#its honestly debatable on whether they have legs or not either

[neoluca]

[sylusonychinus]

Chibi Sylus

So we all cant get over the last event we had and frankly I cant move on from it either so lets all dive deep into some chibi sylus :33

Chibi Sylus, a victim of Luke and Kieran's latest "experiment" (aka, prank), was not amused. He was currently pacing the giant's-sized table, his tiny fists clenched, and letting loose a string of furious words... well, it sounded angry. To Luke and Kieran, however, it was more like a tiny, indignant squeak followed by a series of adorable gurgles. They were trying so hard not to burst out laughing. Luke bit the inside of his cheek, while Kieran stared intently at a particularly interesting speck of dust on the ceiling.

Chibi Sylus, oblivious to their barely contained amusement, continued his tirade. "Eep! Poo-poo! Gah! Nyehhh!" he shrieked, punctuating each syllable with a dramatic stomp of his ridiculously tiny foot (seriously, those chibi proportions were wild). He looked like an angry, fluffy chick trying to scold a pair of enormous, very amused eagles.

Finally, his tiny rage sputtered out. He plopped down on the table, his miniature legs dangling precariously over the edge. He pulled out his phone – which, at this scale, looked like a hefty brick – and began tapping furiously. His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to compose a message. It took a while, given that his thumbs were barely bigger than grains of rice.

Chibi Sylus finally gave up on his phone. He looked up at Luke and Kieran, his expression a mix of frustration and… something else. "H...help?" he squeaked, holding up the phone, which promptly slipped from his grasp and landed with a thump the size of a small car to Chibi Sylus. He looked up at the two giants with big, pleading eyes. "Message...y/n..." he mumbled, pointing at the phone with a tiny finger. Luke and Kieran exchanged a look. This was going to be interesting.

Luke and Kieran, still chuckling softly, helped Chibi Sylus navigate the massive phone. After a few minutes of pointing and gesturing, they managed to decipher his message: a string of gibberish punctuated with angry emojis. Apparently, he was very upset about the whole "chibi-fication" incident. They promised to look into reversing the spell (though they secretly hoped it would last a little longer – he was just so darn cute!).

Chibi Sylus was just too cute to resist! You'd already knitted him a tiny sweater vest with a little crow on it (he looked so dashing), and were currently debating whether to dress him in the miniature pirate outfit or the adorable little chef's hat and apron. the doll House was also coming along nicely – you’d even crafted miniature furniture using spare bottle caps and bits of fabric. He made the cutest little squeaks when you “rearranged” the furniture. Honestly, it was like having a living doll! (One that occasionally tried to bite your finger, but details, details.)

Later, after a "delicious" dinner of miniature crackers and a thimbleful of juice (which Chibi Sylus somehow managed to spill all over himself), it was bedtime. You carefully tucked him into his miniature bed – a repurposed jewelry box lined with soft cotton – which you placed on the pillow next to your side of the bed. He looked so tiny and adorable nestled amongst the fluffy fabric. As you leaned in to wish him goodnight, he surprised you by reaching up with a tiny hand and giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead. A small, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips as he snuggled into his makeshift bed and promptly fell asleep. "Awwww," you cooed, turning off the light and drifting off to sleep yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, however, the magic that had shrunk Sylus was wearing off. In the dead of night, as you slept peacefully, a faint shimmer surrounded the tiny figure on your pillow. Slowly, his chibi form began to revert, his miniature body growing back to its original size. The blanket you’d draped over him now covered…well, nothing (thankfully).

Sylus, now back in his original, albeit completely bare, form, lay beside you. He carefully reached out and gently caressed your hair, a soft smile gracing his lips. He watched you sleep for a moment, his expression tender. Finally, he leaned down and whispered, his voice low and warm, "Goodnight, kitten." Then, he closed his eyes and settled back down, pulling the blanket up to share. He had a feeling things were going to get very interesting in the morning.

Author: yes he is still very much naked when you both wake up.....you know what happens then :3

[bibibbon]

people have been debating whether mirio really was a better successor for ofa has given me an idea for my rewrite. In my universe, izuku is much nore attentive and analytical of his surroundings, and due to facing discrimination for his quirklessness, he has a less rose tinted view of hero society and wont just follow orders like lemillion. An example is when he and lemillion first meet eri and lemillion give eir back to overhaul, a long tongue snatches eri from his grasp and darts away. Lemillion tries to chase after the villain but izuku recognizes it as my oc herpeton and due to them already having worked together in the past izuku trusts his instinct enough to stop lemillion and get both them out of the alley and away from an angry overhaul. Also after izuku discovers who herepton is with nezu and after nezus deal, izuku acts as a benefactor to herpeton and gives him intel on what pros patrol the cities that herpeton is visting for the first time and what their tactics are. This willingness do what is right instead of just following what the commision want is why all might chose him as his successor. Speaking of which, nana shimura and the rest of the ofa holders were also vigilantes, which explains why they most people have never heard of them. What do you think?

Hi @suchusoid 👋

This has been a long and ongoing discourse that's been reignited a few weeks back after the series ended.

Personally, in Canon itself we aren't truly given a concrete reason as to why izuku is better than mirio and why he deserves OFA more than mirio. This gets even more annoying as the series ends with izuku not even claiming the quirk or making it his but simply still viewing it as a gift from his favourite hero.

I remember @mikeellee asking a similar ask as to why izuku was picked and not mirio and Canon doesn't give us a concrete answer heck it's even worse when you realise how non existent izukus relationship with all might is.

However, I think that you're changes here to izuku are honestly what was needed!! Having izuku carry and cement the idea of no man is created equal and making sure to make that an integral part of his character would allow for izuku to really see the grey morality and messed up system especially since Canon does try and point this out but constantly fails due to the lack of introspection and development izuku has.

Izuku understanding the cruelty of the system yet still trying to save everyone is what makes him different to mirio who has a goal if 1 million people but izuku has an ongoing gaol that in reality would never be achieved and will always be added onto and altered to help produce a fairer society one where people can at least have the same opportunities.

Making Izuku much more attentive also makes sense and is crucial since Canon misses that part of his character completely. In Canon we do get some interesting analytical moments from izuku but they are inconsistent and its a shame because with a bit more digging and thinking izuku's character could of became so much more.

Mind you this is the same character that saw Hawk's once and said that it's weird that he is only 6 years older and so much more mature then them.

This is also the kid who ended up copying his classmates move multiple times with his quirk like shooting blackwhip from his mouth to mimic froppy or the use of his legs when it comes to ofa mimicking iida.

Due to his analytical abilities I feel like midoriya would be able to peice together that herperton is one of his classmates friends.

They would form a partnership of sorts. Izuku wants to help herperton out in hopes of helping achieve a better future and society so he would give him information in return and maybe he would even give him some quirk advice.

A part of me thinks that herperton would get a sense of deja vu especially when he finds out that izuku was quirkless. This would all remind him of his own quirkless mentor and from that they would slowly grow closer to the point where they both trust each other to make the right move if needed. This means that izuku allows for eri to be taken and then herperton and izuku manage to get her into safety.

In the end izuku wants a better society and he has already done many things to show us that he would do what is morally right over following the rules. This is the same izuku who ran and intervened the moment he realised iida was in hosu and trying to kill Stain. This is the same character who tried to take down gentle criminal so the school Festival wouldn't be disturbed. Even if it means getting himself into trouble or being hated izuku midoriya does what is right and that should be his character

[sukirichi]

sweet lies [02]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. explicit smut, slight body worship, public sex, dirty talk, praising, toxic megumi, fwb dynamics, slight angst, body marking, sukuna bullying megumi, age gap, scratching, mentions of oral (m receiving) and mutual masturbation, the traditional unedited fic

note. choose your fighter, megumi or sukuna 😈 also UHM do you guys want me to make the ending angsty or fluffy? i wrote out two versions so LOL let me know what you think! we’ll get more of the megumi scenes on the next chapter though~

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

Sukuna isn’t kidding when he said he’ll have you unable to walk by the end of this.

You’ve lost count of how many times you guys have fucked.

Once more in the stalls when you thought of repaying the favor by sucking him off, followed by him growing impatient and hauling you inside his car. Both of you were too tired to go for another round, but were still very much addicted for the other’s touch that mutual masturbation seems like the best option.

Thankfully, Sukuna’s cut his nails, so having three of his fingers buried knuckle deep in you feels like absolute heaven. He’s not complaining about your smooth hands wrapped around his shaft either, especially not when you’ve had enough practice with Megumi to know just how to make a guy lose his mind. By the time you’ve made it back home, Sukuna’s grown hard again, too impatient to make it to the bed before he just fucks you raw against the wall. You’re trembling at his hold, left with no choice but to trust his strength to drop you on his cock and bounce you to his pleasure.

It’s a miracle you’ve made it on the bed.

His digital clock reads a quarter at three in the morning, and for a moment, you worry about how tired you’ll be in class tomorrow when Sukuna’s large hands grips your thighs sharply.

“Goddamn,” he hisses through clenched teeth, chuckling at the irresistible sight of your breasts bouncing before him. Limbs tangled, minds controlled with the primal need to fuck, and moans shared with his deep grunts – you somehow end up on top of him, your thighs feeling like they’re on the verge of giving up as you continue to ride his thick length.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he slaps your ass and causes your hips to rut deeper, forcing that delicious curve of his cock to meld with your walls. You throw your head back, palms planted on his chest, focused only on that burning pleasure between your thighs. “I could fuck you all night long.”

Even though you truly have no wish to, you shake your head, fingers balling into a fist. “I have class tomorrow, need to wake up early,” you protest, the words falling into deaf ears as Sukuna thrusts up into you. He must’ve noticed how you’re growing tired and took matters into his own hands, feet grounded on the mattress to pound deliriously into you. You’re debating whether to be thankful or frustrated he still has so much energy even after hours of fucking, but it honestly doesn’t matter. You’re falling into his chest, arms slipping on your equally sweat-covered bodies. Right now, you just wanted to cum – once more, again, one last time! “Ah, Sukuna, t-too much!”

“Too much?” he laughs and tangles his hand to caress your scalp, the gesture too soothing that you almost forgot he’s fucking you into oblivion. “Want me to go slow?”

“No…”

“Thought so, sweetheart,” his grin is absolutely cocky as he bends his knees in a fold, pushing you until your back rests on his muscular thighs. Your mouth falls open at his hands wrapping around your threat, keeping you right there, hips flat and grinding on his cock. “Come on. Come for me,” Sukuna urges, tightening his hold around your neck a little harder.  

That’s all you need for your vision to blur and see stars, your body’s shaking uncontrollable. He’s thrusting with all his power and energy that it feels like you’re nothing but a hole on top of him, tongue falling open in a wanton manner as your drool trails down your chin.

You look filthy, you feel filthy, and yet, Sukuna sees it entirely different.

“So – fucking – gorgeous, fuck. I woulda fucked you sooner if I didn’t feel weird about it.”

“What?”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he smirks at your half fucked out state. Sukuna rolls his hips in such a mind numbing manner that you end up staring at the ceiling, trying your hardest to decipher the colors of his room to get a grip of yourself. But he feels so hot, cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, your puffy lips encasing him with a translucent ring of cum and it feels so fucking good you don’t really understand what he’s saying anymore. “Did you really think I never saw you in my dreams?” he slaps your ass again, the reflexive response of tightening around him pulling a deep groan from the beautiful man beneath you. “I have such a sexy roommate, I couldn’t help it.”

“Then why didn’t you – ah, right there, shit – tell me?”

“Cuz,” he snickers and finally lets you breathe, your pupils blowing wide from the sudden flow of air. Sukuna kneads your breasts greedily, never stopping his mind-numbing rhythm of ramming deep into you. Your body burns, your thighs ache, your pussy feels sensitive but you can’t find the energy to stop him. Instead, you fall prey, failing in your mission to keep him wrapped around your fingers because now you’re wrapped around his cock, and you were quite fucking addicted to it. “You’re my friend’s student. Felt so fucking wrong.”

“What’s the difference now?”

“The difference is,” Sukuna’s face contorts into something of discomfort for a moment before he leans forward, his sturdy grip homing in on your hips again. You feel his searing breath on your ear, so parching it puts the warmth of your pussy to shame. “Having you like this has never felt so right, and I’ll keep fucking you if you let me.”

“I-I’d let you,” you concede absentmindedly and capture his lips for a sloppy kiss, tongues giving up on a battle of dominance. You’re always so clingy when you’re about to come, something Megumi never fails to chastise you for, and you fear Sukuna might push you away as you wrap an arm around him, nails painfully scratching down his back. Red marks leave a trail on its wake until his blood pierces through the sheets, the pain manifested through the increasing roughness of his pace. Now it’s your turn to whimper in his ear, pulling the man close and tugging harshly at the ends of his hair. Gosh, were you actually crying? “Sukuna, I’m close! Yes, yes, right there!”

Sukuna groans at the erotic sounds you reward him with. “Come for me, that’s right, ohhhh,” he stills inside you, his seed spilling deep inside you. You wince at the burst of warmth spreading all over your belly and Sukuna chuckles at your bulging belly. He presses down on it to coax his cum to trickle all over his cock, and he’s fucking filthy – you learn easily – to watch you make a mess on his cock with a childish smile on his face.

You push yourself off him and fall to his side, him following suit not long afterwards. The room feels completely stuffed from your intense fucking, the bruises on your body and scratches on his back a huge attestment to that.

Your legs remain wide open as you clench around nothing, his cum oozing out like a waterfall. Sukuna (that damned pervert) dips two fingers into your hole for one last moment just to drench his fingers in it, his eyes lit up in wonder while he lets it web around his fingers. You snicker at his actions and roll to his side, eyes fluttering close from the wave of exhaustion that comes into full force.

The lingerie set you intended to wear for Megumi was now ripped at the other side of the room, discarded, forgotten – merely evidence of a moment that had never been given to him.

Oddly enough, you don’t feel bad, not even when Sukuna faces you, his cheeks squished by his soft pillows. “I’m spent. I don��t think I’ve ever been this tired. My gym sessions can’t compare to this.”

“You go to the gym?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t born this gorgeous, you know. I had to work hard for this,” Sukuna gestures to his body. You can’t help but follow the gestures and admire the hard planes of his muscle ripped above one another, the smatter of dark hair leading down his hips adding to his already immense sexual charisma. It makes you want to jump on him all over again, and you have to bite your lip to resist that urge, rolling your eyes at him in favor of letting him know you could totally go for another round.

“Dork.”

“Got me laid though, was worth the effort,” he jokes, and you both laugh.

It’s actually…weird, to laugh so casually with someone like this. It might be normal for Sukuna in his past sexual endeavors, but it’s totally a different thing for you. You and Megumi had never even bothered with aftercare. As long as he’s satisfied himself, he’d clean himself off in the bathroom and wear his sweatpants, winking at you before he leaves you alone all over again. The memory – albeit not really a regrettable one – is still painful each time you’re reminded you’ll keep coming back to him.

But are things different now? Could you go back to Megumi? You only ever wanted to fuck Sukuna because you’re sad and horny, but it wouldn’t be fair to him, especially when your roommate has been nothing but nice to you. Besides, him being a little more decent doesn’t immediately equate he’s different than Megumi.

For all you know, you could just be another cheap fuck. Sukuna is older and sexier, after all, he’s clearly had a lot more experience than you do.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna rests his head on his palms, elbows flat on the bed as he turns to you. The expression on his face is unreadable, but there’s some sort of softness behind it – a softness you’re not really familiar with.

“Hey. I don’t exactly know what you’re going through, not everything, anyway, but whatever we have right now, I want you to know it’s not because I see just as a pretty pussy, okay?” he says with a straight face, but you really shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up because Sukuna smirks, mischievous eyes darting back and forth to your soaked pussy and bare breasts. “Although you do have a pretty pussy. Can I eat you out again?”

With that, you snatch the pillow underneath him and whack it straight at his face. Sukuna laughs at your protests, the sound growing louder and a lot more mocking the harder you hit him. “Gosh, Sukuna, shut up!”

You end up hitting him way too many times in the face that he can’t get his words through, and before you could react, Sukuna’s ripped the pillow away from you. He cages you in his arms and hovers over you once more, his boneless dick grazing the insides of your thigh. It’s not meant to be sexual, and nothing about his stance gives off anything that shows he wants to do it again, but you can’t help but feel aroused, shifting your legs up and down the bed as you squirm.

“Seriously though,” he repeats, “We can be casual, or this could be a one time thing. Card’s all yours to play. If you want to forget everything tomorrow, I’d gladly do it. Let’s just go back to the way we were-”

“Sukuna.”

“Yes?”

“Did you really think I was only using you to distract myself?”

Sukuna’s lips flatten into a line. “I’m not stupid,” he says somberly, “I could tell you were still thinking about him. Not that I mind, though, you can’t stop yourself from loving someone,” Faintly, you’re distracted by his thumbs rubbing at your pulse point. It’s so lulling you want to fall asleep, but Sukuna isn’t done talking. “My point is…you don’t have to worry about being weird with me. We could just be friends with benefits, if you want, and not the kind you have with your boy toy either. ”

His blatantly catches you off guard and your eyes widen before they narrow at him, trying your best to hide your embarrassment. If Megumi was painfully honest, Sukuna’s ridiculously blunt that his mere words make your heart do weird things you’d rather not feel.

Careful, you remind yourself, Megumi is the one you want. You have to keep reminding yourself that before your feelings get the best of you. It’s Megumi, it’s always been Megumi and it always will be Megumi. Sukuna is just your roommate who’s nice enough to take your mind off things. You only wish you weren’t lying too much in case he gets the wrong idea you’re leading him on, but then again, isn’t that what you’re doing?

Friends with benefits or not – you still have no plans on getting involved with this guy any longer.

It’s always Megumi. You just really needed a quick fuck, someone whose dick didn’t belong with the guy you’re so hung up on over. The change feels nice and you definitely feel a lot better than the last time you met Megumi, but this guilt…it tastes bitter on your tongue, too heavy to swallow and ignore. It’s always Megumi, you tell yourself again in an attempt to relieve your pain.

Though it doesn’t subside and you huff in exasperation, turning away from Sukuna. You can’t stand looking at him right now.

“I’m not,” you mumble weakly, but the tears – the guilt, the heartbreak of not being Megumi’s lover, the regret and the ironic need to be closer to Sukuna feels all so confusing – all threaten to burst through. You don’t want him to see you cry, that would be lame, so you scoot closer to him and kiss his shoulder as you shyly ask, “C-can we cuddle?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, “You don’t have to sound too nervous to ask.”

“Sorry, it’s just-”

“He never does that?”

“…Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not him,” Sukuna answers confidently, surprising you when he grabs your ass to press you flush against him. You’re both sweaty and hot to the point it’s uncomfortable, but Sukuna smells so sweet with his lingering cologne that you can’t help yourself from planting your face in his neck, breathing in the little hums he makes. Sukuna kisses the crown of your head – which is a little too sweet than you’d like – while his other hand runs down your back in a slow, sensual manner. Hell, it feels close to body worshipping, and you hate that you silently want more of this. “I’d cuddle you every day if you asked me to.”

“You’re surprisingly sweet,” you voice with a smile. Sukuna’s chest rumbles from the low laughter, and like that, you cling to him like he’s the only sturdy pillar in your life. It’s pathetic, maybe even desperate, but if he doesn’t mind, then why should you?

However, the moment is quickly ruined when the bell rings. “Shit, I forgot he was coming over!”

Sukuna glares at the door and holds you tighter, almost possessively, and refuses to let you go even as you squirm under him. “At three in the morning?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to meet him right now,” you groan helplessly.

Sukuna shoots you a blank look after that, then shoots out of the bed in an instant. You watch as he quickly dresses up in a fresh pair of sweatpants, grabbing a random hoodie from the back of his chair, presumably to hide the scratch marks. You have to hide your smile behind your hand because he looks so drool-worthy with marks littered on his already marked skin, and the fact he lets you mark him is even hotter.

He pauses at the door for a moment, pointing a finger at where you peered up at him curiously. “Stay there. I’ll talk to him and say you went out or whatever. Just make sure to silence your phone in case he calls. Better yet, turn it off.”

Sukuna closes the door behind him, already on the way to the entrance just as you press your ears against the door to eavesdrop. There’s a slight shuffling before the door unlocks, then, “Why the fuck did you lock-” Megumi pauses in his words, and you can perfectly picture his infamous scowl painting his handsome features already. Gosh, you wish you could actually see it, but if Megumi catches you sleeping with someone else, he might totally lose interest in you. That’s not something you could afford to happen.

“Oh. You’re her roommate.” You snigger at his usual what the fuck tone – how Megumi of him.

“Hey, kid, it’s a little too late for a visit, don’t you think?” Sukuna taunts, and it takes everything in you to not burst through the door at that moment. You’re stuck between wanting to laugh and crying, mostly because you would love and hate for Megumi to get riled up. “Do your parents know you’re here? Kids shouldn’t be out this late.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, I’m in uni,” he defends, “Do you know where Y/N is? I need to talk to her.”

Deciding fuck it, you open the door by an inch, just enough to peek. As expected, Megumi is glaring behind Sukuna’s shoulders in search of you. Meanwhile, Sukuna’s completely calm, checking his nails boredly as if Megumi isn’t fuming in front of him. And boy, do you know how much Megumi hates being ignored. “Oh, I think she went out, I don’t know why though. House was empty when I got here.”

“She didn’t tell you where she was going?”

At Megumi’s imposing tone, Sukuna tilts his head to scrutinize Megumi. Now that you’re seeing them together, Sukuna’s twice the size of Megs, their height and shoulder width too different to start comparing. But knowing Megumi, he’s not going to back down from a tattooed guy twice his size, not even as he sarcastically remarks, “Ain’t you her friend? She should be telling you that kind of stuff.”

Truthfully, you expected he would put up more of a fight. The two of them share a heated staring competition before Megumi scoffs, the first one to look away. “Whatever,” he dismisses, “Tell her to pick her damn phone up. I’ve been calling for the past hour.”

“I think I should tell her to get better friends.”

“What was that?”

“I said get home safely,” Sukuna chirps. Even with his back turned to you, you could tell Sukuna’s just further pressing his buttons with a grin that’s not meant to be inviting at all. Just when you think it’s done, however, Sukuna finishes off with, “Kid.”

Megumi rages. His blue eyes flame into something feral, his fists balled at his sides. He’s always had a temper issue and you nearly reveal yourself to stop whatever fight is about to ensue, but Sukuna’s already closing the door, ridding any opportunity for the younger one to retaliate. At the sound of the door closing, Sukuna leans against the door, his smile still plastered on his face as if he knows you’re watching the whole time. He meets your eyes from the slight peep of his door, waving his hands sarcastically.

“Sukuna, you didn’t have to be so mean.”

“Sorry,” he isn’t apologetic at all. “Next time I’ll be nicer to your asshole crushes,” he adds with a slight roll of his eyes and you punch his chest playfully. You don’t stop him from grabbing your wrists to embrace you in a hug that doesn’t seem so platonic – but not so suggestive either. Sukuna rests his chin on top of your hand while he sways you both side to side, his voice muffled in your hair. “I understand why you’re attracted to him though. He’s really handsome.”

“Yeah, he is,” you agree sadly, thinking of how much it’s really all a waste Megumi has to be like that. “Just sucks his personality ruins everything.”

“A pretty face is always deceiving,” Sukuna suddenly pulls away and holds you an arm’s length away.  “Hey, want to have early breakfast?”

“I think that would be late dinner,” you frown at him.

“Whatever, food is food,” he responds rather excitedly, and you watch as Sukuna rummages through the fridge. Now that you think about it, having sex so much really took a toll on you, and your stomach grumbles loudly. Sukuna hides his chuckles through the fridge but you hear him anyway, shouting at him that you’re not hungry. “Wasn’t asking, sweetheart. Now go get cleaned and changed, I’ll make something for you.”

If anyone were to tell you that a good fucking is all that’s needed for you to immediately form a new kind of friendship with your roommate, you’d call them weird. Sukuna isn’t necessarily out of reach, you and him just simply didn’t cross paths.

But now, you’re dressed comfortably in his boxers and the oversized shirt you stole from him, eating the slightly burn cheese sandwich he’s made, sharing conversation and laughing with him like you’ve been doing it for such a long time. Your sandwich is actually half forgotten on the plate as you whack your palms on the counter, “That’s how you and Prof Gojo met? I never would’ve expected you guys fought over a girl!”

“He was fucking annoying in high school,” Sukuna grumbles over an angry bite, “He was getting all the girls that when someone confessed to me, the hottest chick, no less, he straight up punched me in the face,” you laugh as you imagine the memory of a younger, already rebellious looking Sukuna getting smacked by the even more intolerable Gojo Satoru. Sukuna is lost in his own memories as well, shaking his head from around the last bites of his bread. It’s clear he hates the burnt crust judging from the way he turns a little green, but he’s bragged about his cooking skills so proudly that he has to save face in front of you. “Ah, such good times,” he muses before wincing at his own words, dropping his bread in disgust. “Damn, I sound old, don’t I?”

“You’re only like, five years older than me, it’s fine,” you giggle, “I like the maturity that comes with older people. You’re a lot easier to be with than guys my age.”

“Please,” Sukuna smirks, “Just say you like fucking older men. I won’t judge.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would be jumping over the counter to strangle your roommate who’s now running like hell, your laughter bursting through the once silent apartment, you would call them a liar. But now, you and Sukuna are panting on the floor, too tired from sprinting all around before calling it quits. Maybe it’s a lie – maybe this connection will never really be that much of a big deal – but as long as this lie and play pretend of friendship lasts, you’ll just enjoy every sweet moment of it.

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed) (bold can’t be tagged) @uwubby-1 @expectoscamander @your-consulting-fangirl @dora-the-grownup @cosmotoic @charlie-xo @kittaliapenn @sukunas-cult-leader @flowersgirl02 @cloudsinthecosmos @90s-belladonna @averysheart-raleighsdick @generousstudentpsychic-bat @kat-su-ki @issamomma​ 

[kashimos-hajime]

pretty face on a pretty neck | b.b.

summary: they aren’t fucking dating. not fucking friends, either. no, bucky just fucks romanoff’s best friend until she’s fucking stupid, begging for it, and leaves in the morning because that’s how the universe fucking works. and sometimes, he wishes it didn’t work that way.

WARNINGS: a tiny bit of smut (18+), fingering, choking, swearing, drinking, brief mentions of cheating, bucky’s just really fucking jealous, mentions of a shitty relationship and self-doubt from it, the dark knight spoilers, fluffy end!! pairing: modern!bucky barnes x fem!reader, brief steve rogers x fem!reader lmaoo  word count: 5.5k

a/n: this is a cute lil piece written for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​​​​​​! my prompt was “you called me, remember?” inspired by kiwi by harry styles. 

For a moment, Bucky wonders how the fuck he got into this situation.

Then again, he’s not complaining.

The view is fucking stellar.

You weave through the crowd, glistening like some glazed dessert that he can’t wait to get his mouth on. Your lips are shining with a swipe of that sweet lipgloss he loves to suck off and you’re wearing that black dress.

The black dress. Shorter than short, showing every inch of skin yet not enough.

You toss your head back, exposing that neck that he loves to bite to Steve who grins, glad his joke landed. Stifling a scowl, Bucky grabs his scotch and throws it back, desperate not to grab you and throw you into a stall just to mark you up as his.

You had made him promise, after all. No socialization outside their little nightcap sessions that often lead to… well, Bucky’s game for anything really.

A cigarette is pinched between your lips and Steve helps you light it with a flick of his lighter, the burning embers glowing in the dark, seedy bar. Leaning on the bar counter, you talk to Sam wiping down his station and he nods, eyes dragging over your face and Bucky cannot tear his gaze away as Sam pours you three shots of vodka. You blow out a lungful of smoke, cigarette pinched between two fingers before glancing at Steve and making some sort of bet, based on the way your lips curl.

They go down like water, dripping down your chin and you laugh when Steve wipes it off your collarbones before he grabs your chin and smashes his lips against yours. You immediately reciprocate, mouth opening as he bends you over the bar, his hair golden and his hand trailing up your thigh.

“Fucker,” Bucky mutters, finally managing to rip his gaze away. A heat blazes through his stomach.

Stupid fucking party for damn Romanoff’s birthday. Sometimes he hates being some of the oldest friends that redhead knows. It makes him feel creepy, wading through a sea of college students that are only one or two years younger than him. Steve himself is finishing his last year, so he’s sure he doesn’t share Bucky’s plight of feeling old.

He wishes he could just approach you and ask to leave, pin you against the wall of his apartment, take you like he knows Steve’s going to later, but he can’t.

You aren’t fucking dating. Not fucking friends, either.

No, Bucky just fucks Romanoff’s best friend until she’s fucking stupid, begging for it, and leaves in the morning because that’s how the universe fucking works.

And sometimes, he wishes it didn’t work that way.

“Not enjoying yourself, James?” Birthday Girl Romanoff asks, appearing at his shoulder and he turns to her, shifting in his seat.

“Steve’s too busy chatting up your friend for me to do anything,” he replies, keeping his tone light and Romanoff glances at where Steve’s made his way to kissing up your neck, your fingers carded through his hair.

“Give him a break,” Romanoff says. “They both need to get laid.”

“You don’t think she’s getting laid?” Bucky asks incredulously. “Every fucking guy I’ve met has said they wanted to get with her at least once.”

“Sounding a bit jealous over someone you claim to hate, James,” the redhead teases, sipping on her mojito with raised eyebrows.

“I’m just saying. All the boys were saying they were into it.”

“And you?”

“She’s… a brat.”

“Seems to me that you’re into that,” she hums, leaning on his shoulder. “Honestly, it would’ve been better if you two met before her and her stupid boyfriend did. Ever since she moved in with Rumlow…” The woman trails off and Bucky absently fills in the blanks, she’s faked every single orgasm she’s had with him. “I don’t know. He’s a fucking prick. Doesn’t treat her like she deserves.”

“Does he—“

“No. Just… never a priority, is she? Why else is she here alone?” Natasha pauses, as if debating how much to tell him, then adds, “Then he gets all pissy about where she’s been. On his beck and call, isn’t she?”

“Asshole,” Bucky replies distantly. Steve has his hand basically up your dress and he watches as your legs pull him closer, your lips running along the shell of his ear. “You’re endorsing your best friend cheating on her boyfriend, you know, when we could just be beating him up”

“Hey. She said she was going to break up with him. I can’t make those choices up for her and I’m not about to land any of my friends in jail trying to be my ride or dies.” Romanoff shrugs, glancing at her friend. “Besides, she doesn’t have anywhere else to go, does she? It’s not like she can move into my dorm or move back into her parents across the country.” Bucky watches as you hook your legs around Steve’s waist and he hoists you into his arms, disappearing into the crowd.

By the direction, Bucky can guess the destination and some distant part of his head whispers, She could move in with me.

“Might want to avoid the bathrooms for a while,” he comments and Romanoff snorts, the ice crackling by her straw as she stirs her drained glass.

“I’m going to go get laid, too,” she replies frankly. “Don’t stay brooding in the corner, Barnesy-bear. Your face is one worthy of being sat on.”

“Thank you.”

With that, the redhead slips into the crowd and Bucky gets up, plucking his jacket and leaving the bar. His pants are tight with the thought of your mouth and the sound of your gasping breaths echoing in his ear. The feeling of your fingers scratching down his back makes him roll his shoulders back as he flags a cab.

So what if you’re fucking Steve?

It’s not like he’s exclusive with you.

He can’t fault his best friend for having excellent fucking taste.

As he enters the cab and tells the driver his address, he wonders how the fuck someone like Rumlow snagged the title as your boyfriend when there are so many other options.

Steve being one, but he’s still living on-campus.

Bucky doesn’t want to say it, but maybe he, with his own apartment and steady job and intimate knowledge of your desires and interests and needs, is the other.

.

It’s two weeks later when he finally sees you again, at Romanoff’s birthday function at the beach. Something with closer friends, in broad daylight at a beach house Romanoff’s parents own. She and Sam are already there by the time Bucky gets there, unpacking in rooms for a weekend stay.

“Take any room you like,” Romanoff calls from upstairs and Bucky does so, choosing one of the few rooms on the main floor just as another figure walks in.

“I’m here, Nat!” Your voice echoes against wooden walls as Bucky pokes his head out of his room to see you there. He doesn’t know whether he should feel guilty or not that he’s glad Steve hasn’t sated your hunger when you show up alone, shorts riding up your thighs and a t-shirt that is so sheer it does nothing to conceal the bikini top you wear beneath it. “I’m taking my usual room.”

“Fine with me!”

With that, you walk down the hall, eyes meandering over the living room and kitchen. Bucky’s throat closes up when you walk past the stairs to stop at his room and you smirk all saccharine at him.

“Hey, Barnes.”

He scans your face for a moment. “You came. Thought you’d still be sucking Steve’s face off like you were back at the bar. Or… sucking his dick. Whatever floats your boat.”

“Well, that was a one-off thing. Heat of the moment,” you dismiss, leaning against his door frame and he hates the way you look against the wood. Makes something in him stir, makes the blood run hot and his mind focus on one image in particular.

“What’d your boyfriend say when he saw your neck fucking marked up?” he asks, uncaring of the thin ice he stands upon. You frown, arms crossing.

“I was careful,” you reply tightly, “and I didn’t let him leave any marks.”

Bucky can’t help the small flash of satisfaction at hearing that. “You’re not careful with me. I like seeing your neck tatted up with it,” he comments, his hand twitching to wrap around your throat as he lifts his finger to trace the soft, pulsing vein along your neck. You tilt your chin up, eyes narrowing with amusement.

“I’m not yours, Barnes.”

“What you say tells me differently, princess.” Dropping his hand to grab your wrist, he pulls you into his room and slams the door shut, pinning you against it with a harsh push. You exhale sharply, the breath pushing out of your lungs as your bags drop with a disant thump. His senses zero in on everything about you, the light scent of the sunblock smeared into your skin, the cotton twisting beneath his fist as his other hand finds your neck on its own accord. “You’ve been distant lately, kitten.”

He can feel your racing pulse against his palm as you smirk, hands wrapping around his waist and pulling him flush against you. Every inch of his skin is pressed against yours as you hike a leg up onto his hip. His hand at your waist immediately goes to cup it and you loop your arms around his neck innocently.

“I’ve had a lot of work to do. Brock and I…” You let out a soft hum as if to ponder but he knows it’s just to piss him off, “spent some time alone. Romantic trip out of town. Then, I had other things to do.”

“Did you?” It’s not a question Bucky wants answered as you nod demurely, lips twisted into a smirk. He wants nothing more than to yank your shorts down, spin you around, and have you screaming his name as he takes you again and again. He’s been blue balled for two weeks and you haven’t answered any of his calls.

Now, he knows why.

“So, that stupid boyfriend of yours was with you, huh?” he asks, not waiting for an answer as he leans in close. He can taste the vodka in your mouth still, the vodka he never got to taste two weeks before in a bar, along with something fruity. Your gum, maybe, or an orange that you sucked clean off its peel. “And then what? Did you hop off after you faked your way through a few nights with him and head for Steve’s? Hm?”

“Temper, temper, James,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his. His entire body is alight, every nerve shooting sensations through his limbs as your fingers curl against the nap of his neck. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“Jealous, yeah.” His hand on your thigh trails up and inward, sneaking past the hem of your shorts as you lower your leg to hook on his calf, pulling him infinitely closer. His dick is pressing against his swim shorts, completely obvious and painfully hard against your navel as he shifts his hips just enough to let his hand sneak further up your shorts. “Why would I be jealous?”

His fingers find the silky slip of your bikini bottom and brush over the junction of your hip, smirking at the tremble he can feel course through your body.

“You wanted me that night at the bar,” you whisper as he slowly trails deeper inward. “Tell me that isn’t true.”

“Who didn’t, hm?” He smirks when you turn your face away, biting your lip at his fingers dancing around a spot already slickening with anticipation. “C’mon, princess. You telling me you didn’t wear that black dress for me? Look at me.”

You refuse and he rubs his thumb into the side of your neck, dipping his head to bite at your collarbones.

“Look at me, princess,” he whispers, lifting his head to see your defiant gaze meeting his. “Tell me the truth about the black dress.”

“I didn’t wear it for you,” you bite back softly, “to fuck me in.” His hand tightens, just barely around your neck and your eyes flutter shut. Oh, how badly he wants to ravage your lips, lock you in this room and just take you in every way you want…

“Trying to make me jealous, kitten?” he rasps as your hips roll against his dick and you bite your lip, chin tilting up as your nails dig into his skin. Because it worked.

“So what if I was?”

“Then, you’re going to have to pay for it.” He spins you around and moves to shove his shorts just past his hips. You let out a sharp exhale at the pressure of his hand against the back of his neck, your hands pressed flat against the door. “You got anything to say for yourself, princess?”

His swim shorts fall and he tugs your shorts down just past your ass, tracing the smooth curve of it with an arrogant curve to his lip. His lips find your neck, nipping lightly before raising to your ear.

“I asked you a question.” His hand lands on your ass, kneading it with warm, familiar fingers and his words are a warning. In the silence, he can almost hear you rolling your eyes, struggling not to moan when he feathers smooth skin, tempts you with tiny brushes between the legs.

“You gonna keep talking, Barnes, or you gonna prove a point?”

His fingers hook on your bikini bottom, pulling the elastic away with an amused grin before letting it snap back against your skin.

“I don’t know. Are you gonna continue being a fucking brat?” He squeezes your neck, fingers digging into the soft flesh and you almost seem to melt against the door before he drags those bikini bottoms down too. Rolling his hips flush against your ass, he smirks when you shudder and try to thrust him in with a messy jerk back. “Aw, did you miss this?”

“Wouldn’t miss a thing about you,” you reply but it comes out strangled as his other hand wraps around your hip, travels down your navel. It wraps around your waist, keeps you tight against him as you smother his wrist between the door and your hips. When his fingers find your bud, you let out a soft sigh at the pressure he begins to rub into you and he smirks, biting the shell of your ear.

“C’mon, princess. You can admit it if you like,” he murmurs. Your fingers dig into the wood as you try to push yourself—in what direction, away from his hand, towards it, Bucky doesn’t know. He reaches farther down, fingers tracing through slick heat and he chuckles huskily against your skin, biting lightly into the junction of your neck and shoulder. “‘S that all for me?”

“Shut up,” you growl. Your eyes flash to him and he pushes you flush against the door, your head falling back against his shoulder as cock nestles itself between your cheeks. So close, not quite there. His hand on your neck travels forward, crooking inward and his fingers wrap around a silky neck from the front. He can feel every beat of your heart, the raspy whistle of your breathing. Lips falling to your exposed neck, Bucky sucks marks he knows are going to last if he doesn’t stop himself soon but two weeks has been two weeks too long— “Barnes.”

“Relax… it’s been a while since you’ve had a proper fuck.”

“Cocky bastard.”

“Needy brat.”

Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers work at a languid pace inside you. He knows every nook and cranny, every angle that brings you euphoria and he grinds his palm against your clit with every thrust, arrogant smile growing when you melt back onto his shoulder, lips slightly parted.

“Don’t have time for foreplay,” you finally manage to croak and you turn to look at him, eyes surprisingly clear for having his fingers in your soaking heat and working you up a steady incline.

“It’s the fucking beach, kitten. They won’t be in a rush to get anywhere.” Your lips are tantalizing up close and he chuckles, fingers pressing gently into your pulse. “How quiet can you be?”

“Try me,” you breathe, chest heavy and eyes filling with assured focus, “bitch.”

Challenge accepted.

Nudging your legs ever so lightly apart, he is about to push in. He can feel your heart beating through your back, a quick, racing drum and your breasts heave with every anticipating breath.

“James! Y/N! Wanna meet Steve at the beach?”

Natasha’s voice breaks the humid tension like a hot knife through butter, and your eyes fly open as if you’ve risen from a trance and he growls, not quite moving yet.

To say nothing raises suspicion.

He hates it here.

“Sure!” Bucky yells back right into your ear, much to your displeasure and he shrugs, trying to repress the smirk as his hand drops and playfully squeezes your breast. You return with a subtle nip to his jaw and he steps back. Your shoulders drop and you turn around, leaning against the door with a soft, condescending smile. Your eyes are blown with a mistiness and your thighs press together as he sucks his fingers clean. Your gaze narrows, he smirks with glee.

“What was that about not being in a rush to get anywhere?” you ask, dismissively sweeping your gaze up and down his body before grabbing your pants and pulling them up. His eyes follow the slow trail of the fabric and he sighs softly between parted lips. “Play one of those audios I know you’ve got on your phone. Can’t ever get enough of me, can you, soldier boy?”

“Don’t put yourself on a pedestal, princess.”

“I’m not.” You pick up your bags and open the door, letting cool sea wind sweep into the room that was cloudy with heat and lust. He can’t help the smile that digs into his cheeks despite how disappointed he is as you shrug innocently. You play the part so well. “It’s just the facts.”

Not for the first time, Bucky is left with the thought that Rumlow doesn’t deserve a second of your time.

.

It’s near the end of the month, the very last day. The thirty-first of May.

You broke up with your stupid boyfriend three days ago. He knows because he looked at your Instagram only to find all the pictures with him gone.

But he wasn’t stalking. He was just…

Curious.

Also, Natasha FaceTimed him and Steve, ranting all about it. So, he came upon this naturally.

Not stalking at all.

“Hey.” Bucky’s lying flat on his bed, naked and the sheets are too warm as he hears you pick up with a disgruntled sigh. “You awake?”

“Am now.” You don’t sound too heartbroken but your voice is a bit thicker than he remembers as you sniff. “What do you want?”

“Are you sick?”

“No, I was crying.”

He arches an eyebrow at your blunt response but doesn’t continue that line of interrogation. “Where are you staying?”

“Why does it matter to you? What do you want?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to come over, princess,” he replied dryly. “But if you’re on the streets, I can come pick you up.”

“I’m not on the streets,” you reply sharply in a way that makes Bucky doubt your words. “But fine. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Princess,” he begins but you cut him off.

“I just needa pack some things. See you in twenty.”

You hang up without another word. He lets his cellphone drop with a heavy sigh, sitting up and pulling on some boxers and some ratty old university hoodie.

It’s another fifteen minutes before there’s a knock on the door and he moves from the kitchen to the door, abandoning the orange juice he poured to pass the time. Swinging open the door to reveal that pretty face, he smirks to hide the concerned expression threatening to overtake his face. You look like hell, heavy eye bags and a wariness that he’s not used to seeing on your bold face. You’ve got luggage by your legs and a backpack is strapped to you as you regard him.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

“You called me, remember?” you reply dryly. He steps aside, inviting you in. Walking in, toeing off your sneakers, and shedding your jacket, you let your backpack drop as Bucky pulls your luggage in. “Woke me up and everything.”

“Yeah, I bet I woke you up from your beauty sleep,” he snorts and you roll your eyes as his eyes trail over the dull skin of your shoulders, the limpness of your hair. He closes the door behind him, an unfamiliar tug pulling at his stomach. “Your boyfriend didn’t even give you time to find a new place?”

“No. And he’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

“Just a guy you used to fuck on occassion who couldn’t even make you come,” he says sagely and you sigh, rolling your eyes again.

“Are you describing yourself?” The words make blue eyes flash to meet yours and you smirk at the dangerous warning glimmering in his irises. Cocking your head, you shrug and lean against his dining table. “So, what do you want?”

“Why do I ever call you here if it isn’t for fucking you, huh, princess?” he muses, but even he can’t find the reason anymore. Whatever libido he was housing had melted in the time between you hanging up and you arriving at his apartment. As you stand before him, his blue eyes flicker from your exhausted face to the way your body seems strung out and on high alert. He sighs, too. “I didn’t want you in some seedy motel where the locks don’t work and the concierge is probably on the registered sex offender’s list. That sound good enough for you?”

You smile, the only thing familiar about you, and it sends a wave of relief through him. “Being nice isn’t your colour, Barnes.”

“Go take a shower,” he retorts, plucking your bag from the floor by your feet and he notices you don’t protest when he grabs your jacket and throws it in the hamper. “Then, we’ll talk.”

“Fine.” You’re unnaturally obedient as you head silently for the bathroom and he brings your luggage to the living room, setting it by the couch and laying it flat. Unzipping it quickly, he grabs the clean clothes he can find right off the bat and goes into his room to put them on his bed so you can grab them as soon as you come out. You’re standing in his bathroom, shedding your tank top and he grabs some clean towels.

It’s a strangely intimate silence as he offers you the towels and you dip your head in thanks. He can see the beginnings of a bruise on your bicep and he reaches tenderly for it, fingers barely brushing your skin.

“Did he—” The anger comes unbridled, hot and heavy and dark, in his voice and you don’t even jerk out of his touch. You’re completely relaxed in his presence as you look at your reflection in the mirror, so unlike a few minutes before when you’d been a ball of tension and you shake your head. His thumb gently digs into your skin and he can feel the pulsing heat of it. It’s fresh. Not even a day old, probably.

“No. I was walking and it was dark. Guy was coming out of a cab and didn’t see me standing there. Got whacked by the door,” you assure, pulling your arm out of his loose hold. Unbuttoning your pants, you continue to undress as he stands there, eyebrows knitting together. The air is wrought with an energy he’s unfamiliar with and he withdraws but your hand reaches for his wrist. Wide eyes dart to your face and he’s shocked by the surprisingly soft smile pulling at your lips. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, uh, sure. Hungry?”

You let go of his wrist and his skin is tingling. He rubs at it absently as you nod, your strange smile ever present. “Starving.”

“I’ll whip you something to eat.”

As he’s stirring Kraft Dinner around in a bowl, he listens to the shower run and thinks.

Or doesn’t think.

Time seems to pass in such a strange way. He’s cooking for you and you’re in his shower and nothing about this is normal or something he’s used to, but it’s not something he hates.

The shower turns off just as he’s sliding the mac into a bowl and he pours you a glass of water before finishing his own abandoned cup of orange juice.

Your footfalls are light and you smell like his shampoo as you sit down at his kitchen island, clad in the clothes he laid out for you.

“It’s just some Kraft I had lying around,” he says uneasily, pushing the bowl towards you but you take it anyway with a shrug and a easygoing smile. You look more awake after the shower and colour has worked its way back into your lips. There’s new life in your eyes as you eat and Bucky, satisfied, heads for the couch just to watch whatever’s on until you’re done.

Everything seems so strange, mundane, almost… domestic as you eat, scroll your phone, and he watches The Dark Knight just because it’s on. He watches the movie blindly, his mind still going a mile a minute and his body unintentionally becoming attune to yours in a way he only knows with when he’s fucking you.

But now, he knows how you move, knows when you’re putting your bowl in the sink and knows when you’re walking towards him by the way his heart starts beating just a millisecond quicker, the gentle give of his couch as you sit down beside him. Your eyes burn into his cheek and he glances at you out of the corner of your eye.

“Come here,” he allows, lifting his arm from the pillow and you scoot closer, pulling the pillow into your lap and hugging it tight. He rests his arm along the back of the couch. “You didn’t die of food poisoning. Pity.”

“You’d have to be truly something to fuck up Kraft Dinner, Barnes,” you reply dryly, smirking at him and he suppresses a snort as you tuck your knees up. “It was good. Although, I hope you’re not living off of that stuff.”

“I do take out every once in a while,” he says with a shrug and you roll your eyes.

“I’m a college student and I can cook better than you.”

“You’re one year younger than me. We’re not so different.”

“Whatever you say.”

Bucky can’t help the amused smile edging its way onto his face as you fall into silence, watching the movie, too. One thing Bucky’s always liked about you, even if he didn’t like anything else, is that you share a lot of the same interests as him. They had whole rants on how terrible some movies were, or the disappointment that was some TV finales. It always made pillow talk a fun time, if they ever made it to that stage. 

It was more often than not either of them would wake up before the other and just head out without a single word.

Bucky finds he likes your companionable silence more than he thought he would. Maybe he should’ve indulged pillowtalk a bit more. By the small, sated smile on your lips, he wonders if you’re thinking the same thing.

“You know,” you say after a while, “when I said at the beach house that you wanted me…” Your voice rouses Bucky from his trance of staring at the TV. The credits are rolling and he hadn’t even realized. So lost in his thoughts he was near the end, thinking about Rachel’s letter to Bruce and hyper aware of your every shift in your seat beside him, the movie seemed to pass by in a blink.

Something about the long lost melancholy of lost chances…

Bucky’s never been fucking sentimental, but even he can see the chance that Bruce Wayne really… really missed out on, and the blue-eyed man doesn’t want to be in that position ever. To do the right thing only to find out it’s too late. Because she died in the end, didn’t she? She died and he was alone even though he tried…

“What?”

“At the beach house,” you repeat. “When I basically told you that you wanted me…” you say with a roll of your eyes, “it was just teasing, foreplay.” Then, more seriously: “But I guess I was being like Two-Face. Double entendres, innuendos, all that.”

“You’re going to become a vengeful, homicidal DA?” he quips wryly and you huff in faux irritation, poking him lightly in the chest.

“No. God, use that brain inside that pretty little head of yours for once.”

“Aw, you called me pretty.”

“Barnes.”

“Fine. Continue.”

“Well, what I was saying… When I said you wanted me… God, this is stupid. Feel free to just punch me in the face after, but…”

“But?” Eyebrows knitting together, he looks at you and you pull the blanket up to your face, embarrassment telltale in the way you avert your eyes. He gently pushes the blanket down, muting the TV and waiting patiently. You look more alive that you did the first minute you walked into your apartment and you look like you want to bury yourself in the blankets but he’s not going anywhere and you stare at him, lips pressed into a flustered line. “I’m not going to punch you in the face. You can just tell me.”

“I guess… I just... I wanted to believe that you wanted me,” you state, shaking your head, “for me. Like some affirmation that there’s a possibility you could ever want me like that, and… I’m being dumb. I swear I’m not usually like this, all sentimental and shit, but it’s just I feel like shit and you don’t care about any of that and Brock… I broke up with him because I know he doesn’t love me even if he says he does and that I deserve better but I just… it gets to me, you know? It fucking gets to me when I’m all alone and now I am alone and if he didn’t put me first... maybe it’s because I’m not wanted.”

“Hey, princess,” he murmurs, reaching for your hands and you surrender to him easily as he cranes his head to keep your eye contact despite you ducking your head. “I don’t judge you for any of that shit and that’s wrong. He’s a fucking prick, and people want you here. Romanoff, Steve, Sam…” Me.

“I know. I know and I just… I’m scared because I have nowhere to go. And, you’re always honest with me, and just slap me in the face because… I can’t believe I’m asking you this what if… what if everyone’s gonna treat me like Brock did? What if no one will ever really want me?

There’s a beat.

Then, two.

He’s squeezing your hands so hard he’s surprised you haven’t drawn away but then he realizes your fingers are clutching onto him even tighter, his bones wincing as you crush his digits.

“It’s stupid. I’m stupid—”

“No, you’re not.” Bucky shakes his head and you—fourth year college student and someone he shouldn’t be attached to because you two are so different but he is because you two are so alike—are something else. No one has gotten under his skin like you have.

You’re not fucking stupid. Because I do want you. In a way. In more than one way. And you are irritating and burn so fucking bright and you’re fucking bold, but—

I want you.

He doesn’t say any of that.

And it’s complicated, but that’s how the universe fucking works.

“You’re free to stay here for however long you need to,” he tells you quietly, seriously. “I don’t care how long it is, and there are no catches. Just… just don’t give that fucker another chance, yeah? ‘Cause there’s always gonna be someone who wants you, kitten. Someone who’ll treat you right.”

You smile faintly, knees tucked to your chest and hair still a bit damp from your shower. You’re warm, soft, with no cigarette smoke clouding your silhouette and no glossy sheen of alcohol. You look like you in a way Bucky’s never known before.

He thinks this beats you in any kind of black dress.

“Okay,” you accept and you lean over first to kiss him. It’s a soft peck to the corner of his mouth, an innocent, flitting thing, but Bucky doesn’t mind. He eases against the couch and you lean against his chest, cuddling close against him. His arm falls around your shoulders, holding you tight to him and you melt against him just like he does around you.

For a moment, Bucky wonders how the fuck he got into this situation.

Then again, he’s not complaining.

The view is fucking stellar.

[masterjedilenawrites]

I’m not good at making requests, so forgive me if anything come out wrong.

But, could you do something were reader and Tech are fixing some eletronics and listening to cientific things, and start talking about a wrong thing people said there, so they get distracted and when realize, they’re in to a awkward position (like him btween her legs or sth like that)

I love your writing and thanks (: <3

Omg I've been so soft for Tech lately and this prompt is perfect 💚 I hope this is what you were looking for, I really enjoyed writing it!

Tech x reader | 2k words

...making bacta the most important scientific achievement in history...

"Dank farrik," Tech huffed beside you.

You came out of your daze at the sudden exclamation and looked at your friend with concern, trying to quickly figure out what had gone wrong. You were helping him with a project, though what it was exactly you weren't completely certain of. All you knew was it involved digging into the walls of the ship and untangling a lot of wires. You'd been instructed to hold onto several of them, keeping them pulled taught out of the wall so Tech could fiddle with the other ends, and the dullness of the task had caused your mind to wander.

"What's wrong?" you asked, doubtful you'd understand any explanation, but wanting to be sure you hadn't done anything to mess up his progress.

He waved a hand at you dismissively, not pulling his attention away from the work in front of him. "Just the radio," he mumbled.

You hadn't been paying attention; it had only been turned on as background noise to keep you from going insane with boredom. And since it was tuned into some kind of scientific news frequency, you didn't really understand much of what was being said anyway.

...with the most influential application simply being in the field of medicine, providing us higher life forms with a versatile tool in maintaining our quality of life, and potentially even prolonging it...

Tech huffed again. Scoffed. Your mouth quirked at how upset he was getting. It was kind of cute.

But, you had to debate whether engaging with his frustration would be worth it. He had only recently calmed down from his outburst earlier that day, the only time you had ever seen him genuinely upset. Wrecker had accidentally knocked over a piece of machinery that was... well, something very important, apparently. No one was too sure. But Tech had spent most of the week carefully arranging its parts just-so, so that when all his hard work went crashing onto the floor, his breathing had suddenly resembled that of a charging Nexu. He'd drawn himself up, trying to match his brother's height, and ordered the poor guy to never step foot in this part of the ship again. The other Batchers had tried to defend him and were subsequently banned as well.

That left you as the only option for help.

Maybe that meant he wouldn't kick you out for debating him....

"Sounds like they're saying some pretty reasonable things. Am I missing something?"

Tech's fingers, which had been deftly working through the wires before him, clipping some and splicing others, finally froze. The clone's face tilted over to you, his eyes looking a little too judgmental through those glasses for your liking.

"You think bacta is the most important scientific achievement?" he asked. You didn't like his tone, either.

You scrunched your mouth in thought, actually giving the question serious consideration. While you mulled it over, Tech stood up from his hunched position in the wall and started pulling on some of the wires, unraveling them from their tangled mess.

"Yeah," you finally decided. "I think medicine in general is pretty important. And bacta specifically is the strongest known substance to deliver fast and effective healing."

Tech was mostly focused on the wires, but he spared you a glance.

"And treating symptoms is the most important thing for humanity? Here, hold this." He added another wire for you to hold in your hands.

You knew it was a loaded question so you chose to answer it with one of your own. "Well if it's not bacta or medicine, then what would it be?"

"Electricity," he said quickly and assertively, as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. He continued to focus more on his work and you were annoyed he didn't seem to want to offer up an explanation to his opinion, despite having made you give one. He'd finally untangled the wires and was back to leaning into the cavern in the wall and setting them into their proper places.

"Why electricity?" You hated how dumb your question sounded; obviously you understood the concept and understood its importance. You just really wanted to challenge him to give you some explanations.

"For one, most medicines would not be able to be mass-produced were it not for the electrically-run vats in which they are made." He held his hand out behind him and made a grabbing motion. "Blue, please."

You sorted out the blue wire and passed it over.

"For another," he continued, his voice sounding distant as he leaned further away into the wall, "we must ask what constitutes a quote-unquote important achievement. For example, is an achievement worthy of the title simply because it improves our quality of life? Green, please."

You handed over the corresponding wire. "I'd say it's more about preserving life. Even outside of war, there's enough injury and illness that would end life were it not for medicine to heal them."

"Ah, but in that same reasoning, electricity also sustains life. It powers sources of light and warmth, which can also provide a means of boiling water and cooking food. All keys to survival. Yellow, please."

"So does fire," you shot back. "People survived long before electricity, and there's still plenty of civilizations living fine without it."

Tech finally emerged from the wall and took the last few wires from you, the red and black ones. He met your eyes with an earnestness that let you know how much he was enjoying this conversation. "And people have survived without medicine. At least the manufactured forms that you're arguing for, like bacta. Traditional medicine is as sufficient as fire."

Before you could respond, Tech moved to the side, motioning toward the wall with his head and holding up the remaining wires.

"Now, unfortunately these last ones need to be clipped in down below. I'm not able to fit through the lattice of the floor, but someone of your stature easily could."

You stepped forward and peered down. It was a mess of machinery and pipes and beams, but you could clearly see the port where the wires had been yanked out earlier. You knelt down, resting your stomach on the edge of the wall, but paused before bending over.

"If it wasn't for bacta, you wouldn't have been born." You were confident in your comeback and thus didn't linger for his reaction, turning to bend down into the ship with your wires instead.

You were disappointed to hear his soft chuckle from above you.

"And what do you think powers the bacta tanks that hold the clone embryos?"

You were glad he couldn't see the frustrated frown on your face. While you tried to think of a new point in your debate, you snapped the red wire into the proper port. But then you realized you couldn't quite reach the black one, and started carefully shimmying forward, deeper into the wall.

"It seems we have circled back to the initial question," Tech offered in your silence. You felt his hands hold on to your hips, steadying you as your legs lifted from the floor, most of your body now inside the ship. You didn't think anything of it, though, your focus split between your task and his words. "What makes an achievement the most important? Both medicine and electricity are capable of preserving life, but neither are essential to survival. So, what criteria are we left with?"

You were finally within reach of the last port and pushed the wire into it. "Sounds like you already have the right answer, so why don't you stop teasing me and just say it?" you called up to him.

"I...I didn't mean to sound like I was teasing."

You could hear the apology in his voice, how truly caught off guard he was to hear that you had perceived his attempts at a friendly debate, a conversation, as mocking or disrespectful. Your stomach knotted up in guilt, making your journey to wiggle back out of the wall a little more difficult.

"I'm sorry, Tech," you said through a grunt as you tried to push yourself back. "I didn't mean to sound rude. I just don't know the answer."

You felt his arms snake around your middle, pulling you the last of the way out. You came to rest on your knees, breathing heavily at the sudden increase in air supply. Tech was crouched alongside you, his chest against part of your back, his arms still holding you.

"I honestly don't know the answer, either," he blinked down at you, speaking quietly. "I don't know what criteria would constitute the most important scientific achievement. I thought maybe we could figure it out if we kept discussing it."

You craned your neck around to look at him, unconcerned about the discomfort it took to do so. You needed to face him fully. "Or... maybe we don't need to figure it out? I mean, does there need to be one achievement labeled more important than any other? Can they not all be valued equally?"

"I suppose..." he relented. But only a little. "It is a fun thought exercise, though."

You smiled at that, and it made your heart flutter a little to see him return the expression. There were a few seconds between you where you sat pleasantly in each other's arms... before the realization hit that you were in each other's arms.

"Uh," Tech stuttered first. His eyes looked about frantically as if the more he saw of you practically sitting in his lap, the more he would know what to do about it.

Your face was hot and your heart thumped forcefully in your chest. But you weren't panicking. Even though you'd been around the Bad Batch for a while now, this was the first time you'd gotten physically close to any of them, especially this dorky genius, who made you feel just a little better about life than the others did. You hadn't been sure why, not until this moment, your face being mere inches away from his own. Now it clicked.

His arms had removed themselves from your frame and he was starting to crawl backward on the floor. You quickly grasped his shoulder to stop him.

"Tech, wait."

He froze, looking at you with wide, apprehensive eyes. His shoulder was tense so you relaxed your grasp and simply let your hand rest on it gently. You gave him a small smile. Thankfully these little gestures were enough encouragement for him to lean back to you. He still looked at you timidly, but he wasn't pulling away anymore. It seemed like maybe he had been feeling the same things about you.

"Yes?"

He was waiting for you to make the next move.

"So, this project," you stalled, needing just a little more time to work up the courage. "What is it again? Why did I just crawl into the bowels of the ship?"

Your face was creeping closer to his, breath gently fanning across each other, warm but refreshing.

"I... I..." Tech seemed to be short-circuiting. "I was just, uh, re... redecorating."

Your nose had just brushed his when you suddenly frowned and moved back to look at him questioningly. "Redecorating... wires?"

You were very amused at how flustered he seemed to be in this situation. But then the tables turned as Tech rolled with it.

"Yeah, I didn't like the way they looked in there. Wanted to change things up. You know me."

The smile on our face spread as he talked and you couldn't hold back your laughter any longer. You bent forward, resting your forehead in the crook of his neck while your body convulsed with giggles. Tech laughed along, bringing his arms back around you to hold you in place. When you finally looked up at him and the shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face, you knew you'd finally found your courage.

"Oh, Tech..." you chided, pressing your smiling lips against his own.

[illumilu]

“there’s only one bed” - chrollo lucilfer x reader

a/n: a very stereotypical cliche for fanfics, but, yk what? cringe is heavily underappreciated. so here, have my drabbling of what would happen if you were to spend an unwanted night in the same hotel bed as the adultrio. for the last part, we’re taking a look at chrollo lucilfer! also! this may suck!

summary: you arrive at the hotel with chrollo, your childhood friend and colleague, but to your horror (wink wink), there’s only one bed. this is part three of a three-part series, with the adultrio. hisoka and illumi are already written so i suppose that concludes the series!

warnings: no particular trigger warnings, lowercase intended, a lot of fluff! and cuddling! chrollo being his usual self, charming but kinda dead ,,, except this time he’s not using you (cough neon nostrade) ... no nsfw :)

chrollo lucilfer:

- chrollo lucilfer was an undeniably enticing man.

- you two had just exited the train station, and were now walking to your hotel. 

- why had this trip been planned? well, chrollo had bought reservations, claiming he “had something private to say” one night. honestly, he made you nervous sometimes. just what you expected from the leader of an internationally renowned murder gang.

- the refreshing cold air chilled your face, as you walked along the damp pavement. the large, multistory hotel loomed in the distance, like an upright torch in a sea of gray. you turned to look at chrollo. 

- “it’s cold, isn’t it?” 

- “astounding observation.” he smiled audaciously.

- growing up alongside them hadn’t been easy for you; after all, meteor city was dilapidated. after leaving the place, you had found the estimated population to be around 8 million people. funnily enough, it had never felt like that many.

- you still remembered the day chrollo had formed the phantom troupe. you had watched as he set out the rules standing proudly on the trash-pile; as he described the metaphorical spider and its immortality. 

- personally, you hated spiders. too many legs.

- either way, you stayed there, listening, observing - you had seen them running around the city before, laughing and playing together. how could people be so happy in such an obscure place? 

- meteor city; it was almost... suffocating. the fact that no one acknowledged the residents, even as a collective percentage, chilled you to your core. you wanted to be known. you guessed that was why you were still alongside chrollo today.

- you supposed the only way to get through the maddening sense of compression was with friendship. alas, you didn’t really have many friends. it was always hard to find them. therefore, you would check to see what chrollo’s group were doing together, but would never join unless invited.

- that fateful night, the ignition of the troupe; truly a day to remember. 

- as soon as you had turned around from behind some abandoned trash, chrollo had slowly turned to look at you. you had been listening as he mused about the phantom troupe’s intentions. he had personally seen you around the junkyard many times. always watching. waiting for something? no, just observing. here you were, eyes on him, yet again.

- a pause. you could feel everyone’s eyes on you. but it wasn’t humiliating; it was exhilarating. 

- you still remembered the way you had cursed yourself for thinking like that. why had you come out from your hiding place? you didn’t want anything to do with this group; killing people, stealing things, wandering astray from the path of morality... what was this?

- “did you hear everything?” he had asked.

- “yes.” you whispered.

- your eyes lifted to meet his. you knew almost nothing of where that day would eventually lead you. you shared a long stare that night, almost childish, waiting for him to say something. you could swear his eyes were boring into your soul.

- “you don’t want to join, do you?”

- you gulped and looked at the dirt beneath you.

- “no.”

- things had changed since then.

- you had never did end up joining the phantom troupe. it was too chaotic for you. but, you did end up sticking around and, somehow, you came to know each of the troupe members extremely well.

- whenever they’d rendezvous and cause destruction, you’d always be there, observing from the sidelines. chrollo liked to call it your “unofficial bond”. having spent a lot of your time with the interchanging 13, you knew their likes and dislikes, and often helped them out when they couldn’t get information. for some reason, you felt as if chrollo trusted you with this greatly. 

- rarely, you got to spend time with him alone. you two were undoubtedly closer than any other pairs from the troupe, yet it was more of an unspoken connection than a full-blown one. compared to, let’s say, nobunaga and uvogin, and no one would have even speculated chrollo and you being as close.

- nevertheless, you loved when you got to spend time with him; whenever he loosened his idiotic “i’m the leader and we’re going to kill hundreds of people now!” demeanor, he was actually quite the gentleman. 

- back to the present, you scoffed and continued walking; each breath made a little cloud in front of you, making you grin a little. when you were younger, you had always pretended to smoke whenever it was cold enough for it to happen.

- “you’re such a child.” chrollo said, adjusting his beige headband. you often wondered why he decided to get a tattoo on his forehead. troupe matters, you supposed. finally reaching the grand entrance to the hotel, chrollo pushed the gold revolving door, with an ironic “after you” look. you went through hastily, raising an eyebrow at him on the way in.

- the lobby was truly extravagant, full of grandeur that you had never seen before. you could only begin to fathom how much money the troupe got from stealing. 

- honestly, you really felt like smacking chrollo. what right did he have to take you to such a huge place? with his own laundered money? that he probably earned from making someone else’s life hell? you opened your mouth to protest. he promptly interrupted you.

- “be quiet, y/n. you know have money to spend, so why shouldn’t i spend it on you? just this once?”

- that was a lie. he knew he would definitely do something like this again.

- your mouth closed, knowing the same thing. you sighed momentarily and went off to sit on a weirdly smooth velvet couch in the lobby.

- while absentmindedly checking in, chrollo began thinking about what exactly he was going to say to you. truthfully, there was no real reason for him bringing you here, to the hotel. it was just, lately, he had been feeling strangely drawn to you. you had a certain warm magnetism that contrasted his philosophical coldness. whenever you sat together, he felt some sort of strange exaltation, just by looking at you. whenever you smiled, he couldn’t help but smile back. he had also become considerably happier.

- “wow, boss~ you seem jokier these days~”

- the thought of hisoka made him wince, driving him back to the clerk in front of him. 

- as he stared back at you, who was currently trying to figure out whether you could take the hotel magazines for free, he closed his eyes and let out a light breath. 

- you jolted as chrollo stood before you, tapping you on the shoulder. loosening your grip on the cheap magazine, you glared at him. 

- “keys.” he said, dangling them above you.

- “chrollo. don’t tell anyone. but i think have a plan.” 

- “what? y/n, y-”

- you grinned, grabbed the keys and started towards the stair doors, yanking chrollo’s sleeve along with you. he ran behind you, making quite the commotion as you two thundered up the switchback stairs, shoes scuffing along the floor. through ragged breaths and giggles, he asked you why in god’s name you were going so fast.

- stopping abruptly to catch your breath, you told him to look at your hands, with an impish look on your face.

- the hotel magazine, crumpled in your hands.

- he furrowed his brow at you, laughing confusedly at your antics. you often helped him unwind with your spontaneous, stupid acts, and he was grateful for it. chrollo was someone who didn’t recognize how much they needed a break until they got one. he truly enjoyed how you just treated him as a normal person. since you weren’t part of the troupe, he wasn’t your “boss”. he supposed he was your... friend.

- you slowly made your way up to the room with him. despite him being unnervingly annoying sometimes, you enjoyed every moment with chrollo. every look you shared with him, every joke you had made.

-  even when he was being serious you couldn’t help but admire his twisted resolve. often, you’d brush hands and sparks of ecstasy would rush to your heart. you guessed that was what happened when people were close. but what was “close”? you often found yourself mulling over the classifications of love, even if it wasn’t specifically about him. of course, you could love someone as a friend; what was romance, anyways?

- if there was one thing you had in common with chrollo, it was your interest in human emotion.

- chrollo had always been fascinated by the human psyche; so much so that it seemed like he knew what people were about to say before they even uttered a word. he too found himself musing over love; occasionally, you two would sit together and debate where each emotion stemmed from.

- however, no matter how equal you were, chrollo could always predict what you were about to say, never vice versa. he chalked it down to knowledge and experience, yet he found it ironic that emotions were his interest. he speculated the reason for it, and once, very wisely, said that “humans are always interested in what they do not have.”

- you reached the room fairly quickly, roused from the race up the stairs. half of you had already forgotten about what chrollo “wanted to tell you”; he opened the door and walked in first.

- “hey, wait out here for a second, i have a surprise.” he said, closing the door so it was only jarred open a little.

- nodding, you turned around, waiting in the lit hallway.

- chrollo turned to look at the room.

- wait.

- shit.

- a singular queen-sized bed stood in the middle of the room. 

- chrollo blinked.

- he could have sworn he asked for two twin beds. blinking a few more times, beginning to sweat a little, he jolted as your voice came from the door; “chrollo, is it ready?”

- “no, not yet, stay there!” he shouted, pacing towards the hotel phone, frantically dialling room service.

- “hello?”

- “good evening. how may we help you?”

- “yeah, uh, so you see, i’m in room 444 and i definitely, most certainly booked two beds, not one - would you mind checking?”

- “no problem! it says here that you booked one queen sized bed, with two reservations. are you sure you didn’t misclick? perhaps the room was booked by someone else?”

- suddenly, chrollo remembered; shalnark did all his computer work. that bloody, meddling... no, he shouldn’t say that. he had nothing but gratitude for all the troupe members. some were very, very, very difficult to like, however.

- “are there any spare rooms around?”

- “yes, of course! but moving will cost around-”

- “chrollo?” you interrupted, peeking around the doorframe. 

- you blinked. 

- the bed was... larger... and more... singular than expected.

- “y/n! there’s been a mistake... just; bear with me, okay? everything will be fine. i just need to pay a-”

- darting to where he was, you grabbed the phone and slammed it back onto the receiver. you grabbed chrollo by the shoulders, shaking him violently (rather dramatically, too).

- “what do you think you’re doing? i tell you to stop spending money on me, and here you are, spending the money you got from murdering people?” 

- you did not like the idea of sleeping in the same bed as chrollo one bit. however, you hated the idea of having him use his dark money on you way more. here he was, about to spend it on a simple matter. the persistent bastard.

- “whatever you say.” he murmured.

- “look, just think of it as a fun sleepover. no need for things to be awkward.”

- you were right. nothing would happen. childish as you were together, both of you knew boundaries. despite the recent appeal you had to him, he knew that your comfort was more important than anything.

- both agreeing to get some sleep, you changed into more comfy clothes and met back at the bed. 

- something you often overlooked was how pretty chrollo was. grayish-brown pupils that, to the gullible eye, seemed neutral and boring, but to you seemed like a world of wonder and speculation. his eyelashes seemed almost delicate, unaware of how beautiful they were. his lips always looked cold, with a reddish tinge, yet somehow fit harmoniously with the rest of his features. it was no secret that his muscles were extremely defined, as you had seen whenever he wore his coat. somehow, his skin was smooth and pale all over, not comparable to porcelain, but better; it had the duality to glow with pride or to appear a solemn gray. his hands were almost never without a book, yet when they were occupied with something else, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his elegant fingers. his hair, admittedly odd when slicked back, wisped across his face, fluffy as always. your eyes riveted on his.

- “what did you want to tell me?”

- shit. in the heat of all the issues, he had forgotten to think of something.

- what did he want to tell you? everything about himself, honestly. who he was, what he wished to do, his own personality, his philosophies. the dilemma was, he did not know himself. 

- who am i?

- the pressing question that bugged him so, that tugged at his sleeve like a child he wished he could ignore. the word that fit chrollo best was, “enigma”. he truly wanted to find himself, but what did that even mean? he spent his life growing from nothing, becoming nothing and, despite having the largest reputation in the world, still feeling like nothing. yet, it was something that was locked within you that opened him. the buzz of emotion he had felt from you; that had been something. pride and happiness were good, all in all, but you defined him. you gave him something to live for. of course, chrollo still stood by death as if it was an old companion, but some tiny part of him would feel remorse if he ever died. remorse for leaving you behind. that had never happened with anyone else. the closer he became to you, the more he had a meaning. he contemplated; were you his meaning? two souls meant to be intertwined? 

- “y/n.”

- “hm?”

- “love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. do you know who wrote this?”

- a silence met the air.

- “it was william shakespeare. a midsummer night’s dream.” he continued. “yet i wonder, what would one do if they had no mind? if love looks with the mind, yet had nowhere to look from, how would it see?”

- somewhere within you, you sensed he was talking about something very relevant. 

- love would find a way. it would shoot from every outlet it could, from one soul to another; love would find a way to reach someone. conscienceless or aware, love would perpetuate through every single molecule left in someone’s resolve. two ribbons that were meant to find each other would undoubtedly find each other if they their love was strong enough. that is what you thought as you sat there with him, mutually mulling over the question.

- “i think it would find a way, wouldn’t it?” you said.

- “probably so.”

- “that was random, chrollo?” you questioned after a few still moments.

- “i suppose so... i miss times where we talked about the philosophies of the mind.”

- you nodded. you missed them too, even though they were frequent. you yawned tiredly; it was getting late. chrollo advised you to get some rest, which you quickly heeded. slowly, you headed to the left side of the bed. he took the right.

- “do you mind if i turn off the light?”

- “i think i’ll read for a while.” he smiled. typical.

- you turned to your side, dreams of the awaiting night already outstretching their comforting arms. eventually, you slipped into a peaceful sleep.

- chrollo cocked his head to the side to look at you. he watched your chest rise and fall for a few seconds, before promptly returning to his book. 1984 by george orwell. his eyes skimmed over the page, blurred names and metaphors flying indifferently past his eyes; he wished to find the quote that resonated with him every time he had previously read it.

- bingo. 

- “if you loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to give, you still gave him love.”

- chrollo had everything to give to you; yet you did not enjoy any of it. he found that you seemed happiest when you just sat together with him, ruminating, or joking or just sitting there in silence. perhaps the only thing he hadn’t tried was the simplest; the most human. maybe the answer to his infatuation with you was right in front of him.

- a few minutes later, he thought it would be best to sleep. closing the lights, he lay there quietly, falling into a passage of thoughts that soon turned sleepy and incoherent.

- the night passed.

- when morning came, things, once again, were different. 

- chrollo was the first to wake up; fluttering his eyelashes, he soon became fully aware of his situation.

- he was on the other side of the bed.

- something was clinging to him.

- chrollo was clinging back.

- oh my god. he felt your arm wrapped low around his waist, with his doing the exact same around yours. almost like... you were mirroring each other. it was like you were hugging, except, when he looked down, you were still fast asleep. 

- shit. this was weird.

- what did he do? he couldn’t just wake you up and cause a commotion; it was him who had thought “nothing would happen”.

- so much for a goddamned “sleepover”.

- your head was buried in the crook of his chin, so you were cuddling into his chest; the bed had been long enough for you to shuffle down and start hugging him? not to mention, somewhere in the night, you had entirely switched places.

- he couldn’t exactly get up to roll you away, either.

- what a conundrum. silently and rather awkwardly, he waited, still embracing you. this definitely made things exponentially more complicated than they needed to be. 

- after around 10 minutes of waiting, you began to stir a little. 

- blinking a few times to clear your vision, you murmured something unintelligible.

- chrollo, about to pull the biggest bastard move of the century, shut his eyes and pretended to sleep.

- what a jackass.

- pushing away from his body, you stared at him, taking a few moments to register the situation.

- and so, your internal panic monologue began, rapid as ever.

- why the SHIT were you in chrollo’s arms not less than 5 seconds ago? and why had it felt undeniably cosy??? did you hug him? did he hug you? of course he was still sleeping. maybe he wouldn’t get to know. why were you on the other side of the bed? did anything happen? no, you would have remembered. you couldn’t roll him over, either. what the shit. 

- chrollo inconspicuously pretended to wake up, theatrical fake blinking and all. 

- “oh.” he stated blankly.

- you scrunched your face; that was the only thing he could say? meanwhile your soul was rapidly disintegrating?

- “chrollo, i have no idea how that-”

- “certainly interesting.” he interrupted.

- the best decision was to leave it. right?

- “huh? what? looooook... i think i’m going to go change...” you said, suppressing your fluctuating heartbeat. 

- chrollo sat up, nodding.

- as you left, you began speculating what to do; because you definitely couldn’t ignore this. when you woke up, you had felt safer, more comfortable. why was that? as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t drop the feeling that chrollo and you were something more than friends.

- chrollo, still on the bed, mulled over the various quotes and lines he had picked up. he ruminated over fond memories with you, and that buzzing feeling from earlier. he noticed it had skyrocketed. he felt... meaningful. bottling up his feelings wouldn’t do any good, would it? he had to say something. but it was dangerous. getting into matters like this may get in the way of the troupe. was it worth it? somewhere, he felt as if he already knew. this matter wasn’t exactly trivial. so, would he do it or not?

- subconsciously reaching for 1984 once more, he flicked past the cover and turned to a well-loved page of his. 

- “at the sight of the words, “i love you”, the desire to stay alive had welled up in him, and the taking of minor risks suddenly seemed stupid.”

- as people usually do at urgent times such as these, he realized what had to be done.

- let’s just say; chrollo’s library began to harbor a lot more romance.

dear reader, i sincerely sincerely apologize if ur here rn. i wrote a wholeass 3554 words and i dont want people wasting their time LMFAO, this was so dumb?? i am SO SO sorry for being inactive for weeks, i’ve had exams, but i kind of felt obligated to finish off this series. which once again. i am so sorry for. this one felt even MORE tedious than the illumi one. i feel like the characterization was poor, even though i tried  ,,, but i guess we all take Ls. i’m gonna just let this one be chalked down to my sleep deprivation and hopefully(?) continue writing. thx <3  

either way, likes or reblogs or whatever are super appreciated, but don’t feel forced to or anything! either way, i feel like no one’s gonna see this with my reach LMAOO but anyways thank you for reading, if you made it here! feedback and tips for writing on here are always helpful :)

[lovely-jily]

"you realize that you drive me absolutely mad, right?"

hello friends, as promised here is a little follow up to that fun banter in that last fic that i wrote (if you haven't read it, it's not entirely important but i would suggest it. here's the link)

warning or maybe this is good news, this is a steamy scene, although it's nothing insane.

anyways, here you go you adorable and horny little cuties, luv u<3

James looked up at the sound of high heels walking towards him, a nervous heartbeat echoing its way throughout his entire body.

When she rounded the corner, he felt a short breath escape his lungs as he took the sight of her in.

She was still in her dress, hair still loosely tied up in a low updo. She briefly brushed her soft strands of hair that were framing her face out of the way as she looked at him, leaning against the wall in all his glory.

He was so attractive.

She walked towards him as he stood to his full height and waited for her to meet him, smiling. He was nervous, wondering how this was going to go about and how he would do this smoothly because he was determined to impress this girl.

James had his hands hiding in his pockets, knowing that if they weren't that they would be shaking. "You look- You look nice."

Out of all the things, you settle with 'You look nice"?! James mentally kicked himself, not very pleased with the unwanted reminder that he was not only an idiot but an idiot who was all too entirely smitten with this girl.

While he was making this awareness so much worse, but she honestly had such a calming effect on him it was almost like he didn't realize how much of a mess he was.

Lily placed her hands on her hips; the connection of their eye contact felt magnetic. Her head was tilted slightly, and an all too familiar glint was gleaming in her eye, her face barely lit up from the torches. It was late, well past curfew, but being Head Boy and Girl had its perks. She chuckled and seemed to be debating on whether to address his awkwardness. She seemed to decide to not address it but not let him off the hook either.

"James," She reached out, grabbing his tie securely and used it to pull his body into hers. Because she was pulling his tie into her, their faces were mere centimeters apart, "I'd say that it's best if we skip the whole pointless and awkward small talk and just get to a nice song, yeah?"

He felt his heartbeat pick up as he looked at her, astonished at her directness once again. He loved the way she kept him on his toes and kept him in check. He needed that balance.

"If you insist," He smirked as he quickly and wordlessly picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder as she let out her cackle that he adored so much.

"You're an idiot, you know that, right?" She said, still laughing as he did the code to get into the office.

He set her down, pulling her by her waist into him as his other hand cupped her cheek, "You like it."

She rolled her eyes just as he started kissing her, suddenly forgetting the nervousness that crippled him just seconds before.

His lips were hungry, not wasting time with his tongue, his hands grabbing her as if her body were water and he was dying of dehydration. She returned his energy, tugging at his hair and pulling at his dress robes with a newfound enthusiasm. They were both unaware of how much the other person craved them until this moment.

"How did the rest of your night go?" He asked, bringing his lips to her jawline. He kissed down her neck and onto her chest as Lily let out a heavy breath. His left hand found its way to her waist, the other tightly grasping at her thigh through the slit of her dress.

"It was alright. Yours?" She breathed out, clearly not thinking about whether she actually had an alright night. She was concerned about other things at the moment.

Hearing her heavy breath, noticing how she released her head back only fueled his desire to make her feel good. He had the power to do that to her, he was the one who could give her that release.

James pulled away from her and shrugged, "Turns out that Sirius is a lousy date. The bloke spent more time flirting with people than he spent with me."

She pulled her lips into a soft smile of amusement, her cheeks flushed. James made a mental note to never forget how she looked in this moment, face flushed, lips slightly turned pink from his scruff, and her chest was quickly rising and falling from the quick acceleration in their movements.

"You can't tell me that you're surprised by that."

He sighed, taking the sight of her in, wondering how he was lucky enough to even be in this situation, his hands still planted on her waist, touching her, pleasing her, feeling her. He was a lucky man.

"And you think that Biers is better?"

"Hey," She smirked, tangling her fingers into his curls, "He's honestly quite nice."

"So is Flitwick, but you don't see me trying to get into his pants," James brought one of his hands to her jawline, resting his thumb on her cheek as that inevitable smirk curled up onto where Lily's lips just were.

She let out an overdramatic gasp and looked as though she had never been more shocked by anything ever in her life, "No way! All this time, I thought that you were entirely smitten with him."

"No, he's not really my type," James, getting tired of his lips feeling lonely and cold, pressed them to the corner of her jawline. He noted how warm, soft, and all too inviting her skin was.

"And who is?" Lily, unable to hide the pleasure James was giving her, still had a slight bubbly and giggle in her voice.

"Definitely Hagrid," James whispered in her ear, pulling at her hair with his other hand and smelling her light scent, smiling through whiffs of vanilla and flowers, "He makes me so-"

Lily pushed his chest back slightly, so his face was in front of hers, and he noted the way she was miserably failing to hide her enjoyment, "Do you normally talk about Hagrid in your foreplay?"

"Well, is it working?" James asked, eyes lighting up in delight that she was enjoying his jokes. That used to never happen.

She gave him another eye roll as an answer, shoving his jaw away from her with her hand, "You never fail to astonish me with how thick you are, did you know that, Potter?"

He brought his fingers to her ear, rubbing the top of it slightly in between his fingers, smiling wider this time, "Did I just hear that I astonish you?"

"Can we get back to the important stuff now?" She grabbed his robes by the front of his chest, pulling him in, and crashed her lips into his again.

His hand snaked its way from her waist to wrap around her lower back, enabling him to lift her into him. Keeping his hand on her thigh that she then wrapped around his waist, he carried her to the neatly organized desk. He thanked himself for tidying up his work from earlier.

She kept her legs around him as it allowed her to better press her body into his, shedding the jacket off of his dress robes off of his shoulders, untucking his shirt from his pants, and feeling his abdomen muscles. This brought up a deep growl from the back of James's throat that Lily thoroughly enjoyed, forgetting how much she loved to tease the lad.

He brought his hand from her lower back to her breast over her dress, something he had wanted to do for hours now, and his hand on her thigh conveyed his enjoyment of this as it squeezed eagerly.

Lily pulled away and smirked at him, pushing him back with her heeled foot on his chest. His hazel eyes were darkened with desire, and his hair was a disaster.

"Something wrong?" He asked, clearly not understanding her sudden removal. His hands were on his hips as he tried to steady his breathing.

"We've been moving at a rather quick pace," Lily responded, leaning back on her palms as her head tilted to the side, not trying to hide her amusement. It felt so good having someone want her in this way.

James raised his eyebrows, wondering if he hadn't adequately gone about this and hoping that it was all consensual, "Lily- Are you saying- We don't have to go as far as we have in the past, whatever you're-"

She gave a slight snicker, clearly endeared by his concern for her, "While I'm thrilled that you are concerned about proper consent, I'm talking about the actual tempo, not boundaries. Don't worry," She lowered her voice back to one of seduction, "I still very much want you to touch me."

James's face relaxed, cocking his head to the side and simpering as he put his hands on her ankle, running them up and down her calf, "Is that so?"

She nodded, head still tilted. She seemed to be waiting for him to make the next move. He was happy to supply.

"And you said," He slowly started moving his hands to gently take off her silver heels on both feet. His movements were light, delicate, yet secure. The anxiety that filled him earlier was forgotten entirely.

After he got one of her heels off, he carelessly dropped it to the floor, repeating it with the other. He then rubbed his hands over her legs as he pulled himself closer to her, leaning against the desk so that their lips were only millimeters apart.

"And you said that we're moving too quickly? What's the issue in that?" His breath was soft on her face, and he could barely see the light blush that was on her cheeks. He was sure that she noticed his excitement as well.

She shrugged, giving him a look that nearly made James come undone right then and there, rubbing her nose up his face slightly. "I just think that the best things happen slowly."

He closed the gap with his forehead, touching them together as he looked down at their lips that were so close, feeling her breath hit his skin.

"You realize that you drive me absolutely mad, right?"

"Oh, yes," She smiled, bringing her hand to his cheek, "Not only do I know it, but I love it."

[shokobuns]

– VALENTINE’S DATES (JJK EDITION)

ft. itadori yuuji, fushiguro megumi, kugisaki nobara, gojo satoru, sukuna ryoumen, nanami kento, zenin maki (gn!reader)

GENRE: fluffy brainrot/headcanons! (whichever you consider these to be ig)

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNING(S): suggestive themes.

ITADORI YUUJI – he’s the type of person to record your date for memories. he has videos of you looking out into the sunset to you chomping down on a bunch of noodles like an animal. with that, you two would just go around and explore tokyo, taking advantage of any couples’ valentine’s day discounts. he’d probably ask gojo for advice (he hands him a condom), but it’s horrible and he’d probably figure that out from nanami. if it’s the first date, he’d be nervous as hell and it’d be noticeable considering how jumpy he is, but once you start getting comfortable with touching him, he’d relax more and adjust really quickly. if it lasts the whole day, by half the date, he’s kissing your cheek, holding your hand, and wrapping his arm around you. yuuji’s really sweet and he’s also a gentleman, holding the door for you and being mindful of if you’re having a good time or not. when you two finally kiss on the lips, he gets flustered as hell and hides his face into the crook of your neck.

THE GIFT – one of those bead necklaces that everyone makes at home. the colors are irregular and in no particular pattern, but your initials are on it with a heart. he doesn’t have much money with the exception of food, so he can’t afford a super glamorous gift, but you wear it with pride.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI – would show up at your doorstep with your favorite flowers, but once he gets there, he’s debating on whether he should be there or not. he just wanted to do something nice for you on valentine’s day, but he’s also thinking “what if this is weird?” he’s another person that gojo gave advice to, but megumi tuned him out because he already knows to not trust him for this stuff. he’s all new to this couple type things, but he rings your doorbell anyways and he’s about to put down the flowers at your doorstep and run away, but it’s too late. you answer the door with a sundress on and this man forgets how to speak, so he just holds out a box of chocolates and the flowers without even looking you in the face. eventually, you ruffle his hair and go back into your house to gather some sandwiches, water, and a blanket for a picnic at a nearby park. you’d have to be the one to initiate the hand holding and his face gets so fucking red, too. at the park, he gets more comfortable, talking to you becomes easier and he lets you put butterfly clips in his hair because your face gets really close to his and he likes to give you little pecks on your nose when it happens.

THE GIFT – flowers and chocolate, letting you put clips in his hair without complaints

KUGISAKI NOBARA – she’s also the type to bring you around tokyo and spoil you on valentine’s day and she’s definitely more assertive on the date, too. she constantly has one hand on you, whether it’s on the small of your back or she’s holding yours, and she’s not shy about kissing your cheeks in public, either. nobara makes you try on clothes and if she really likes how the outfit looks on you, too, she’ll have no problem buying them at all. you two do that thing where you pick out outfits for each other and try them on at the same time. for most of the date, it feels like she’s the one with the bolder personality, but as soon as you tell her she looks like “the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen,” she gets really fucking flustered. your classic red cheeks and she can’t seem to stop smiling, but at the same time she’s trying not to seem too embarrassed even though she’s failing miserably. eventually, she’ll get over herself and you guys would find an empty balcony somewhere and make out for the rest of the night.

THE GIFT – an outfit consisting of those velvet track pants that she thinks make your ass look good (the ones that flare out at the bottom), an oversized shirt, and a bunch of scrunchies

GOJO SATORU – the first time he sees you that day, he tosses you a condom with a ribbon on it, does a backflip onto a table, then puts a ribbon on himself. he gets an “i hate you” because he’s dramatic as hell, but he pouts and it makes you feel slightly guilty because he’s just so cute. anyways, for the rest of the day, he wears his glasses because it feels more casual and for the most part, you’re hanging out at home watching movies, making out, etc. there are definitely no more condoms left in the box by the end of the night. although, you don’t stay in all day. he does treat you to a proper dinner where you both are a little more dressier than usual and he makes sexual innuendos in your ear whenever he has the chance which is about every five seconds. you’d also be eating dinner next to another couple and he’d say some shit like “we’re cuter than them” and you would get secondhand embarrassment whether the couple hears it or not. at the end of the night, you two walk to a park at night and there’s definitely a little moment where he goes “hey, can you hold this?” and you hold out your hand and he interlocks his fingers with yours (yes, he’s cheesy like that). you’ve probably had to slap him on the back of the head a couple times. once you two get to the park, he shamelessly does cartwheels throughout the whole space.

THE GIFT – a condom, sex, a homecooked meal, cat ears, and a sanrio plushie that yuuji picked out for him

SUKUNA RYOMEN – honestly, you weren’t even sure if you were even going to have a valentine’s day date with him, but he shows up at your front door at 6 am ringing your doorbell repeatedly with a bunch of flowers and you look like absolute shit when you finally open it. you’re still tired, so you drag him back to your bed for a few hours and sleep a little more before getting ready and going out for breakfast. he’s the type of person to stare down other people for no reason and you have to calm him down during your little breakfast date so that he doesn’t scare people. of course, he eventually gets a little bored and blows your back out in the restroom which has you limping for the rest of the day. he takes a lot of pride in it, too. later at dinner, he tries to cook for you, but this man sucks at cooking and has anger issues which is not a good combination because he’s so close to punching the stove since he somehow ended up burning the pasta noodles? your kitchen is still intact, so you don’t question it, and you’ve already ordered takeout because you’ve already predicted it. sure, he sucks at cooking, but it’s the thought that counts, right? after that, you two fuck, like you’ve already been doing all day, but this time, you give a little manicure after. you teach him how to take care of his cuticles himself and paint each other’s nails black after.

THE GIFT – a vibrator, handcuffs, a dead rabbit he found and stuffed with its legs cut off. he also got you a nice bouquet of your favorite flowers, but he had to bark at someone at the store to get them.

NANAMI KENTO – this man will take you off to your classic fancy dinner date with wine, a box of chocolates, a bouquet of roses, basically the whole cliche formula valentine’s date. although, you’d notice that something seems a little off about him so you kind of just ask “are you having a good time?” and he looks back at you with a blank expression all like “are you having a good time?” that’s when you get the hint that he’s indifferent to the whole thing, so you quickly finish dinner in order to get home as soon as possible. nanami is a little confused as to why you weren’t having fun, but it’s all explained when you head to your bathroom and hold up two face masks. he hasn’t used one before, but you just tell him to relax and “stop and smell the roses.” he’s just like “i already bought you roses?” and you just shake your head and instruct him to lay down so that you can put the sheet mask on his face. the night slowly becomes more of a self care type time where you two take a bath together, wash each other’s hair, and eat cake. surprisingly, he ends up enjoying the whole thing and asks if you two can do the same thing next time. it ends with a peaceful sleep, you head laying on his chest and his arms wrapped around you.

THE GIFT – box of chocolates, roses, and some diamond earrings. the best dick of your entire life, both in the bathtub and in the bedroom.

ZENIN MAKI – this girl gives you a home cooked meal, but she’s actually good at it. for breakfast, she’s making some omelettes and rice and it’s one of the ones where it’s a sanrio character sleeping in a blanket. you’re just admiring her the whole time because she looks really pretty when she cooks. for a valentine’s day date, you two would go on a cute picnic with some bento boxes and eat strawberries while the sun shines. her hair is down the whole time and you play with it because she never has her hair down even though she looks absolutely gorgeous like that. she’s just relaxed the whole time and you’re feeding her compliments while keeps on this cocky exterior, but she’s internally melting. she also lets you braid her hair, so you give her some french braids, but not without adding some pretty flowers to compliment her face. later that night, you two play a movie in the background and you give her a massage because she rarely gets some time to let go and rest and you really want to make her feel good. eventually, this escalated into making out until you two get tired and fall asleep.

THE GIFT – home cooked meals and pair of earrings she saw you eyeing the other day.

[bangtans-bubs]

BTS Reaction #2: When you watch the movie “365 Days” with your boyfriend

-/-

a/n: hey army! i’ve recently started working on a request with mafia min yoongi (suga) x reader, and it was a quite interesting request. my inbox is still open, so feel free to submit any requests/ideas running through your mind.

warning: smuttyyyy goodness

word count: less than 300 (per member)

*creds to gif owners

-/-

> Kim Namjoon (RM)

He can never make it through a sex scene because the intimate scenes start to provoke his “innocent” mind and fill it with lustful thoughts. He usually requests to change the genre of the movie to comedy to prevent himself from pouncing on you, but this time you insisted on watching the entire movie whether it’s with or without him. He would’ve walked away, but he wanted to test his self-control, even though it was a dangerous task. He tossed the remote towards your side and decided to sit on the other end of the couch as a safety precaution. He safely made it through the first quarter of the movie and that caused him to put his guards down. Just when he thought he was clear, he noticed how you had shifted from your end of the couch, now leaning your head against his pounding chest. He thought you were oblivious of the current situation, but your actions said otherwise. You lazily threw your leg over his thighs, placing your knee right above his rising length. He began fidgeting around in attempts to move your leg lower, but his movements gave you the wrong sign, causing you to roam your hand over his broad chest. You can hear his heart throbbing through his chest and felt his breathing quicken at your sudden actions. When he realized where your hands were headed, he suddenly grasped it with a firm grip and said, “It doesn’t seem like you put this movie on with the intentions of finishing it, baby?”

“Well, now I’m trying to finish other things,” you replied back with a devilish smile on your face.

> Kim Seokjin

He believes that self-control should never be a thing when it’s just the both of you chilling together. He’s also very mature when it comes to watching intimate scenes, with or without you. Actually, he’d be a bit more calm if he was the only one present during a sex scene, but if you’re there too, he doesn’t bother to control his urge to touch you. Even if you both weren’t watching this movie together, he would’ve found another way to embrace/feel you. You never get bothered by it either because you rarely see him due to his tight schedule. The both of you would find yourselves tangled with one another on the floor while watching the movie. Before the freaky scenes appear, you’d feel Jin’s hands roaming around the hem of your shirt before finding their way up your torso. He would teasingly run a finger across the underside of your bra, barely touching your skin. If he notices that you have your eyes closed, fists clenched, or you’re holding your breath, he would say, “I think we should recreate those scenes, baby.”

> Min Yoongi (Suga)

Never in a million years would he have ever watched an erotic movie with you. A sex scene can appear on the screen and he’ll start making comments like, “Is he insane? He’s going to dislocate her hips.” Or, “What pleasure does someone get from dislocations?” The movie genre can be far from comedy, but Suga will somehow manage to make you laugh to the point where your abs and jaw start to ache. After passing an intimate scene, he’d say, “His tongue game must be weak if he needs to put in that much effort to make her feel good.” You furrowed your eyebrows and broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. He had a questioning look on his face and blankly stared at you, waiting for an explanation.

“I highly doubt anything will be better than that tongue.” Your challenging remark made him glide his tongue across his lips before he turned to smirk at you.

“I’m tempted to prove you wrong, baby.”

> Jung Hoseok (J-hope/Hobi)

Oh, the way this man stares into the tv makes you feel like he’s into it. Usually, both of you sit side by side when watching a movie together, but this time he sat with his body facing you. At the time you didn’t understand why, but as soon as a sex scene appeared on the screen you’d notice him stare at you from your peripheral vision. He’d switch his attention between the tv and you to see how you react to the scene and if he sees you raise an eyebrow, he’d know you like it or you’d want to try it. He let out a silent laugh before turning his attention fully towards the movie, but his laughter had you questioning his motives. You’d just let it go and focus on the scene, maybe running a hand through your hair or up and down the side of your thigh. He noticed how you began fidgeting and let out another laughter before getting up, taking smooth strides towards your shared room.

“Where are you going?” You threw the blanket you had over yourself to the side, curiously waiting for an answer.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the room. The quicker you come, the better for you.”

> Park Jimin

He does not give a fuck about whether his movements are sly or not. If he wants you in the middle of a sex scene, then he’d do anything to get your attention. He’ll think about which weak spot he should target, then he’ll take actions depending on that spot. You’d stay stubborn and beg for him to focus on the scene because you love giving him a hard time. You knew he wouldn’t last a single scene, which is why you decided to tease him by denying his request to stop the movie. After making a move on your weak spots and that resulting in nothing but a waste of time, he’d start fanning himself and use the excuse of the room being “too hot” to remove his t-shirt. He knows it drives you insane when he’s shirtless because you start to debate on which part you should mark first. He caught you drooling over him as if he was a fresh piece of meat and didn’t hesitate to say, “I want to make you scream louder than her.”

> Kim Taehyung (V)

Taehyung never had a probelm with watching a movie filled with lustrous scenes because he’s positively sure that he has already done those things with/to you. V considers himself to be an intimate person and would always insist on cuddling you while you both enjoy the movie. V had asked to watch this movie since it was blowing up all over social media for its raw sex scenes. You didn’t refuse because he was very tired at the moment, so he’d have no intentions of doing the dirty, or so you thought. You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and seated yourself on V’s lap, before realizing that maybe that’s not the brightest idea. You tried to fall onto the side of the couch, but his arms had a death grip around your waist, restricting you from any movement. You let out a heavy sigh and just decided to slide yourself lower on his lap to rest the back of your head between the crevice of his neck. You were only 20 minutes into the movie before the masturbation scene appeared on the screen. You desperately tried to unclasp his hands from your waist, but that just caused him to pull you closer to him, his lips lingering dangerously close to the the nape of your neck.

He began peppering wet kisses along the sides of your jaw before pulling away to say, “I’ve always wanted to see how you touch yourself on the days I’m not here. I want to see how well you imitate my actions.”

> Jeon Jungkook

He can be a beast in bed and could do things you’d never imagine a man to do, but when it comes to watching a movie with sex scenes, he’d always begin giggling like a kid and start blushing. He’d get embarrassed as if he’s the one in the scene, and honestly you found that very cute, but kind of scary because of how well he switches up from a freak in the bed to an overly excited child. He always wants your legs to rest over his so he can lay his hands over your lap, and in this case that didn’t help you. During the sex scenes, he would run his hands over your mid thighs till he reaches close to your heated core. He’d peek at you from the side of his eyes to see if you’ve caught onto his mischievous intentions. If you’re oblivious, he’d just rest his hands there and wait for you to react, but if he notices your breathing quicken, he’ll move his hands to the waistband of your shorts and slightly tug at it. He’d lean towards your ear and whisper, “You know... I learned quite a lot from this movie. I think I’m ready to practice those learnings with you. What do you say?”

*requests are open

[protectchara201x]

(ignoring all the other juicy Deltarune 2 stuff to shove Chara Talks into it lololol)

I haven’t been super active on this blog because frankly I have like, three? looong analysis/theorycrafting posts I’ve been putting off working on and it fills me with shame to log in and see them waiting in my drafts.

But.

With the release of Deltarune Chapter 2, I wanted to talk kinda in general about how I thought it could impact the fandom’s perception of Everybody’s Favorite Demon Baby, and also point out something in specific about the Weird Route that might connect back to Undertale.

Putting it under the cut to avoid spoilers and long-winded ramblings for the unwilling. Includes spoilers for the Weird Route.

(NOTE: may update later if I notice more things for to put in section II. I’d like to make a full list of parallels if I can tidy them up.)

I. Pre- vs Post-Release Thoughts (you can skip down to II if you don’t care, it is genuinely Long and Pointless)

Okay, so first off. I got SO worried like, the day before the new chapter dropped? It hit me that whatever new stuff we got out of this, people would connect back to Undertale, and. Honestly, I really do hate connecting everything back to Chara, because I do think of Kris as their own character and I really like them and don’t want to ignore everything they got going on. But, I am first and foremost a shameless Chara stan and they’re very important to me, so I kinda... did spend a few minutes reeling from all the new DR stuff as its own stuff, and then immediately started thinking about how this would reflect back on Chara in Undertale lol.

But that’s ok for me to do here because this is my All Chara, Only Chara, All The Time blog, so I am gonna only really talk about Deltarune here to talk about them lol.

So yeah, I started getting anxious beforehand worrying about how everyone would take any and all implications and apply it to mean “aha, Chara IS evil!” The fakeout with the pie reveal in the anniversary stream was a big relief, but I still got worried leading up to the release about what could be in it.

Because part of why I’ve always thought that “Chara was genuinely evil from the start” and even “ok maybe not TOTALLY evil, but Chara was still a kinda bad person” were unlikely was, even if you throw out all the other popular Chara-sympathetic theories. To me, both these takes just seemed too below TF’s talent and the way he wrote all his other characters with depth and love; a Chara like the one these theories propose just doesn’t belong in a world created by TF, and the way the Dreemurrs talk about them overall, the way TF made a point of having Chara say they were guided and repeatedly, correctly blame you the player for the destruction in Kill-All, I was sure that he never intended them to ever be as bad as the fandom sometimes tried to make them out to be.

... Like, mostly sure. Like, 80% sure? Because he never ever talks about them, so it’s impossible say for sure, and it is still theoretically possible that “Chara was and is bad” was the cold-ass take he’d intended all along. So yeah, leading up to the release, I started getting antsy that whatever new lore came out of it, either he’d directly confirm “Chara was a villain?” “*cocks gun* Always has been” or there’d be something that’d at least heavily implicate them, or could be twisted to implicate them, as a negative force. More ammo to be used against them in the Chara Debate Circles would be a drag, and outright confirmation of them as a villain would honestly break my heart and I’d be forced to disown Toby Fox, My Beloved Cool Dad.

And, right now? Tell the truth, I’m SO relieved and I am SO happy. And not just because of how much depth and characterization it seems Kris is getting! (imo, because rn I just headcanon them as an unhappy teen desperately trying to keep their new friends going on adventures with them and trying to fight back against the player’s control)

I love how this chapter seems to be TF doing course-correcting based on fandom interpretations. Because Kris just isn’t evil, even if they are a knife teen, even if they are the Knight, they’re just NOT evil and that’s canon, baybeeee; it’s made clear in this chapter and the previous one that they love their family even outside of the player’s control, they care about their new friends even outside of the player’s control, they’re established as a weird creepy kid but no one sees them as scary or evil, they’re just Kris, and even in the Weird Route, TF made a point of hammering in the differences between Kris and the player in the Weird Route: Susie and Ralsei notice how distressed Kris seemed after you have Noelle ice Berdly, Noelle heard a voice that she said wasn’t Kris telling her to kill, and the FUCKING Spamton fight: “Kris called for help... but nobody came” again and again, and then “You whispered Noelle’s name”... you, not Kris.

I know TF has never commented much on fans’ perceptions of Frisk and Chara, or who exactly is pulling strings in different routes. But after all this, and especially after seeing all the little winks and nods to fandom jokes in this chapter (what comes to mind: pulling everyone’s leg by seeming to have Kris attack Toriel with a knife only to reveal that pie theory was right, Susie not liking Ralsei’s real face as much as his shadowed one, Ralsei with a gun getting referenced with the ad, Kris getting a joke fixation with knives after the fans made Chara and Kris have knife obsessions as a joke), and seeing what looks like him try to correct some things (what stuck out to me was doubling down on showing that Kris is loved and valued in their family: lots of fans came away from Chapter 1 thinking that Kris was not valued as much as Asriel, but here we see that Toriel is supportive of Kris’ friendship with Susie, and it’s stated that Asriel is the one who used the crappy controller, not Kris) -

I think while he hasn’t commented directly, while he admitted to being overwhelmed by Undertale’s success, while he tends to be pretty tight-lipped about the lore (whether that’s because it’ll be addressed by future chapters or because he prefers to let fans sleuth it out), this chapter convinced me that Toby does keep tabs on fan reactions in Deltarune, so he probably does with Undertale too and would know about all The Discourse surrounding Little Mx Pink Cheeks (and in turn, popular theories like Narrator Chara... Toby if you integrate Narrator Chara into Deltarune being a borderline creepypasta and have the narrator start talking directly to the characters or to the player or the characters start talking to the narrator I will lose my damn B E A N S).

(Kris and Chara not being demonized and the narrator interacting directly with the characters were the only two things on my wishlist going in, I was fine with literally anything else happening lmao)

I even kinda think he’s going out of his way to separate Kris and the player because we didn’t get it before with Undertale, we still insisted that Frisk or Chara was the one doing it, and he’s even using Kris to show that even if this kid can be scary, maybe even mean, and maybe they’re even the Knight (with their reasons unknown), they’re still not a bad kid, they’re still funny and likable, and they still genuinely love their family and friends - which falls in line with Undertale’s cast of complex but likable people who can be antagonists and make mistakes but still aren’t truly bad people, and imo is a direct response to some people fixating on the idea that Chara was always evil because they seem scary/complicated.

... Which is a long way to say that I came out of Deltarune with my confidence fully restored about TF’s intentions with Chara and Kris. Even if he never comments on Chara directly, now I really don’t think TF thinks they’re evil or ever intended for them to be. Deltarune convinced me more than ever that Chara is meant to be complex, yes, and able to be influenced to do horrible things, but they were never intended to be as malicious or shallow as some fans insist.

TLDR:

Toby Fox read your mean fanfiction where Chara is a bad abusive serial killer no one likes, and he made Deltarune in revenge.

... Hm? Ah, you’d like me to get to the point! Right this way!

II. Undertale, Deltarune, and The Point

While no doubt some will still take the voice Noelle hears to be Chara influencing her to turn her into a murderer (I haven’t gone looking for it yet, but I’m sure it’s already a thing because I know this fandom), since it’s made too clear by the game that they can’t blame Kris for this one, I think at this point that’s just being too stubborn to consider other ideas.

If you believe in the totally made up idea used in so many fanfics that Chara is an evil spirit trying to whisper in Frisk’s ear to kill everyone, literally (for some reason) the embodiment of raising stats, and gets more control over people who have increased LV to take over their body... sure. Could be them, they did talk about moving on to the next world and all. I mean, that wouldn’t really make sense because it’s literally never implied in the actual game that Chara encourages you to kill outside of the Kill-All Run or even wants you to, certainly not as the narrator and we get no hint of them doing this as an unseen, unheard third-party either.

Not to mention they’re NOT literally possessing you because of increased LV; they don’t control you even with high LV in any Undertale route other than arguably the Kill-All, and if you fail the Kill-All and it turns into a high-body count Neutral, Chara suddenly stops using first-person narration and showing up in mirrors entirely even though they were showing themself before, the LV remains the same or even can get raised as high as LV 19, nor do they suddenly take over in any other Neutral runs. We can speculate on why (personally, I’d place this either on Chara’s mindset, such as them sinking into shock from the trauma or becoming more assertive as the player feeds their megalomania, or as a sign of Frisk’s withdrawal, leaving Chara alone in the body to take the reins and act out the player’s orders), but canonically, no, Chara does not take over due to high stats.

In fact, there’s even more evidence against this. First-person narration also exists for fleeing your battles in Undertale, even on Pacifist runs with base stats, 0 EXP, and an LV of 1. Since Chara is established to use first-person narration to refer to themself, is the only one who canonically does so, and is confirmed to be present even in all runs through their name and memories always showing up, it seems pretty likely that Chara can take control to flee battle. That means an increase in stats is not a sign of their presence or control, in Undertale or Deltarune.

The most damning blow to the idea that Chara is the voice corrupting Noelle are the lines in the fight with Spamton I mentioned. Kris called for help, but nobody came. You whispered Noelle’s name. Well hold on. If that’s Chara, shouldn’t it be “I whispered Noelle’s name”? As soon as you’ve officially started the Kill-All in Undertale, Chara starts up their “It’s me, Chara” schtick right away, right there in Toriel’s home in the first area, and if they weren’t the narrator before, they’re beginning to speak through the narration now. If the voice was Chara, surely Toby Fox knows it’d be a way bigger “oh shit” moment if the creepy scary hidden route once again switched into first-person, scaring us the same way he did before when we first saw “It’s me, Chara” and knew something was wrong; unfairly or not, their reputation as a villain is still well established and hinting to Chara’s presence with a simple “I” would drive the menace even further, if he intended for them to simply be a demon that possesses player characters when you grind enough. But it’s still just you. The player.

The Weird Route does even more to help Chara’s case than that. Not only is it made pretty clear that Kris and the player are separate, and the player is the one responsible for corrupting Noelle and making her kill... consider how similar Noelle and Chara are, in the Weird Route and the Kill-All Route.

This “voice” that “guides” them in growing strong, compelling them to kill everyone in order to fight for them, eventually driving them to murder people they know. Chara calls themself “the demon that comes when people call its name”, and you whisper Noelle’s name to have her appear to kill Spamton. Noelle’s conflicting emotions towards Kris and the voice as she is manipulated, as she becomes more violent and sadistic, as she goes into shock; does that not sound like Chara, who flipflops between holding you dear as their partner and wanting to move on to the next world together, to be together forever, and them being disgusted by your refusal to accept consequences and the perverse enjoyment you get in killing everyone again and again? Chara, who clings to their quirky narration for much of the Kill-All, but keeps slipping up, who becomes terrifyingly cold, aggressive, power-hungry, and even sadistic, yet still calls Undyne “the heroine”, still seems to still care about their locket, still has moments where they seem to falter?

Noelle does put up significantly more resistance to the voice’s commands than Chara does, and at least much more visibly shows distress and trauma. I don’t think this is a black mark on Chara’s chara-cter either, or an indication of them being more violent or cruel.

For one, while Noelle is still herself with her own soul, it is heavily implied by Chara, Flowey, and Undertale’s lore that Chara was reincarnated without their own soul, at best perhaps attached to Frisk’s (or yours): as I speculate in one of my currently unfinished theories, while monster souls are made up of love, compassion, and hope and thus Asriel was reincarnated without these qualities, it could well be that human souls are correspondingly made up of their own multiple traits, namely determination, patience, bravery, integrity, perseverance, kindness, and justice; if true, a soulless Chara would be lacking these qualities, which would make them less equipped to resist the player’s commands or to feel as torn up about it.

Also, the player has a hold on them both as “party members” to the player’s vessels, but it is also possible that the player naming Chara and having them directly attached to Frisk also gives them a stronger connection to Chara they can abuse, similar to how Kris and Frisk (as the player’s direct vessels) have much less autonomy than Kris’ party members.

(Fun observation: We know that when the thing controlling Kris forced Noelle into becoming a killer and using her to kill Berdly, Kris was horrified and shaken-up according to Susie and Ralsei. How do you think Frisk felt watching Chara be used to slaughter the Underground and then erasing the world when they’re totally corrupted?)

And lastly... look, Noelle and Chara are both minors, but Chara is significantly younger - a small child compared to Noelle’s teen. I know it’s fiction and strong wills and determination and anime is real and all, but a traumatized young child who died two violent and awful deaths back-to-back, may have literally experienced being a corpse in their own coffin/grave for who knows how long, and then came back ”confused” only to immediately start hearing a voice relentlessly commanding them to kill everyone?? I can absolutely see a traumatized kid shutting down and just going with it out of fear at first, before the LV sets in.

TLDR:

What you do to Noelle in the Weird Route is the same fucking thing you do to Chara in the Kill-All Route.

[wowsoboring]

Deconstructing Baseless Harry Potter Arguments#2 (i) : Harmione Edition

Obviously I once again do not mean to target all Harmione shippers. I know quite a few who're very good human beings and tolerant and accepting above all. However these aren't. In this case, you might sense quite a bit of levelheadedness in the beginning, however you must not be fooled as it goes south and takes a nasty turn very quickly. Don't get your hopes up, this is some of the worst shit I've ever seen, especially the way in which it progresses through its course. Naturally, for this post I have picked my own style of writing which will match that of those redditors. Reddit is the perfect breeding ground for all these weird cults, honestly. I shall be resorting to a formal language and style of conversation, very much like a debater would to sound as pretentious as these do. These posts are found on the instagram handle toxicharmonyshippers who gather such toxic musings and sayings for Harmione shippers while respecting the ones that are nice.

1)

Oh yes, let's use words like 'vehemently' to sound smart, why not? Of course, this little tidbit of the highly stupendous post seems more or less civil at the start. They also have the common decency to say "some Romione shippers" rather than generalizing all of us. Very nice of you, how very saint like. Let's wait till they drop the act and show us their true colors. Harkening back to the argument, I have but one question for you, "where do you find these people?". Where's the proof? Who are these radical Romione shippers who worship Ron and dislike Hermione? I haven't seen any such shippers and I am surrounded by Romione shippers on tumblr, instagram and fan fiction sites as well and haven't met the people you speak of. Some point out her flaws, yes, but no one hates her or dislikes her that much. I have seen two or three Romione shippers across hundreds and thousands who're skeptical of Hermione's perfection. Skeptical. Not hating, disliking, or anything. Of course, unlike this person, I have evidence: find these pi charts for your referral (clickable): https://imgur.com/a/QfPnQbB

you can, through these, see the amount of Hermione bashing across Harry Potter fanfiction and you can see that even in Romione fanfiction there's more Ron bashing. Hermione-bashing is a non-issue. That's what it is. Regarding the "nagging" statement, where's the lie in that? "Annoying" is somewhat subjective, I personally don't find her annoying at all. Who are these people and how often do you find them? "Mary Sue" is only reserved for Movie!Hermione. I have only seen book fans call her that. No one has ever called Book!Hermione Mary Sue. The movie does paint her as a flawless, all-rounder who's also drop-dead gorgeous. Only things she's bad at are flying and divination, all of which she denounces as useless, even though flying is like biking for wizards, divination, sure, not that important. with a teacher like Trelawney, even I would denounce it as hokum.

2)

Remember what I said about waiting for them to show us their true colors, well here they are. Bask in the glory of their senseless arguments. Why, I am from reddit, heck I have 25 thousand karma points on there, I just left because it was too stupid for me but I can argue like them very well. And in this case I would like to say that these people are under the impression that Ron is just there in the story for the sake of existence. And he doesn't work hard. That argument is of course, wrong. Because Ron (in no particular order):

1) fights a troll when he's 11

2) is willing to sacrifice himself when he's 11

3) stands up for his friends

4) makes sure Harry feels like he belongs in the family

5) worries about Harry and rescues him from literal jail

6) stands up against Draco rather than by-standing and enabling his behavior

7) tries his level best to make sure Norbert the dragon is in safe hands and carries it out, albeit not in perfection

8) is with Harry every step of the way in his confronting the basilisk

9) sends Harry and Hermione long letters and calls them often to check up on them

10) stands up on a bitten leg to defend his best friend

11) always apologizes for any of his mistakes and is forgiving when others wrong him

12) works his way to join the Quidditch team unlike Draco who most certainly bought his way in

13) destroys at least 2 horcruxes

14) finds out how to defeat a horcrux

15) has an excellent enough memory and observation to notice Harry speaking parseltongue and also using it to his benefit which proves he's resourceful

now since I have 8 more such pictures to rebut and I do have a life, I will stop. These aren't even a twelfth of the remarkable things Ron has done though, so rest assured.

oh wait what did you say about him just existing and not working for anything? If I recall correctly, he did just as well as Harry did in school and didn't score well only in subjects he didn't care about. Which is true for most people except for Hermione who has an eidetic memory which not everyone has, understandably. Rote memorization is not the best way to get by in life, by the way.

what are the "so many reasons" behind why Harry is the best fit for Hermione? Kindly share so I can rebut those too, I'm rather free nowadays, my finals have been cancelled. You say there are so many reasons but don't even give one, yet you want me to take you seriously. I'm afraid that's impossible.

Romione shipper here, i don't dislike Hermione. I haven't met or seen many people in the book!romione fandom who dislike Hermione (except for Movie!Hermione). The question of someone you like ending up with someone you dislike doesn't particularly make sense. In Friends, Chandler ends up with Monica: now I'm not the biggest Monica fan (I don't hate her but I don't like her very much either) but they are my favorite couple because they make sense. It's about compatibility and character traits, not liking or disliking because that's just a set-up for a ghastly invitation for people to pair up hideousness. "Oh yeah, I like Harry and I also like Hagrid, they should be together. I mean it would be very very disgusting but that's my logic, now, you can't fight it. "- that's how you sound. Please read what you write. Your logic is just...abysmal. That's all I can say without breaking my resolve and berating you with colorful profanities.

3)

This is without the doubt, the easiest one to rebut. It's a delight to see such terrible arguments at my disposal. Come on, dear Harmione shippers, write something that makes me question my choices, not things that make me scoff in disbelief.

In this case, you're essentially providing us with theories. Unproved theories and speculation of what you believe because you'd say anything you like. Where's the proof of your theory, though? Where is that crazy radical Romione shipper who does this? Kindly show me these people. Oh yes, you wanna say we objectify Hermione and disrespect her and view her as a prize. This aches me, that you believe this. No one has ever insinuated this, ever, in the history of anything. What is this winner-loser theory? How do you round off Harry Potter to "an alpha-male ends up with lead-lady" trope and still say you're a fan of the series? Harry Potter doesn't fit in with that format. Ron, Hermione and Harry are co-heroes. Similar to how there's no main character in Friends or the Heroes of Olympus series or the Avengers. We're not living in the 80s anymore. Hermione will be a hero, invariably whether she ends up with Harry, Ron or no one. She ends up with Ron and that's it. Talking about her like this doesn't make you sound any better either. Now you're calling me a misogynist because I don't support the ship of two people who describe themselves as siblings. That's very mature of you. Well here's the thing- I'm not a misogynist. It's as simple as that. I believe that women are capable of anything and everything. I believe Hermione is an amazing person and she is a hero and a different person. I believe the series would be impossible without her. I believe she is no one's prize. There's no requirement of a prize. I just think, similar to canon and the truth and her romantic interest, she will have a great relationship with Ron. There's nothing complex or deep about it, really. No personal weird-thing, no psychological complex, no internalized misogyny. There's nothing deeper than what I said. I am not sexist. I am a feminist. I am all for women empowerment. I love women with the fabric of my being. I love Hermione. I think she's amazing. You only become sexist when you ship people with unstable power dynamics, a bully-victim relation or something of the sort. Neither Romione, nor Harmione are sexist. Heck if you paired Neville with Hermione you wouldn't be sexist. And I hate talking about this so much, I can't even tell you. This talk does make it sound like I treat Hermione like an object and I assure you I respect her and I normally won't talk like this unless someone just outright calls me sexist for something that's not sexist. And this is that situation.

4)

in the case of Romione, no one is too good for anyone. Both are amazing people who're heroes and have done amazing work. That's all I have to say. There's no league, they are romantically interested in each other. I have no intention on sounding lame, but, in love there is no league. As long as you're not putting in any effort and are extremely lazy and leech off of your partner, there is no such concept and no, Hermione is not "too good" for him. Unless of course you're talking about movie Hermione, who is too good for anyone.

5) (halftime!)

oh yes they try to pull this off and wonder why we hate them. Classic. This person likes to sound british, so let's switch up our language, yeah? At least then I won't be out of my element. Let me correct ya, Ron at his best is an amazing, loyal, friendly, brave, strategic hero. There you have it. Ron and 'git' can't be used in the same sentence. Now if you talk about Ron's achievements, I re-iterate you to point two. If it's too much work, here:

1) fights a troll when he's 11

2) is willing to sacrifice himself when he's 11

3) stands up for his friends

4) makes sure Harry feels like he belongs in the family

5) worries about Harry and rescues him from literal jail

6) stands up against Draco rather than by-standing and enabling his behavior

7) tries his level best to make sure Norbert the dragon is in safe hands and carries it out, albeit not in perfection

8) is with Harry every step of the way in his confronting the basilisk

9) sends Harry and Hermione long letters and calls them often to check up on them

10) stands up on a bitten leg to defend his best friend

11) always apologizes for any of his mistakes and is forgiving when others wrong him

12) works his way to join the Quidditch team unlike Draco who most certainly bought his way in

13) destroys at least 2 horcruxes

14) finds out how to defeat a horcrux

15) has an excellent enough memory and observation to notice Harry speaking parseltongue and also using it to his benefit which proves he's resourceful

hey, see, I like Ron and I took the time to copy-paste this instead of asking you to scroll up. And I'm a lot of bad things but I am not lazy. I stick to my deadlines like Hermione. I start my homework in library class and continue it during phys ed the day its given. And I am not exaggerating. Bloody hell, I wish I was. I'm the ceo of deadlines, mate, don't tempt me! So you can see that Ron is much more than just a "nice bloke". And being a "nice bloke" isn't a bad thing either. He's all the things I said: intuitive, strategic, helpful, loyal and on top of that he's also a nice person. Yes, I do see a bit of myself in Ron. I do. I see the insecure side. I waste my time hating myself and criticizing myself and undermining myself, telling me I'm no good. But Ron overcomes that. He inspires me to appreciate myself. Is that a bad thing? Are you going to shame me for having a low self-esteem? Do you want to worsen my low self-esteem and make me feel more like shit?

Now the person who replied to your comment saying, "he isn't a nice bloke most of time.", he is. He is not being nice twice in a span of 7 years. How often do you act rudely or with jealousy? Wasn't Harry yelling at everyone in caps lock in OOTP. Now I don't condemn him for that because he's a fucking hormonal teenager like me and that would make me a hypocrite, but by your logic why don't you condemn him? Or why not condemn Hermione for saying "I only date good Quidditch players" and shoving canaries at Ron's face because someone else kissed him, while she kept using Krum and Cormac to make him jealous. She wasn't being a nice girl, then, was she? Now, once again, i don't dislike her or hold that against her because guess what, mate, I'm a hormonal teenage girl who gets jealous most of the time and would probably react in a similar fashion in the spur of the moment (Not defending her actions here, just putting myself in her shoes.) In short, Ron is a nice bloke MOST OF THE TIME.

6)

It would be misogynistic to think that. The thing is, NO ONE DOES my dear friend! My dear daft friend. I have never heard anyone say that! why are you so hell-bent on portraying us as misogynists when no one ever says that? Stop assuming. Just stop. You are crossing a limit here, aren't you? Yes you are. You cannot say these sort of things. We never said that or believed that, no one ever said this to be a reason to ship Romione. God what is wrong with you? Literally, stop fucking ASSUMING god damn it! Do you want me to assume things about Harmione shippers? Do you want me to go there? Because I will go there! I will go there the moment you tell me to. Just challenge me.

Ron is not a perfect best boi , the reason why so many of us like him is that he's imperfect and tries to become better through the course of time. You are once again assuming and I am once again asking you to stop.

Ron might be an ordinary wizard. He might be poor, sure, but he's a pure-blood and won't face much if he chose not to fight. But he did. He fought. Now I identify with Ron's attitude a fair bit, but I am also likely to spend my day in a library without noticing. People aren't one dimensional. Stop trying to act like you're a psychologist, i know you're not. I don't even think Hermione's overbearing at all! You just insulted someone you're a big fan of. Jesus.

Both Hermione and Ron are strategic, jealous, passionate, feisty, argumentative, intellectual...

that's like 6 similarities. They aren't polar opposites in the slightest. Their differences are just: workaholic, not workaholic. Nerd, not a nerd. Like that's fucking it, man!

8)

being relaxed doesn't make you less independent or driven. A relaxed and levelheaded Hermione will think through things, not be impulsive, not panic etc. She doesn't need Ron. I don't understand your obsession with acting like we ever insinuated that. Then she doesn't need Harry either lol. Stop shipping her with Harry, then or like shut the fuck up. Being a bit relaxed won't stop her or anyone from hitting great strides. Just don't get relaxed to the point you're lazy and casual about everything, that's it.

9)

What do you mean? Ron is balanced. He does finish his work on time. And even if he does procrastinate, she could also help him not and be more driven. Of course, this is an open invitation for you to call me a sexist bitch because I said that she could help him and now you'll think her goal is to help him become better yada yada yada. Fuck off. Defeating the horcrux taught him enough. He respected her. He remembered about the elves when she didn't. He begged to be tortured instead of her. He wouldn't need it because school work and jobs are different and the same person might perceive those differently. Calmness and relaxation doesn't hinder your potential. Not caring and laziness does. You can't function if you work and are stressed 24/7 with zero breaks. Period.

10)

No i do not want (nor does anyone want) Hermione to become Ron. Being slightly calmer doesn't change up your personality. I'm sure many people dislike those sort of fanfics without a doubt. I hate OOC and I don't want Hermione to lose her intellect with Ron because that makes no sense. Ron himself is intellectual and loves arguing with her. They'd boost each other, more like it.

-------

okay thats it i am exhausted as fuck. thanks for reading, i appreciate it. notes and reblogs are appreciated, this takes work.

[unbridgeabledistances]

i love ur new fic! only a couple of requests - more parts to it! and...more softness between the two of them 🥺 we hardly get given any in the show </3

:)) ty so so much, anon!!! as requested, here’s another installment of the alternate POV fic (this time from tami’s perspective) and a whooole lot of domestic gallavich softness (featuring very sappy kitchen slow dancing)

--

Tami knew that the pandemic had taken a toll on its fair share of relationships— hell, hers and Lip’s included. But as much as she and Lip bickered and miscommunicated and regularly put up solid walls of lies between each other, at least, the very least—

At least they weren’t like Ian and Mickey.

At some point between being head-over-heels, fuck-all-night crazy for each other and getting married, something between Lip’s brother and his stellar choice of a Southside boyfriend had definitely changed. Tami wasn’t really close to either of them, other than Ian’s borderline obsession with Fred and her gratefulness for the cooing baby voice that came over him every time Tami thrust her tired arms out for him to take the screaming toddler in her arms, and she barely crossed paths with Mickey in a situation that wasn’t coordinating frozen waffles for breakfast or sitting across from him in the living room during Gallagher family movie nights that always inevitably turned into a passionate thirty minute screaming match about which movie to pick— but ever since the first time she set foot into the slumped and sagging Gallagher house, Tami knew that Ian and his choice of a prison-break boyfriend were something special, at least at the beginning.

She’d seen it the first time she met the two of them, when these two grown men were willingly crashing in that shitty single bed in the boys’ room while she and Lip were slumming it in the ever-so-spacious privacy of the cramped room with the accordion door, back when the halls were crawling with strangers making tamales and Fred was barely weeks old and Tami was inches away from losing her shit; Tami couldn’t imagine being in a smaller and more confined space than the one that she was in, locking herself in the bathroom behind an actual fucking door every chance for some peace and quiet, distancing herself from Lip every chance she got— and then there was Ian and Mickey down the hall, sleeping pressed together on a concave mattress meant for a single teenager, pouring each other coffee and trading glances as they sat next to each other at the breakfast table, and pulling each other closer every second they had the chance despite the fact that they’d just gotten out of a months-long prison stay together. There was something so earnest, and so weirdly romantic, about seeing a hardass like Mickey Milkovich, someone with “Fuck U Up” tattoos on his knuckles and more of a sailor’s vocabulary than Tami had, turn to putty whenever he was in proximity to Lip’s little brother. Tami had to be honest—she was kind of impressed. These guys clearly had the teenager, puppy-dog kind of love for each other that hadn’t really gone away, something that she didn’t think that she and Lip ever really had, or ever really would— so as much as she felt like her life and her relationship with Lip was spiraling towards a series of cascading failures, it was nice to know that at least someone in the Gallagher house had a sturdy, stable relationship.

And then, of course, the pandemic hit.

When all this COVID shit started, Tami had counted her infinite blessings that she and Lip had gotten a place of their own outside the Gallagher house before all the sprawling weeks of lockdowns; Tami couldn’t imagine the kind of unforgiving hell on earth it would be to quarantine in that tiny slumped house, in a tiny cramped room, for months on end until the U.S. tangentially got its shit together. So it made sense, really, that everything between Ian and Mickey had changed.

She’d noticed it that first morning, when she and Lip finally dropped by the house after weeks of hunkering down to have breakfast with everyone, carrying a box of cheap pastries they’d gotten on the walk over— and the first thing she’d noticed when she walked into the kitchen was how far apart Mickey and Ian were sitting, on opposite ends of the rickety kitchen table, any scarce dialogue between the two of them turned brittle and stale.

There were spats, now, and gentle shoves that turned less gentle; she and Lip weren’t around the house much anymore, thank fucking god, but what few conversations she did see between Ian and Mickey always ended with raised voices and them both practically having steam coming out of their ears, or with some stray bystander needing to plant themselves in the middle of the married couple to tell them to calm the fuck down. Tami would lock eyes with Lip as they scuffled in the kitchen, her eyebrows raised in a message that she knew Lip understood: “See, this is why I never want to get married.”

So that was pretty much the situation Tami expected to be walking into, late one afternoon when Lip was presumably off doing some shady shit with those stolen bikes and Tami was stuck at the Gallagher house waiting to meet up with him so they could keep working through “Operation Sell the Gallagher House to Gentrifiers.” Tami had expected Lip to be here a couple of hours ago, and was honestly debating just saying fuck it and going home— but Fred had passed out in Tami’s lap as they were sitting on the couch a couple of minutes ago and Tami was not going to wake this monster child up before he was ready and took another hour of crying and writhing to settle down again. Tami was leaning back, closing her eyes and enjoying a rare moment of peace in this godforsaken house… when she was snapped back into reality by the sound of a kitchen cupboard slamming shut.

Huh. Tami had apparently drifted off, but Freddie was still sound asleep in her lap, pinning her down. It was definitely the early evening by now— the sun had started to set, glowing purple from behind the thin curtains.

A clang came from the kitchen again, and Tami craned her neck as much as she could without stirring the sleeping toddler in her lap to peer into the kitchen from the open doorway to see if Lip was home— and instead, she saw Ian standing by the counter opening something with a can opener, and Mickey beside him.

It looked like they’d been in the kitchen a while—from the corner of her eye she could see Mickey perched on the countertop sipping a beer, his legs swinging while Ian milled around him pulling things from the cabinets and manning the stovetop. She knew both of the boys weren’t much of a cook, and from what she’d seen Ian’s culinary abilities didn’t exceed heating up canned soup or spreading butter on toast— but it looked like he was chopping onions and opening a can of black beans for something, which struck her by surprise. There was music playing low from a little portable speaker in the kitchen, presumably something Ian had brought down from the bedroom— right now there was some 80s hit playing that reminded Tami of the music her dad used to listen to while he was putzing around in the garage when she was little, if she was bring totally honest. But Mickey seemed to be enjoying it, his head bobbing slightly to the beat while he scrolled through what she recognized as Ian’s phone.

“Okay, the recipe website says you’ve gotta add cumin now. What the fuck is cumin?”

She could hear Ian’s dry laugh. “A spice? I think? We probably don’t even have it, I’ll just add a shit ton of chili powder and it’ll taste fine.”

“Whatever you say, Rachel Ray.”

Tami could see Ian lean to flip Mickey off, then turn to poke through the cabinets. Weird. Ian had flipped Mickey off, sure, but there wasn’t any malice in it; for the first time in a while, it seemed like the two of them were actually coexisting peacefully for once— which, thank god for that, at the very least because it meant Fred would stay sleeping on her lap for a while until Lip got home.

Now that she thought back on it, Ian and Mickey had seemed a bit more settled lately— she’d heard bits and pieces about all the stuff with Mickey’s abusive asshole of a dad moving in next door, and about the two of them starting a security business together in that random ambulance that was always parked in the street now (Tami wasn’t even going to ask)— she could imagine that running errands around Chicago together all day long in matching jumpsuits would bring anyone closer together. This was the first time she’d really seen them enjoy being in each other’s space since the pandemic started, just casually hanging out around the house without something fiery about to erupt between them, whether from anger or passion— and honestly, it was kind of nice to by in proximity to, just listening to their chatter floating back and forth and the sizzling of onions and chili flakes in a pan while the music drifted between them.

Tami sat there for a while, closing her eyes again as the shadows in the room grew deeper, listening to some Bon Jovi song play low in the background and feeling the solid weight of Fred breathing evenly pressed against her chest.

A couple minutes of minutes later, she heard the stove being turned off, and the clanking of plates being taken out of the cabinets as the song ended.

“Hey, can I pick a song?” Ian asked, over the sound of him putting the sizzling pan into the sink.

Mickey burped loudly, and Tami could see that he was still perched on the edge of the kitchen counter by the stovetop.

“Yeah, but put on something good, man. None of your techno bullshit.”

“Pass me my phone.”

Ian fidgeted with the phone for a moment—and then a familiar song, a lot softer than the cheerful drumbeats of the melodies before, came streaming through the speaker.

“I found a love, for me…”

Immediately, she heard Mickey chuckle loudly, like he was surprised.

“Fuuuucking softie,” Mickey groaned, but when Tami craned her neck again to slyly peer at the two of them in the kitchen she could see that he was grinning. At first Tami was confused, but then a memory started to stir— this was their wedding song, wasn’t it? She remembered hearing it waft through the front hallways of the dingy polka house while she and Lip were having their screaming match over Fred. Ah, good memories.

Ian stepped closer to Mickey, and Tami promptly heard the pad of Mickey’s feet hitting the ground as he slid off of the kitchen countertop.

“Dance with me?”

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Mickey breathed, and then they were silent. From where she was sitting, Tami could see Ian’s broad shoulders standing in front of where Mickey had been seated— his head was curled downward slightly, and Mickey was pinned close against him, his face pressed into the upper half of Ian’s shoulder.

Well, damn. Tami smirked to herself. I guess that security business has worked some magic after all.

Out of nowhere, Fred started to stir and wriggle in Tami’s lap.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She didn’t really want to break up the sappy moment, but Freddie was definitely due for a diaper change and was going to be a fussy mess in about five seconds if she didn’t scoop him up right now.

She quickly rose from the lumpy couch, cradling the back of Fred’s head in her hands and beelining through kitchen doorway.

Instantly, Mickey nearly jumped out his skin when he saw Tami— he immediately detached himself from Ian’s shoulder and detangled himself from Ian’s arms. Ian just grinned sheepishly and leaned against the counter, letting Mickey ever-so-slightly slump against him.

Tami paused, taking the scene in and trying to hold back a knowing smile as Freddie fussed on her shoulder.

“The fuck’re you looking at?”

Mickey’s neck turned blotchy and flushed, and he darted his eyes to Freddie and then back to Tami.

Tami knew she had a sloped, sappy smile on her face. “Nothing. Just good to see you guys not ripping each other’s throats out for once.”

Mickey let out a slight breath, slumping back towards Ian’s chest even more— then he rolled his eyes, but the gesture was light and fond.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively. Ian was still practically beaming, and draped a hand across Mickey’s waist— and Tami watched as he slowly, slowly pressed a kiss to Mickey’s temple and Mickey’s posture immediately softened, like the air was being let out of him.

Wow. Okay. Guess the old Ian and Mickey are back.

Tami raised Freddie slightly onto her shoulder, then pushed past the two of them towards the back stairs, where Tami could hopefully go up and change her son’s shitty diaper in peace— and as she started to climb the stairs, she heard one final quip from Mickey:

“Your brother can’t sell this house fast enough, man.”

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

O Children

Minerva couldn’t sleep. Ever since the war had begun, she had become more and more restless in her sleep, increasingly worrying Poppy. Thus, she did not miss a single second of the sharp, rapid, loud knock on the door of their little cottage that sounded at 4 am on that cold November morning. Tightening the string of her checkered green plaid robe, she walked rapidly down the stairs, leaving the vapour of her cup of tea resting on the window sill to god up the window. The lower floor of the house was plunged deep in darkness, the only light coming from the porch lamp whose glow glittered through the door’s coloured glass panels. Gripping her wand tightly, she unlocked the door.

“Albus!” She gasped. “What type of ice cream did I get at Florean’s in Diagon Alleys on August 22nd, 1975?”

Her wand was pointed right at the centre of his chest omnipresent reminder of the war.

“Raspberry sprinkled with rose petals and lavender-infused chocolate topped with almond brittle,” said the old man tiredly.

He looked weary the twinkle in his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles dim, long white hair and beard having lost their silvery shine, clothes dusty. It was almost as if more wrinkles had appeared on his face since the last time she had seen him, rendering his face even grimmer, a gloom look stretching across his features.

“What happened?” She asked tightly. “Who…who died?”

Her friend’s silence was unbearable, hanging heavy in the air, announcing in-pendent doom.

“I can’t remain long, I must go and take care of matters, but I assumed you would wish to be notified among the first…”

“Albus. Who. Died?” She repeated.

He sighed.

“Peter Pettigrew and…James and Lily Potter, all murdered by Sirius Black.”

An icy, unpleasant, terrifying wave of cold flooded her veins, disbelief painted on her face. It wasn’t possible.

“No,” she whispered. “There must have been an error. No. Sirius would never do such a thing to James and Lily. They were his best friends. You are wrong.”

The Headmaster watched her with compassion as she muttered “no” under her breath over and over again, refusing to acknowledge the hard and bitter truth. It felt as if the world was spinning at breakneck speed around her, dizzying her. Everything swam before her eyes, blurring and mixing, a kaleidoscopic slush of colours, and numerous seconds passed before Minerva realised that the thin watery veil clouding her gaze was burning hot, unspilt tears. Her grip on the door handle was so tight her knuckles had turned white.

“When? How?…Why?” She breathed raggedly.

“We don’t know exactly,” started Albus gently. “All we know is that Sirius Black was the Potter’s Secret Keeper, he allegedly betrayed them, which led us to believe he reconnected with his family and worked closely with Voldemort. Peter Pettigrew attempted to warn and save Lily and James, and in a fit of madness, Black blew up the street and killed Pettigrew along with thirteen muggles. He was found in a muggle neighbourhood nearby and has since then been arrested and sentenced to Azkaban for life. It was debated whether or not he should receive the Dementor’s kiss, but the judges decided upon a life sentence at Azkaban. I am still waiting for more information, and I will send you the full Order report as soon as it is ready. Members of the Order are of course working on the case along with the Ministry Aurors.”

She watched him tiredly, still refusing to believe him.

“Now, if you will excuse me, Minerva, I unfortunately still have urgent matters to attend to, I cannot remain any longer. I present you my sincerest condolences for your loss, I know that they were all very dear to you, and excellent students. I myself am still quite disbelieving at the situation.”

She looked at him stonily.

“No, you are not,” she thought, but she only asked:

“And Remus? And harry, James’ and Lily’s child?”

“Mr. Lupin hasn’t returned from his mission yet, as for young Harry…I’ve taken care of it

An uneasy feeling overcame her.

“Albus, what did you do?”

The elderly wizard failed to meet her eye.

“I have left him with his last living relatives, the Dursleys. Petunia Dursley was Lily Evans Potter’s sister—“

“I know that, “ snapped Minerva. “What I do not understand is why you thought this was a viable solution. I have met the Dursleys. They are close-minded, rude, and despicable people. They are not a good family or entourage for Harry to grow up in. Petunia Dursley could barely stomach her own sister, I shudder at the thought of how she will treat her nephew. Neither James nor Lily would have wanted this for their son, Albus, I can’t—“

“It does not matter, Minerva,” he cut her off. “While I appreciate your concerns, the matter is sealed and there is nothing to be done now. I have my reasons, and I hope you will trust me as you have done many times before. I wish you a pleasant evening, or well, rather morning I suppose.”

He turned around, his robes sweeping the floor as he walked away until he was nothing but a mere silhouette amongst the shadows, all semblants of warm, glowing light gone.

“Bastard,” seethed the witch after him, before slamming the door shut.

The shock of wood against wood resonated around her in the darkness. She did not know what to do now, what to say, what to think, what to feel. For the first time in years, Minerva was lost. She stood there, back pressed against the hard door, wand held tightly in her wrinkled hand, dark brown hair streaked with gray tumbling down her shoulders, and felt oddly empty, almost numb, as she looked curiously at the single ray of moonlight piercing through the back windows. The old stairs creaked in the far left corner of the living room, and a trembling golden glow filled the lower floor of the white brick cottage. Poppy appeared behind the sofa, gripping her wand whose tip was alight with a soft shine, wrapped in her midnight blue nightgown. She looked weary and pale in the dim light, almost ghost-like, her quivering lip betraying her inner turmoil. Minerva stared at her blankly, as she approached her.

“Minnie,” whispered her wife, kneeling in front of her, placing a soft hand on her wrinkled cheek.

“That’s what they used to call me, James and Sirius, Minnie, mum…they were the only ones who dared to,” she croaked.

“I know,” said Poppy softly, wrapping her arms around her frail shoulders, hugging her tightly. “They were wonderful children and—“

“He killed them,” interrupted Minerva hoarsely. “He killed them…”

She shivered, whether it was coldness or something else, much darker, buried inside of her, she did not know, but she began trembling violently.

“VOLDEMORT KILLED THEM!” She roared, eyes blazing, face red, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Minerva,” murmured Poppy, chocking on her name, as she held her crying wife in her arms, who shook violently, wracked by uncontrollable sobs.

“He killed them, he killed them, he killed them,” she muttered over and over again, face buried in the crook of Poppy’s neck.

Neither of them had any idea how long they stayed there, on the cold hard floor, leaving against the entrance door of their house. But, soon enough, the morning sun’s first golden rays began filtering through the windows. The sky was beautiful outside, a painted canvas of amber, orange and pink fading into a dark blue in one corner and a clear azure in the other. It was all awfully joyful and pretty, considered the grim circumstances. Exhausted, Poppy got up, and holding Minerva by the elbow, led her to the upholstered burgundy armchair overlooking the small fireplace where coals lay cold and dead amongst the ash. She settled weakly into it, covering herself with a large plaid blanket. She felt nothing, no pain, no sorrow, no joy, nothing. Her mind still hadn’t fully processed the loss, and the first shock of emotions having been evacuated by hours and hours of mourning the dead, she was now empty, hollow.

“Poppy,” she said quietly, taking the small green hand-painted ceramic mug her wife handed her, having come back from the kitchen. “Do you honestly believe, Sirius…”

She stopped, her voice cracking, a shy remnant of the power it used to be.

She took a deep breath in, before trying again.

“Do you think Sirius killed James, Lily, and Peter?” She asked in a small voice,

“Of course not, replied Poppy, taking a sip of her tea. “I don’t believe Sirius would be able to kill someone in the first place, let alone murder his best friends.”

Minerva nodded,

“I do not think so either, but…I don’t know, something is wrong…”

Silence settled in their home, as the birds chirped merrily outside, welcoming the new day with joy and excitement. Suddenly, a loud knock sounded at the kitchen window. Minerva stood up heavily, and leaving her empty teacup on the worktop, she opened it, letting the waiting owl in. Running her hand gently through its glossy tan plumage, she took the newspaper from its claws and slipped five Knuts into the small leather pouch tied at its leg. Big headlines printed in bold black letters glared back at her from the white paper, screaming victory:

“Dark Lord vanquished and gone, for good this time”

“Dark Lord dead: Wizarding Britain celebrates”

“Harry Potter, the young saviour of our world”

She skimmed briefly through the paragraphs, squinting at the fine print, shaking her head slowly.

“Fools,” she thought.

She opened the Daily Prophet to the second page and dropped it in shock when Sirius Black’s desperate face stared back at her from the black and white moving picture. An Auror was restraining him, holding him at wand point, as he desperately attempted to free himself from her iron grip. His face was a mask of pure anguish and misery, as tears ran down his face, his usually lustrous black hair sticking in mangy strands to his skin.

“I’m so sorry.”

He appeared to be mouthing the same three words over and over again.

Above the picture, the headline read:

“Sirius Orion Black: murderer, madman, and traitor”

Facing Poppy who was watching her worriedly, she whispered, voice breaking:

“I must find Remus, now.”

[fettsvette]

Never Worn White (Part Two)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 6.8k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Loss of virginity and unprotected sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

 vaar’ika - little runt

  nehutyc’ika - feisty one

 cyar’tomade - fans

   -

  “Your boyfriend’s at the Atrium.”

  The words were like a lightning strike through the very fiber of your being, your whole body vibrating, no matter how teasingly and sarcastically they were meant. Your head jerked up so fast from the holopad screen you’d been gazing at that you felt as if you had just given yourself whiplash, and your blood pressure instantly skyrocketed, leaving you feeling light-headed and dizzy. Your roommate grinned lecherously at you, their eyes glinting mischievously. They were one of the few people to know about your feelings for Boba Fett, and it was obvious now that they were torturing you, feeding you false information and getting your hopes up just to watch you fluster and squirm like a giddy schoolgirl. Of course, they didn’t know the extent of your infatuation, and what you were planning if you ever happened to cross paths with the infamous bounty hunter during his unprecedented stay in Cloud City. You didn’t intend to allow them to find out, either.

  “...What are you talking about? Stop it...” You replied faintly, gazing up at them dumbly from your perch on the couch, uncrossing your legs and attempting to knead the life back into the prickling muscles. Your gaze drifted to your hands as you did so, trying futilely to get them to stop shaking just so your flatmate didn’t have something else to rib you over, and then skirted over to the wide window looking out over the city. Neat rows of transports crisscrossing in every direction lined the nighttime sky, carrying Cloud City’s citizens and tourists alike to where they needed to go. You couldn’t help but direct your vision towards the vicinity of the entertainment district, its bright lights plainly visible from your apartment. The Paradise Atrium was only a short distance away from your apartment on Figg Avenue, even closer than the landing bay where the Slave I was still docked. There was no way. It was too good to be true, simply meant to be. He was coming closer and closer to you.

  “I’m not kidding. Boba Fett’s at the Paradise Atrium, right now . I had to stop there on my way home to drop off a couple containers of glitterstim my boss owed the slimeball that owns that place, y’know? I walked in and he was literally right there in the cantina, just sitting at one of the booths in the corner… the ones they always reserve for the really top-tier VIPs.” They explained seriously, and you envisioned the layout of the lounge in your mind, an establishment you had visited quite often. Your thoughts brought you to the very rear of the adjacent and aptly-named Paradise Cantina... into the recesses of a shadowy booth, where sat an imposing figure in a battle-worn suit of Mandalorian armor, reclined against the plush backing of the stall, legs spread almost obscenely wide. His codpiece was mysteriously absent, and you could see everything . He beckoned you closer with the twitch of a gloved finger ...and you shook yourself from your reverie, acutely aware that a cold sweat had started collecting on the back of your neck. You fought the urge to slap yourself across the face, the imagined mercenary still calling to you from your subconscious.

  “Okay, okay… crik. Are you absolutely sure it was him?” You pleaded desperately, and your roommate openly rolled their eyes in your direction, shaking their head incredulously. You needed to be sure . You’d heard of the Fett imposter Jodo Kast, and even though the presence of the Slave I on-world was an immediate indication that the visitor was the real deal himself, there was still a niggling disbelief in your mind. This just could not be happening right now.

 “Of course I’m sure! Kriff, how many Mandos do you think are just walking around Cloud City? Beefy-looking buckethead wearing green scrap metal, more weapons on him than stars in the sky. Poor kid they had serving him was terrified, the guy was shaking so bad he almost dropped a whole tray of brinebrew on the graysuits that were in the booth with him. And - okay, are we just going to ignore the fact that I called Boba kriffing Fett your boyfriend and you didn’t even blink? Honestly, I really can’t believe you sometimes…”

  You didn’t even wait for them to finish. The fact that there were apparently high-ranking Imperial officers meeting with this mystery man was all the information you needed for any seed of doubt in your mind to be crushed. The holopad fell from your hands to land screen-down on the floor, entirely forgotten. Leaping up from the couch and power-walking towards your bedroom on tremulous legs, you flung the door closed behind you and hurriedly began rooting through your closet, looking for something halfway presentable to change into. You stripped yourself of your sweatpants and ripped t-shirt, having instantly settled on a glittering shimmersilk dress that you’d impulsively bought as a present to yourself after your last pay raise. You paused as you pulled the thin material over your head, debating whether or not to put on a bra before you dressed any further. With a curt sigh at yourself, you continued to slip your arms through the straps, smoothing the bunched fabric over the swell of your breasts. There was no point in bothering with one of those itchy, lacy garments you owned, that only you had ever laid eyes on - if all went according to plan tonight, your bra would just be coming off sooner rather than later anyway. You bent to slip your bare feet into a pair of plain black flats - you’d considered heels for a brief moment, but decided against them on the off-chance you had to make a quick getaway - when you were interrupted by the bedroom door colliding with the wall as it was unceremoniously flung open.

  “...And just where the frozz do you think you’re going wearing that ?” A disbelieving voice intoned harshly from the doorway, and you looked up to see your roommate blocking the light flooding in from the living area, a panic-stricken expression written across their features. You paused, your arms hanging limply at your sides, staring determinedly back at your roommate, whose face was beginning to reflect a dawning sense of horror and understanding. 

  “ Out. ” You answered in a bland monotone, snatching your handbag off the bed and peeking inside of it, making sure that the keycard to your apartment door, as well as your credit chip and a healthy pouch of physical Imperial credit coins, were tucked away safely inside. Your roommate strode forward, grabbing your forearm and squeezing tightly, causing you to wince as they forced you to look them in the eye.

  “Out where ?”

  You didn’t reply, your plans already dangerously close to unraveling. Your roommate’s grip tightened to the point of pain, and you were stunned to see that their eyes had filled with tears of fright. You knew you should feel guilty for putting them through this sort of duress, for worrying them to the point of weeping over your safety, but the only thing you found yourself feeling was a sort of grim pleasure. The fact that someone you had grown so close to in your years of living in Cloud City, a creature you considered to be one of your closest friends, could be frightened to this level by the thought of you becoming somehow entangled with the notorious Boba Fett, did nothing but give you a sick sense of satisfaction deep in your gut. It heightened the swirling arousal that was already building deep in the pit of your belly, fantastical images of what this night’s adventure could possibly bring already brewing in your mind. Your roommate finally loosened their vice grip on your arm and shook their head unbelievingly, backing away from you as if you were tainted.

  “Oh, stars … I know what you’re thinking. Please don’t do this. This isn’t some game of Droids and Guards, you fool, he’s dangerous .” They begged, seeming nearer and nearer to tears with every word. 

  “Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to get myself into a situation I can’t handle, I just… I just want to see him.” You adjusted the strap of your handbag on your shoulder and heard the childish, lovestruck pleading in your voice. You hated yourself for it, for letting yourself get this much in a tizzy over a mere man - but this truly wasn’t just a man, was it? You could very possibly wind up in bed with none other than Boba Fett by the end of the night, if the galaxy was kind to you. He was going to be the first to ever claim you - as you pushed past your roommate and headed for the door, you were certain of it. This was your darkest, deepest fantasy come true, something you had been pining for and secretly dreaming about since you were old enough to even fathom the concept of sex, of virginity. Boba Fett was the only man you’d ever thought about giving yourself to for years now, and this was quite possibly your only chance. There was no turning back now.

  “Didn’t you hear me say that he was surrounded by Imps?! High-ranking Imps ! He kills people for money! He’s here working for the Emperor, I know it, and that big brute Vader’s still lurking around -” You held up one hand to silence them, and to your surprise, they immediately stopped, wild-eyed and staring at you imploriously, hands raised above their head. You had never seen your friend this keyed up, this stricken by concern for your wellbeing. It felt strange to say, but other than mynocks in your stomach from thinking about how the rest of the night could go, you didn’t understand just what this panic was all about. You weren’t stupid enough to interrupt important Imperial business, and it wasn’t like Lord Vader himself was going to be sitting at the bar, nursing a drink - right?

  “Just… don’t wait up for me tonight. Okay?” You quietly begged your friend, your voice sweetly soft and as neutral as you could manage. A long moment passed between the two of you, no words spoken, just gazing into each other’s eyes. Several beats passed in silence, only the traffic outside interrupting the heavy tension that filled the room. Your roommate was the first to break, their shoulders sinking, defeated. You felt a new burst of energy and smug satisfaction, but couldn’t help but feel somewhat remorseful at your reaction towards their obvious distress. The feeling passed quickly, however, when your roommate bowed their head, the ghost of a smile on their lips as they clucked their tongue and shook their head at you.

 “Dank farrik… you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that? ...But okay. You win.” They sighed. You kept your expression even, although you were screaming with joy on the inside, and were about to reach out to embrace them, when they took a step back and pointed in your face. You felt yourself going slightly cross-eyed, following their finger down the bridge of your nose, and had to stifle an ill-timed giggle. “But if you’re not back by sunrise, I’m contacting the Wing Guard and reporting you missing, and I’m going to tell them who you were trying to meet up with. I’ll get Baron Calrissian and the Alliance involved. Don’t think I won’t.” They continued, and your heart skipped a beat. You certainly weren’t expecting that turn of events, but weren’t exactly surprised either. With how sympathetic your roommate was to the Rebel Alliance, especially concerning the events of the past week and the installation of what the locals were beginning to call the ‘Iron Blockade,’ it made sense that they would threaten you with action involving the Rebellion, even if it was just out of concern for your safe return. It wasn’t that you didn’t support the Rebels yourself - their crushing blow to the Empire in the form of the destruction of the Death Star had reinvigorated your hope in their cause, especially after the horrific obliteration of Alderaan - but the purely selfish, immature side of you wondered what would happen to Boba Fett if the Rebellion were to come out the victors of this current Galactic Civil War. He was one of Vader’s most loyal hunters, and you had a feeling that the Rebels wouldn’t smile kindly upon his transgressions against them. Especially since one of their most famous generals, Han Solo, currently had a bounty on his head large enough to buy an entire spice mine, and it had been speculated on the HoloNet that Fett was one of the many mercenaries attempting to cash in on this coveted prize.

  You walked past your roommate without another word, slipping past them in the doorway of your bedroom, and padded easily across the living area carpet, knowing now that they’d had put their last word in and would no longer attempt to stop you. Settling your hand upon the doorknob leading into the hall, you were about to let yourself out into the night when you heard the Aruzan softly call your name, and you turned. They stood in the center of the room, smiling sadly, arms folded across their chest, a look of intense worry upon their face as they watched you exit, hoping they would find you back home in the morning. Their last words to you rang in your ears as you made your way across the night sky in the space taxi that would deposit you right on the steps of the Atrium.

  “Good luck.”

  -

  You stepped into the main lounge of the Paradise Atrium and instantly felt incredibly out of place, and exorbitantly underdressed despite the expensive shimmersilk you had draped yourself in for this special occasion.

  The room was filled with regal-looking creatures from all over the galaxy - a large group of Twi’leks sat on a couch in the far corner, smoking from a hookah and emitting large columns of purple and green smoke through their nostrils in between bouts of gay laughter, and a company of important-looking Nothoiin congregated around the elaborate carbonite sculpture placed in the center of the room. You’d attended gatherings at the Atrium many times before, but you’d never been in the presence of so many upper-class individuals. You wouldn’t be surprised if just one of these creatures was currently carrying more credits in their pockets than you would ever see in your entire lifetime. Not to mention, there were several armored stormtroopers, their white plastoid suits gleaming in the artificial light, holding sentinel near the staff entrance at the rear of the room, a sight you’d never seen here before. Something was definitely going down in Cloud City, and you had walked right into it. That realization alone made you want to sink into the floor, and what made it even worse was the fact that there was no sign of Boba Fett.

  You had crept into the Atrium as discreetly as you could, almost on tiptoe, and in hindsight you weren’t exactly sure what you had been expecting. Had you thought that you’d walk in and Fett himself would have been standing there, awaiting your entrance like a prince from ancient myth, on call for his princess’s arrival at the ball? Heart hammering wildly, leaning against the wall for support, you had scanned the room twice, then thrice over, looking for a flash of green, a swirl of cape, any indication that he was present, only to come up empty. He simply wasn’t here; at least he wasn’t anymore, if he ever had been in the first place. As much as you loved your roommate, and despite their almost violent reaction they’d had to the knowledge that you were - at the very least - trying to meet Boba Fett, it wouldn’t terribly surprise you if they had been pulling your leg all along. You’d trudge back into your shared apartment, dejected, and your roommate would be there, grinning smugly, lecturing that the moral of this story was to never seek company with strange men.

  Gazing around the room once more and seeing no sign of Fett, or at the very least, the Imperial graysuits that he’d apparently been here meeting with, you found yourself almost embarrassingly heartbroken. You’d banked so much on tonight, only for it to wind up being a missed chance, if not a complete fake-out. You refused to give your roommate the satisfaction of heading straight back home, though, so you figured now was as good a time as any to drink your sorrows away at the bar. The Paradise Cantina was adjacent to the Atrium and contained a half-moon bar as well as several comfortable private booths, and you sidled onto one of the stools at the center of the console, directly in front of the bartender, a distinguished-looking Bothan who eyed you dubiously.

  “Anything I can get for you, kid?” He asked gruffly, polishing a glass and looking you up and down, feeling you out. Although you had lounged with friends at the Atrium, even attended a few workplace parties there, you’d never really been a patron of the bar, and you felt the clientele ogling you suspiciously. It obviously wasn’t an ordinary occurrence, to see a scantily clad young woman sitting alone at a high-class bar, and the various eyes on you made your skin crawl, although you did your best to ignore the unwanted attention.

  “Just a Jedi Mind Trick, please. Make it a double” You replied softly, keeping your eyes down, tracing your fingernail against the wood grain of the bar. You heard the Bothan snort, probably amused at your choice of such a strong drink right off the bat, doubting you could hold your liquor. The way you saw it, though, you’d rather spend the rest of the evening getting shit-faced here than simply slinking off home alone, to wallow in bed self-despairingly. 

  The bartender had just set the triangular container full of bright blue liquid on the counter in front of you when a door you hadn’t noticed on the far side of the room slid open, and a figure stepped out. A hush immediately fell over the room, which had previously been filled with glasses clinking, quiet conversation and laughter, and a holographic jizz band being broadcast. You didn’t bother to look over at first, too absorbed in your own self-pity to care, picking up the glass and knocking the entire drink back in one gulp, leaving the edges of your mind slightly blurred.

  That’s when you heard the spurs.

  Kshnk. Kshnk. Kshnk.

  At first you assumed it was solely a figment of your imagination, an effect of the alcohol being absorbed into your system, until you realized that the room had gone silent, that even the hologram of the band had ceased playing. You looked up at the bartender, but he was staring over the top of your head, paused in the act of refilling another guest’s stein. The jangling sound filled your ears until you could hear nothing else, not even the sound of your own breathing, and a chill went down your spine. You were clenching your empty cup so tight that you were surprised it didn’t shatter in your hand. Gingerly, you turned around to acknowledge the cantina’s newest arrival, your stomach rolling with anticipation, your blood singing in your veins, your heart pounding like a gigantic drum sitting in your chest cavity. You looked up.

  And there he was.

  Boba Fett.  

  He was shorter than you expected.

  You felt a near-hysterical giggle rise in your throat as the realization crossed your mind, that this was your very first thought upon seeing the man you’d envisioned fucking you time and time again - in person, finally. The laughter died in your throat as he turned to cross the room, only several meters away from you, and you got your first real look at him.

  Stars, he was beautiful .

  Boba Fett walked slowly, methodically, with more purpose than you had ever seen another creature move, even though it seemed his only motive at the moment was to find a place to sit down. The dented helmet that concealed his features didn’t break its steady gaze straight ahead even once as Fett crossed the room, even though every eye in the cantina was locked to him. There was no way the man didn’t know that he was currently the center of attention, the reason for the palatable silence in the air, and it was quite obvious that he didn’t care one parsec. The green armor he wore was littered with scrapes and scars and dents, but still shone in the low light of the bar, as if it had only just been waxed, and you shivered at the thought of getting to press your bare chest against the battle-flecked breastplate. A ragged cape was tossed over one shoulder, and your eyes were drawn to the string of inexplicable numbers glowing out from an interface on the right-hand side of his armor, and to the strange symbol mirroring its position, a stalk of grain framed by a bright red drop of blood and what looked to be lettering in a language you didn’t recognize, directly above his heart. There were several long braids of multi-colored and variously textured hair thrown over the opposite side of his shoulder plate, the sight of which sent another delicious chill up your spine. You knew you should be repulsed by the sight of those trophies of war alone, but it served as a confirmation of something you already knew - this man was dangerous . There was debate on the HoloNet as to the origin of those braids - some who’d been following Fett’s career, as you did, were adamant that they were made of the scalps of Wookiees he’d killed; yet others claimed they were the braids of Jedi Padawans he’d hunted down at the request of Lord Vader himself. Your eyes flitted downwards to below his waist, heat flushing through your system. The greenish codpiece was just as battered as the rest of the armor - even more so, upon a closer look. Judging by the craggy yet shallow indentation located almost in the dead-center of it, some unfortunate soul had made a last ditch effort to save themselves by taking a shot at what they must have thought was the most vulnerable area on Fett’s body. They had obviously been wrong, and you were grateful for it. 

  Almost seeming to move in slow motion, the bounty hunter passed directly by the bar, and you could have sworn you could sense his body heat even from several meters away, could smell blaster smoke and blood on him. As repulsive as those scents should have been, reminiscent of battlefields and death and suffering, you felt almost soothed by the thought of being able to press your face to the rough cloth that held the Mandalorian armor together, breathe in those aromas as deeply as you wished, a smell that was so distinctly him . You focused your gaze on Boba Fett once more just in time to see him settle himself at a raised table in the corner, reclining back casually. He seemed to finally notice that all other movement and conversation in the cantina had ceased upon his arrival, and his helmet swiveled first to the left, then to the right, making direct eye contact with several goggling patrons, who uneasily turned away under his gaze. Fett’s visor then turned in your direction and your heart walloped frantically in your chest - ‘ has he noticed me?’ - but it became obvious quite quickly that he was looking past you, straight at the Bothan behind the bar, who regarded Fett for a long moment before offering him a grudging nod. Almost as if this were some sort of cue, the holographic band started up again with a lively rendition of ‘Sugaan Essena,’ and the muttered discussions, tinkling of glasses, and laughter resumed. The clients of the Paradise Atrium and Cantina seemed eager to forget that the deadliest bounty hunter in the known galaxy was seated in their midst. Fett, however, had cast his gaze to the city outside, watching the rows of traffic track across the nighttime sky, gloved hands resting firmly on his knees, deep in thought. 

  You watched out of the corner of your eye as three young Zabrak women wearing matching skin-tight baffleweave bodysuits made a beeline for Fett’s table as soon as the atmosphere had settled down, obviously over-eager for their chance to flirt with danger. You sniggered when the armored figure sent them away with a wave of his hand before they even had a chance to close in on him, watched them turn tail with their heads down almost as quickly as they had first come. You tried to ignore the coiling pit of unease in your belly as you considered moving forward with your plan, despite the fact that it seemed for all intents and purposes that Fett did not want to be bothered. You continued to watch the man as his attention was drawn back to the outside world. ‘ Oh, hell. You only live once, right? What’s the worst that could happen, he tells you to kark off?’

  “Hey… would you send a drink over to that table in the corner? Whatever he usually orders when he comes here.” You waved the bartender over, pointing a thumb over your shoulder at Boba Fett, jerking your chin in his direction as well for emphasis. You were trying to play it cool, sending a drink to the table of one of the most bloodthirsty men in the galaxy, but you were sure that the bartender could see your hand shaking as you made the request. The tall Bothan looked at you as if you had asked him for a diamond-encrusted barrel of Coruscanti bitters, straight from the Emperor’s private reserve.

  “...You sure about that, kid? You do know who that is, right? Boba Fett’s one tough customer. You’d be better off not messing around with that barve.” He leaned down towards you, warning you off as if you were a child, trying to play with the older kids who would only include you in their games if it meant beating you within an inch of your life. You nodded, looking back with what you hoped was a steely determination.

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  The Bothan looked at you for a moment with great pity, as if he were gazing upon a creature that had just consigned itself to its doom. Heaving a sigh that quivered the fur lining his muzzle, the bartender turned and started preparing another drink.

  You couldn’t even look as the liquor was brought across the room by one of the ornate serving droids that wandered the cantina. You kept your head low, jiggling one leg on the stool beneath you, digging your fingernails into the glossy wood that encompassed the top of the bar. The minutes seemed to tick by excruciatingly, and you were overcome by the notion that maybe you should leave, get up and bolt when you still could, escape before Fett was aware of what fool had sent him the drink, go home to bed and forget any of this had ever happened. But too late - just as you were beginning to shift in your seat, to lean in the direction of the doorway and gather up the momentum to run, the bartender cleared his throat, causing your head to pop up at the sudden noise. The Bothan looked you in the eyes and did nothing but give you a subtle bob of his head, watching a point across the room. You followed his eyes, and stopped dead in your tracks.

  Boba Fett was staring at you.

  Openly leering at you was a better term for it, his entire body turned in your direction, lazily slumped in his seat, his legs spread comfortably wide. Kriff, this was just like your daydream. As soon as he was sure that he had your attention, and as if he had read your mind, one hand rose from its spot resting against the ample meat of his thigh, and two deft fingers hidden under an off-white glove of bantha leather beckoned you closer with a quick curling motion. It was an action that whispered, ‘ Come hither, my dear. Let’s play.’

  Your stomach lurched and your vision suddenly filled with black spots, and you bit down hard on your lower lip, the quick pain bringing you back from the brink of passing out. Your eyes refocused, the dark points fading away, and there he still sat, his position unchanged. He was waiting for you to come over. You looked back at the bartender for guidance - by now you were sure he had seen this song and dance played out here many times before - and the Bothan gave you a roll of his deep-set dark eyes, and a noncommittal shrug. He’d already written you off as another casualty, the sad result of human naïveté in the face of the galaxy’s bloodthirstiness.

  You rose from your stool on legs that felt as if they were made of bacta, your feet seeming to glide across the floor of the Atrium, bringing you ever closer to Boba Fett. The cantina patrons seemed to part like a sea for you, and you didn’t give a womp rat’s ass if they were staring, whispering about you. Your eyes and thoughts belonged only to the helmeted man who had beckoned you closer, and whose parted legs you were standing almost directly between when your long walk ended. You were so close that you could see yourself reflected in his blackened visor, dumbfounded. You were visibly trembling, and you could feel Fett’s body heat rolling off him, soaking into your own legs as you stood before him. It took you a moment to comprehend that he was waiting for you to speak, for you to make the first move.

  “...You’re here for Han Solo, aren’t you? Everyone knows you two have a rivalry and that you’ve been after him for ages now, and he’s here, and you’re here, and that can’t be a coincidence, right? It’s like -” The words rushed from your mouth in an excited torrent, and you were fully aware that you were babbling at him, but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. Every nerve-ending in your body felt sparked with the fire of a planet’s core, you were absolutely thrumming, and you didn’t care whether you sounded like an idiot in front of this man who you’d lusted after for ages, just as long as you were talking to him, that you had his attention. Mercifully, Fett’s palm came up, the same move he had used on the Zabraks earlier in the night. You stopped mid-sentence, your mouth still hanging upon, your eyes wide.

  “I’m here on business. What exactly that pertains to is none of your concern.” The reply was smooth and unhurried, and he didn’t even look at you. Boba Fett seemed much more concerned with what was going on outside the Atrium’s walls, his line of sight falling past you, towards the lights of the Administrator's Palace. Where Han Solo probably was, if the rumors of him being Leia Organa’s consort were true. So you were right. Even if he wouldn’t admit it in words, it was almost like the bounty hunter was showing you. At least, that’s how you chose to take it.

  “...Oh. Okay. ...Fair enough, I guess.” You cautiously replied, unsure of how to proceed when he offered no further conversation, and cringed inwardly. Stars , you were truly awful at small talk, especially with handsome men. No wonder you’d never gotten laid. Fett’s helmet snapped towards you like a sharp cut with a blade, his restraint with your dallying almost nonexistent, and you felt yourself flush hotly as you realized you’d just been staring blankly at him the entire time, drinking him up just as greedily as any Hutt would look upon a dancer. There was no way he couldn’t tell your intentions, and your confidence and excitability wavered. 

  “So what exactly is it that you want from me, girl? I don’t have the time nor the patience to be followed around and gifted tokens at bars by starry-eyed brats. Say what you will, or I’ll have you removed from my sight. Now .”

  There was ice in his voice, and you found yourself slightly afraid for the first time. The idea of Boba Fett growing angry with you was not something you wanted to experience. You had to say your piece now, or risk losing what you wanted forever. You balled your fists so hard that you were sure your nails were cutting through the skin of your palms, but you stood your ground. You weren’t going to let Fett intimidate you away from what you wanted of him, not now. You were too close.

  So you told him, blunt and straight to the point.

  “I’ve never been fucked. I want you to be my first.”

  Fett’s form stiffened in his seat, the gloved hand that had been nonchalantly resting on his thigh almost imperceptibly gripping the hard muscle beneath. You didn’t notice, nor were you able to sense the fact that he was holding his breath. 

  Despite the extraordinary self-control Boba Fett had cultivated over every aspect of his functions during his decades of bounty hunting, he felt his cock twitch involuntarily within the confines of his flight pants. He’d encountered plenty of cyar’tomade across the galaxy over the years, desperate creatures of all types looking to spend a night in his company just for the later bragging rights, others looking to fulfill some sort of bizarre erotic fantasy - he’d taken up plenty of those offers, and turned down even more. Boba Fett was a man who enjoyed sex, and he made no secret of the fact that he had been scoping the lounge for a prospective bedpartner after the meeting with Lieutenant Sheckil and his graysuits. That wretched smuggler Solo had a date with a carbonite chamber tomorrow evening after he and Vader’s planned ambush at the Administrator’s Palace in the morning, and Fett fully intended to vent some excess energy tonight before finally collecting on the barve’s hefty bounty. It was back to Jabba’s afterwards, and more bounties to collect on, and even less downtime. Fett enjoyed his life of solitude, practically thrived on it, but still… he was only human, and he had his needs. 

 What he hadn’t expected was being cornered and propositioned by a willing and eager virgin. And such a pretty thing, too. This was a first, and he had to admit he was already getting hard at the thought of teaching this naïf how to please a man, to be the one to take her like nobody had before, to show her just who exactly she was dealing with.

  “ Well … aren’t you a bold one.” He finally exhaled, still avoiding any semblance of eye contact with you, his focus seeming to be on stirring the cubes around his drink. You swallowed thickly, watching Fett’s index finger push the straw back and forth. He hadn’t touched the drink at all, but you didn’t care. You wanted that finger in your mouth, down your throat, glove and all, but shook yourself from the daydream when it occurred to you that Fett was watching, waiting for a response. 

  “I’ve found that fortune favors the bold.” You pushed yourself into the chair opposite him, trying to conceal how badly your legs were wobbling. You had waded chest-deep into completely unknown territory, and you felt as if you were going to faint at any moment if you didn’t take a seat. To emphasize your point, you reached out and grasped the drink you had sent to his table just minutes ago, tipping your head back and draining half of it in one swig. Your head swimming from the sudden rush of hard liquor, you settled the container back on the polished wood and steadied your gaze on the bounty hunter. Fett cocked his helmet at you, an amused snort emanating from underneath, a static edge to it thanks to the vocoder that helped conceal his voice. He laid his forearms on the table, leaning his upper body forward towards you, the posture of a gossiping schoolboy, mocking and insolent.

  “And what makes you think I’d want to be the one to break you in, vaar’ika ?”

  He almost purred the question, sickly sweet. There was no outright malice there, no, but he was teasing you; you could hear the laughter in his voice. You could tell he thought you were nothing but a stupid little girl who didn’t know what she was getting herself into, and it shamed you into silence. You felt your throat tightening, your eyes starting to burn, and you begged yourself, ‘ Don’t you dare start crying and prove him right. You know what you came here for. Don’t you dare. ’ But it was much easier said than done, and your attempt to coax yourself out of this panic only seemed to deepen it. You came this close to fulfilling your fantasy, you could have practically reached out and touched it, but it all had to fall to pieces because you were really nothing but a blubbering baby. You weren’t worthy of being with Boba Fett, and it had been a pipedream to think so even for a moment. 

  “I… I-I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking , coming here. I’ve made an ass of myself and I’ve completely wasted your time, I’m so sorry -”

  Your eyes brimming with embarrassed tears, hot and heavy on your lashes and threatening to spill over at any moment, you ducked your head and pushed the chair out as quickly as you could, moving to brush past the still-seated bounty hunter and make a break for it out into the cool night air. With a harsh gasp, you felt yourself suddenly being jerked back by the elbow, almost stumbling with the force of the pull. Boba Fett’s gauntleted hand was gripping your arm in an iron hold, the black void of his visor locked onto your face. There was no way to tell, of course, and you couldn’t say how you knew, but you could have sworn he was smiling at you.

  “ I didn’t say no , little one . Tell me again what you want of me.” Fett intoned evenly, but not unkindly, releasing his hold on you. To your shock, he ran his hand down your arm as he let you go, and it almost felt - of all things - reassuring . Arousal pooled to your core so quickly at Fett’s surprisingly soft touch and tone that it took you a few extra moments to even register what he had said.

 ‘He didn’t say no. It wasn’t possible. Does he actually want to? ...And he called me ‘little one.’

  You could have died then and there, on the plush carpeted floor of the Paradise Atrium, but your words found you, every ounce of courage in your frame flooding through your veins at once.

  “Take me back to your ship. Let me give myself to you. I want to be yours tonight… only yours. Please .” You laid a trembling hand on his wrist, still expecting to be violently brushed away, told to back off and go home if you knew what was good for you, threatened with disintegration or a blaster shot to the chest or something . But the harsh gesture or violent threat never came. The scarred green helmet tilted downwards to regard your fingers clutching at the armor, and after a quiet beat, Boba Fett’s gaze returned yours. Although you couldn’t see the eyes hidden behind that dark, T-shaped visor, you could feel them burrowing into your very soul, sweeping over you greedily, like a prize to be taken. Shivers rippled up your arms and your stomach rolled, but you weren’t afraid. Not anymore. Silently, you withdrew your fingers, letting your hands fall limply to your sides, and Fett nodded, seemingly satisfied with your plea. 

  “As you wish, nehutyc’ika. Come, then.” With that, Boba Fett stood in one swift motion, and held one palm out for you to take, open and inviting.

  You felt as if you’d been kicked in the chest. You were instantly sober, any trace of alcohol from the night’s earlier wallowing fully flushed from your system by the influx of adrenaline currently screaming through your body. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and for a brief moment you wondered if he was playing with you, if this were some sort of sick joke, but you knew in the deepest recess of your heart that it wasn’t. He was serious. He’d made a career out of not backing down on deals. Boba Fett was a man of his word. 

  So you took his hand and let yourself be spirited away into the night by a figure from your best daydreams, and from other creatures’ worst nightmares.

[liemonyellow]

no salvation for me now

read on ao3

Summary:  Janus isn't having a great day. The others help.

Ships: Platonic DRLAMP

Warnings: Mild swearing

Janus pulled the soft, plush blanket over his head, curling up into a tight ball in the middle of the pile of comforters and stuffed animals he called a bed.

Better. He supposed he could just turn off the AC, but it was too hot even for him, and he preferred covering up in the cold to having to cool himself down when the warmth became too unbearable. It wasn’t like he could crawl out of his own skin, as Remus often suggested.

A stray fabric tentacle from one of his many octopus plushies - all gifts from Remus, and all of which he adored, of course - was digging into his side, its lumpiness an unwelcome sensation keeping him awake when all he wanted was to fall asleep and not wake up for at least a week. The very thought made him want to punch his pillows again; he’d slept quite well the previous few days, so why was he still so fucking tired!?

He knew why.

He hated the reason.

Janus turned over on his other side, yanking the offending plush limb from underneath him and shoving it aside. Reaching for his phone, he checked the time. It was two in the afternoon and he had far too many notifications. Thank the lord for silent mode.

Peeking out from under his blanket, Janus saw strips of yellowish light streaming in through the gaps in his curtains. Normally, he’d be fine napping in broad daylight but right now he wanted darkness. He groaned, and his stomach growled with him.

His attempted nap was officially a lost cause. Dragging himself out of bed, Janus thrust his feet into his slippers and stood, stretching out his arms. He didn’t bother changing into his usual outfit and left his room for the first time that day, ignoring the quaint little color-coded post-it notes the others had left on his door wishing him a nice day or hoping he’d feel better soon or whatever. He was not in the mood for sympathy or socialization right now, even indirectly.

It was even cooler out in the main house, with the AC going full blast to combat the humid heat. The others didn’t have weird issues with temperature like Janus did, and he didn’t begrudge them for it. He could always put on more layers, after all, and the living room had been amassing a rather impressive array of blankets, throws, afghans, and other such sundries for a while now. The twins claimed it was for impromptu blanket fort construction and their subsequent blanket fort pillow wars, but Janus had yet to see any such happenings. It would only be a matter of time, knowing them, but so far Janus was the only one to make any use of the collection at all, and solely for their intended function as warming implements.

As expected, everyone else was in the living room, and they all looked up when he entered. He greeted them with a curt nod before heading straight for the kitchen. No one stopped him, or tried to talk to him. Janus wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He decided he preferred it over the alternative, for now.

Nothing looked appetizing, despite how hungry he was. But he had to eat, so he grabbed a couple slices of sandwich bread and toasted them. He slathered on the butter because fuck it, he wanted to, and scarfed them both down in what had to be less than a second. There. Fed.

Janus grabbed a clean cup from the clean cup cupboard and filled it halfway with water, then drained it in one go. Hydrated. What now?

He stood in the middle of the kitchen, not knowing what to do, for who knew how long. It wasn’t until he heard a small cough that he vacantly turned his head to see Patton giving him a nervous smile.

“Hey, Jan. Everything okay?” he asked, his voice soft. Patton stood just the slightest bit slouched over, either from trying to peek at Janus’ expression or to seem unthreatening. It didn’t really matter which.

Janus shrugged, his eyes returning to stare at the empty countertop.

“Can I touch you? Do you want a hug or something?”

Janus shrugged again, but didn’t jerk away from Patton’s light fingertips on his shoulder like he would have if he were truly averse. Nor did he lean into the touch, as he would have if he were having difficulty asking for it. He honestly just didn’t care.

“Is this okay?”

Janus didn’t feel like answering, but managed a nod. Patton’s hand came to rest fully on his shoulder.

“Why don’t we move into the living room? We can keep quiet if it helps.”

Janus dispassionately followed the guidance of Patton’s hand on his shoulder, staring at the floor as he dragged his feet across it and into the living room. He didn’t really see where he was going, trusting Patton to navigate him safely onto the sofa.

There was murmuring and soft chatter around him as Janus realized Patton had deposited him in the middle of the big couch, and that the others were giving him space to breathe. They were careful not to touch him too much or too firmly, moving slowly and deliberately so they wouldn’t startle him.

Virgil put a hand on his knee, squeezing it gently. Janus turned to look at him, getting a small, encouraging smile in exchange. Janus went back to staring at his knees.

Something soft was draped over his shoulders. Janus sat there, unmoving, as someone tugged it more tightly around him before coming around to sit down on his other side. Logan. He held another, folded-up blanket. He set it aside, in case Janus wanted it later, and held Janus’ hand.

Roman wrapped his arms around Janus’ shoulders from behind him, muttering something softly that Janus didn’t catch. He pressed a kiss into Janus’ hair, then slowly moved away to sit beside Logan, wrapping an arm around him to rest a warm hand on Janus’ shoulder.

It didn’t take long for Remus to get there, though if it did, Janus hardly noticed any time passing. He and Patton had brought them all refills. Janus hadn’t even noticed the untouched, now-tepid mug of hot cocoa set before him on the coffee table until just now, when Remus set another one down for him. Remus spun around to scoop Janus up - very gently, for Remus - and sat down in Janus’ spot, setting Janus down on his lap and cradling him.

After they saw that Janus wasn’t uncomfortable with the new situation, Roman started grumbling about the interruption, only settling down once he re-established contact with Janus. Patton had also somehow squeezed into the narrow space between Virgil and Remus, cuddling Remus’ side, a hand placed comfortingly in the crook of Janus’ elbow. Janus’ legs ended up laid across Patton and Virgil’s laps, and which Virgil immediately claimed with a repeated, soothing caress, though whether for Janus’ sake or because he liked the way the silky fabric felt was up for debate. Virgil would deny both either way, knowing Janus knew the truth.

Surrounded by the people who loved him most, Janus’ eyes drifted closed and he fell asleep, safe at last.