too. And oh, her dear Cullen, the man she chose to marry, the man she wanted to marry.

“You did,” she promised. “You do.”

And, she thought before she drifted to sleep, there would be plenty of time for him to do all the other things he wanted.

a/n: sometimes smut is awkward, especially a first time, so I wanted to portray that.

#shakes writes #cullydia #cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #smut #smutty smut smut #not the kinkiest thing in the world #im vanilla #BUT #I do love smut #<3

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