#like yeah green day are typical rich people

[topazy]

Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes × reader, Maggie Greene × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter: 5.07

“Why can’t Maggie be in here?”

An older woman with auburn hair named Deanna smiles at you. She was in charge of Alexandria, and she would be deciding if your group would get to stay or not. You didn’t mind talking to her initially, but what made you uneasy was her videoing your conversation and not allowing your sister to sit in the room with you.

“I won't bite,” she smiles. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable; I just want to ask you a few questions.”

When your group first arrived in Alexandria, everyone was made to hand their weapons over, and now being asked personal questions... it felt intrusive. Deanna straightens out old-fashioned flora curtains before wiping her finger along her bookcase, which was fully stacked. She smudges the dust between her fingers, then turns to you and asks, “How long have you been out there?”

“Uh, I’m unsure. Two years maybe.”

She sits down in the chair across from you and asks, “How did you all find each other?”

“When someone got shot, they were brought to my family's farmhouse so my dad could help save them.”

She looks intrigued. “Is your father a doctor?”

“No, he was a veterinarian.”

“Smart man. I’m assuming because you’re referring to him in the past tense, he’s no longer with us.”

“I lost my daddy not long ago.”

“Have you lost anybody else?”

“I lost my big brother Shawn, mom, and cousin Arnold all on the same day. Walkers attacked them. My dad and sister were killed by people.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, sounding sincere. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Deanna shakes her head and says, “You are far too young to have lost so much. I truly am sorry. So, as far as I’m aware, Rick is the leader of your group.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“How do you think he does?”

You thought you could handle a few more questions, but tears began to swell. You didn’t like being asked anything because it brought everything you'd been through back. “Rick is a good person; everyone in our group is. We’re a family.”

—

Your group was given two large houses to stay in for now, but so far everyone has just gathered into one and is taking turns cleaning up. Being in the walled-off community felt like being in a TV show where the rich housewives live in the suburbs. The only thing you felt was normal was Daryl cutting open a possum while sitting on the porch. Your eyes widen when Rick walks outside; he has showered and shaved off his beard, making him look like a completely different person.

But then again, you looked different. After showing Rosita how to braid your hair, a nice blonde woman named Jesse dropped off some clean clothes for you to wear, along with toys for Judith.

“Has anyone been there yet?” You point to the house next door.

“I don’t think so,” Carl says, looking up at his dad. “Can we go check it out?”

Hesitantly, Rick agrees. “You can go look; just be quick and stick together.”

—

The house next door was nearly identical, aside from a few decorations. Growing up on a farm, you’d never dreamed of living in a modern home built like this. Carol had come with you to check it out; she was now leaning out of the kitchen window, talking to the people who live in the house next door.

When you hear a thumping noise coming from upstairs, you jump and grab Carl’s wrists. “Shit, sorry.” Feeling heat rush to your cheeks, you let go. “I’m just on edge.”

“It’s fine.” Carl offers you his hand. “I get it; I’m scared all the time too.”

He loosely holds onto your hand as you walk up the stairs, and when you reach the room, the noise is coming from Carl. He pulls out his knife and waits for you to do the same before pushing the door open. The room looks like a typical teenage hangout spot; the floor was covered in magazines, comics, CDs, and weirdly designed pillows with posters of bands you’ve never heard of before pinned to the walls.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Carl says, “These are probably things we would have been interested in if things were different.”

“Not me,” you sigh. “I would never have been allowed magazines with half-naked women on the cover. Shawn was grounded for two months when Maggie found a magazine with a woman wearing nothing but a bikini under his bed.”

Carl laughs while kicking a dusty blanket aside to see what’s underneath it. After a few moments of silence, he says, “You never talk about your brother much.”

A fleeting smile tugs at your lips. Being the youngest, Shawn completely doted on you, and as a child, you would follow him around like a shadow. He always had time for you. His death hit you so hard because you thought he would always be there to protect you, but he died trying to save your mom from walkers.

“Hey? You okay, you kind of zoned out there.”

Hearing Carl’s voice, you snap out of your thoughts and back to reality. “Yeah,” you say, smiling at him. “I was just thinking that my brother would have really liked you.”

—

You bite the insides of your cheeks to stop yourself from laughing. Judith looks so confused as an elderly couple. Natalie and Bob Miller fuss over her. It was clear there weren’t many kids around, and this was the first time anyone had seen a baby in years, so they were all excited to see Judith.

“Is that Jesse?” Carl asks quietly.

You look up and see his dad talking to her, “Yeah, she’s nice.”

“My dad seems to like her. He says we’re to go to her house later and meet her son, Ron.”

It was weird; the idea of being a normal teenager was starting to freak you out.

—

After showing you around his home, Ron led you and Carl up to his bedroom to introduce you to his friend Mikey and girlfriend Enid. You were still trying to wrap your head around the idea of returning to school in the afternoons, which was held in a garage, when Carl nudges you with his elbow to gain your attention.

“Sorry, what?”

Ron chuckles. “I said cool bracelet; where do you get it?”

“Em, Carl found them,” you mutter.

“Neat, kind of like a souvenir of the apocalypse.” He pushes his bedroom open. “Enid, Mikey, this is Carl and y/n.”

After an awkward introduction, Ron lists the different things that they do while hanging out, such as reading comics, playing video games, and playing pool. The fact they had electricity from solar panels was mind-blowing enough, but seeing all the stuff they had was leaving you speechless.

You smile at Enid as you sit on the edge of Ron's double bed, while Carol joins the other boys in playing video games. You thought it was a little bit in bad taste; they were playing a zombie video game, but don’t mind watching until a particular scene happens: one of the players finds a sword and begins decapitating the undead.

You and Carl exchange a look before you excuse yourself. “I gotta go; I need to help Maggie with something.”

—

Rick isn’t the slightest surprised when he enters Carl’s new bedroom and finds you in it as well. You were staring out the window in his room that overlooks the woods outside, watching as walkers gathered on the opposite side of the wall. While Carl lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Rick sits at the edge of the bed, asking, “How was Ron’s house?”

“What do you think of this place?” Carl asks him.

“Well, I think it seems nice.”

“Yeah, I like it here. I like the people, but they’re weak. And I don’t want us to get weak.”

The people here don’t have a clue what it’s like on the outside, and if the walkers broke through the wall, most of them would be dead in five minutes.

When Rick leaves, you go and sit on the floor with your back against the bed. You pick up one of the comics Carl found earlier, place it in your lap, and start to flip through. Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you look up and ask, “What?”

Carl looks as if he’s struggling to say something; after a moment, he swings his arm lower and links his fingers with yours.

[phinnys-oc-ask-blog-thing]

OC INTRO :333

These are my oc’s Emojis! :333 (canonically they are their favorite emojis!)

R.G: 👹

Lilith: 🌊

Max: 🐢

Proper intro to all of them under the cut!!!

RG:

Name: Regina Serenity Zola Park-Smith

Age: 16

Pronouns: Any!

Gender: Nonbinary!

Romantic/Sexual Orientation: Bisexual!

Favorite Color: Red

Personality: Oh this goober is the exact definition of Gremlin. It’s always getting into trouble, even when everyone around her tells them NOT TO DO THE FRIGGIN THING ZE DID. Especially Max, Who typically bails xem out of whatever crap they got into. It really worries everyone around zim, but they don’t care. He almost burns down her house at least ONCE a week, and ends up if not just the hospital but also in their towns newspaper a lot!!! (They even befriended some of the staff!)

Backstory (sort of?)

Their grandmother, Zola, a super rich lady who owns a very successful restaurant in the town that she lives in, absolutely hates all the crap that ze get into and has all these stupid expectations for R.G. which may contribute to their actions! They wanna rebel against her!

Zher parents are nice though! Zis father is the heir to and the head chef at the restaurant and can relate to R.G as he is Zola’s son. He defends them as much as he can and is upset that Zola puts all this pressure on R.G. :(

Its mother is a nurse at the hospital, which is handy seeing how chaotic they are!!! Zis mom is also writing a mystery book!! :3

Other Stuff: They’re 4”11, They really like being out in nature, They have a whole collection of illegal fireworks, and Gets lost a lot.

And Nowwwww on to the next oneeee!!!!

Lilith:

Name: Lilith Jane Sanderson

Age: 16

Pronouns: She/Her

Gender: Demigirl!

Romantic/Sexual Orientation: Demiromantic Asexual Sapphic!

Favorite Color: Blue! (Da ba dee da ba di >:3)

Personality: She’s very frantic, anxious, and shy, and gets scared a lot! But her friends and family are always there to help her when she is (…even though RG is mainly the one to rile her up :’) She’s also incredibly smart and knows a lot about diseases and sicknesses and how to treat them! She wants to be a doctor some day!

She’s also very gentle and caring, and just someone to rely on when you need a friend! (Or a hug, she’s a really good hugger!!)

Backstory thing: Her Dad and Her Cennend are hugeeee nerds and own a bookstore in town!! They are veryyy loving and caring towards her and are the reason why she’s so gentle!! Her parents are also about to have a baby! (I have not decided if someone’s pregnant or they’re adopting or if that even matters, but I picture it in my head and it just looks exactly like her cennend just with her dad’s red hair so.)

She’s quite anxious to be a big sister but she’s gonna be the best big sister ever!!! :3

Her dad also speaks fluent French and taught her that!!

(I feel bad, I feel like I don’t have as much for Lilith as I do for RG. :( Oh well, I guess that means more developing her yaaayyyy!!!!)

Other stuff about her: Is a bookworm (loves historical fiction), loves soft sweaters and plushies, has a voice kinda like fluttershy’s from mlp, and loves manatees!

Max:

Name: Maxwell Stephen Wilson

Age: 17!

Gender: Transman!

Romantic/Sexual Orientation: Aromantic and Gay

Favorite Color: Green!

Personality: He’s very chill, laidback, patient and levelheaded! He tries his best to help his friends when they need it, but has a hard time asking for help for himself. He’s really reserved and quiet and keeps to himself a lot, unless he’s around his friends! Then he comes out of his shell a lil more!!! He can get a little short with RG sometimes, but to be fair they do like to annoy people and poke bears (both metaphorically AND physically. Yeah that’s right.) so I can see why, but also that’s not a good excuse. :(

Backstory: He lives in a small house with his mom and older sister! His mom is a firefighter, and his sister wants to follow in her footsteps! He works at Lilith’s Parents Bookstore (I should name the bookstore- :’) and is very happy there! He wants to be a journalist one day and travel the world!!

He’s typically the one bailing RG out of their shenanigans when things get bad, but sometimes he likes to be in on them! (…mainly if it involves fireworks…) No matter how hard on them he can be sometimes, He really loves him and kinda sees zhem as a younger sibling!!

He loves nature and going outside, and when not at school, working, or with his friends, he can be found chilling in a treehouse behind his home! Other stuff about him: Is a bit of an Athlete (likes soccer and basketball!), dyes his hair green regularly, has a metal shoulder, is an amazing cook, and loves romantic stuff (although he himself is aromantic!)

Anyhoooo!!! That’s the gangggg!!!! :333333

Ask me (or them!) anything you’d like!!! :3

[fereldanwench]

OC Interview - Valerie Powell

I was tagged by @gloryride forever ago to interview my girl--Thank you, bb! I'm so late to doing this that I'm not gonna tag anyone else, but feel free to yoink it if you wanna do it!

[Answers are directly from Valerie's POV before the heist in 2077.]

.ೃ࿔*:･ NAME?

Valerie Irene Powell. [laughs] Yeah, my initials are VIP. My dad had a dorky sense of humor, and my mom let him get away with it. "Irene" is my great-grandmother's first name on her side of the family.

.ೃ࿔*:･ NICKNAME?

Pretty much just "V" these days, which was all Jackie's doing. A lot of the staff and some regulars at Nishimura's used to call me "Blue," but that was ages ago. Overly familiar acquaintances who don't know me well but think they do usually call me "Val."

.ೃ࿔*:･ GENDER?

Biologically female, no gender alterations or augmentations.

A/N - Valerie is a cis woman, but I don't see that specific language being in her vernacular.

.ೃ࿔*:･ STAR SIGN?

I was born in Night City on October 12 2041. Misty tells me that makes me a, uh--Hey, Misty, what am I again?

[Misty, calling from the other room: Libra Sun with a Taurus Moon and Scorpio Rising!]

Yeah, that. [laughs] Whatever the hell that even means.

.ೃ࿔*:･ HEIGHT?

Tall. 5'10" or 178 cm. And I admit I have a weakness for a sexy pair of heels, so I usually look a lot taller.

.ೃ࿔*:･ ORIENTATION?

People are out here fucking cyborgs with four eyes and chicks with gold dicks and electric nipples--What does this even mean? [laughs] I've never given it much thought. I like what I like, and I've liked a lot of different types of people with a lot of different things going on. [laughs again]

A/N: I say Valerie is bi, because that is the contemporary real-life word that best reflects her sexuality for me when I'm talking about her, but when I was really thinking about it from her POV and in the context of her world, I don't think she'd be too hung up on a label. She'd also probably see her wide spectrum of attraction as closer to the default, not the exception.

.ೃ࿔*:･ NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY?

I'm a typical American mutt. My dad's side of the family can mostly be traced back to Western Europe--my grandmother told me "Powell" is an Anglicized form of an old Welsh surname--and my mom's side is from the Eastern Mediterranean. Dad's side has been in NUSA for a long time (like two centuries before it was even called NUSA), but Mom's family has only been here for a few generations.

.ೃ࿔*:･ FAVE FRUIT?

I just love fresh fruit. It's such a rare treat in Night City--I'll take fresh strawberries or melons over any other kind of sweet treat.

.ೃ࿔*:･ FAVE SEASON?

Spring! When everything starts turning green and flowers are blooming. There aren't a ton of places in Night City where you can really experience that, but I know a few hidden gems.

.ೃ࿔*:･ FAVE FLOWER?

Hydrangeas, probably. Especially the blue and purple ones. Oh, and wisteria! A tree covered in blooming wisteria is one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen.

.ೃ࿔*:･ FAVE SCENT?

Freshly brewed coffee; new car smell; woodsy, smokey colognes and perfumes; real leather; whatever incense Misty uses in her shop; clothes right out of the dryer; lavender; a ton more that I know I'm forgetting!

.ೃ࿔*:･ COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE?

Strong coffee, black, maybe a little sugar if I'm feeling indulgent. Tea is nice, but it's not my caffeine fix. I like a cup of lavender or chamomile tea at night. Hot chocolate is too heavy and rich for my taste. A sip is nice, but I could never finish a cup.

.ೃ࿔*:･ AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP?

I try not to get any fewer than 6 hours, but that's easier said than done some nights. Okay, most nights.

.ೃ࿔*:･ DOG OR CAT PERSON?

You know, I've only ever seen one dog in person. A childhood friend's family had one--I don't know the breed, but it was a yippy little shit and it bit me! Never really wanted to see another dog, if I'm honest.

I like cats, though. There's a stray that hangs by Misty's place--He's the sweetest little guy. I picked up a bag of kibble we keep there to feed him when he comes around.

.ೃ࿔*:･ DREAM TRIP?

I've actually traveled a lot--My parents had to go to Biotechnica's HQ in Rome a few times when I was a kid, and they usually turned those trips into an excuse to have an extended European vacation. And I went all over the globe working for Arasaka for 7 years. I'd love to go back to Japan for non-work reasons.

.ೃ࿔*:･ FAVORITE FICTIONAL CHARACTER?

You're gonna laugh, it's so predictable. In my defense, I can't remember the last time I watched or read anything new--Actually, that's not true. Jackie made me watch one of those Bushido movies last week, and I just don't get it. Anyway. It's Elizabeth Bennet. Don't look at me--What's the next question?

.ೃ࿔*:･ NUMBER OF BLANKETS YOU SLEEP WITH?

Just a sheet and comforter.

.ೃ࿔*:･ RANDOM FACT?

Oh, no, don't put me on the spot like this! [laughs] Um, okay, I shot my first firearm when I was about 7. Under intense adult supervision--My dad was really serious about self-defense and the right to bear arms, which always surprised people because he came across as such a meek science nerd. I didn't like it--It was so loud, even with earmuffs. Funny how things change.

Is that kind of a heavy note to leave on? [laughs again] Okay, how about this one: I can't roll my tongue.

[bunnygirl678]

I feel like doing a silly interview of myself so I'm just going to straight up answer these lmao

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

i wrote mpreg, it's Red, it's bad, i mean the writing is great, lots of emotions but holy shit i don't even like mpreg but i did it for an omegaverse, it just fit, for the record he has twins

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

idk usually when green is upset about his parents, or when they finally work out their issues

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

Anytime Green/Rai/Leon get together and drink

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

literally all the time, in ode to my soulmate, it was originally going to end after they got together, none of the angst (or the failed attempt at a cliffhanger lmao)

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

I typically don't have use one, but occasionally will ask my homies to take a look, there are a couple i'm working on that i'm worried are too technical so those will need betas to make sure it's understandable by a layman

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Green is rich, Red can't cook, there are certain phrases i use a lot, almost always have some kind of star gazing trope (at least in the longer fics)

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

skfdhsdfhj blood bank or under the alolan sun, but the wild parts aren't published yet?? Or maybe the ones i haven't published idk

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

i have a nice ass, i'm great at world building, compliment for me and my writing ^_^

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

Love them, but love first time fics more

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

most of the time, christmas music,

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

docs, i switch between my phone and computer a lot,

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

Only one, i was trying to do too much, my writing skills weren't back up to par yet, i think it helped me get to where i am now, the plot was too much, idk, i might steal a scene or two for other fics, but i'm not going to spend any time trying to improve the writing or plot. There are a bunch that i started a while ago and haven't touched in months, but i'll head back to them eventually, i have to be in the ~mood~ to work on a fic

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

Yeah, multiple people know, but they don't know my username

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

ummm that's published, under the alolan sun maybe? or maybe Lost, that's not published, single riders will be paired (coming sometime next year lmao it's a high school au super cute i'm really nice to green in it, red is a shy mute kid with no friends who ends up getting stuck on a roller coaster ride with green who is the most popular boy in school, green's actually super nice and the rest of the day kinda turns into a date, they go to school and red's like oh he's gonna be mean but he's not and it's really cute and sweet, and red gets accepted into the group and lajfdl;sjdf)

🍷 Do you drink and write?

yeah and then end up scrapping everything lol,

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what's your most popular nsfw fic?

yes, i'm still working on improving my skills, but most hits/kudos ratio (let's be honest someone can do kudos once and read 15 times so not the best metric but what else do we have), is make you feel my love, but i'm working on one that will be published by valentines day where green gives red head in his neochamp outfit

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

all day? When the adderall hits? idk it's really just when i have time, when i have my kid i really only get to at night when she goes to bed, but on her dad's weeks i write after work.

💖 What made you start writing?

i wanted to read stories that weren't written, i have lots of aus bouncing around in my head

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

dopamine hit

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

ummmmm idk, used to be mpreg, but that ship sailed, i don't really love poly romance, i like the smut but am not really interested in writing it as a romance

💲 Would you ever open commissions?

no, i found that i do my best writing when i want to, which is why wips take forever for me to finish because i bounce from idea to idea as i feel like it

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

not really...I'll google a fact or two, i mean unless you count game time or reading the manga, but like googling little details not so much.

🏆 What's your most popular fic?

gonna do for reguri, when the wind stole my walls, i never felt less alone; it's my longest finished fic

🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?

yesh, i really liked Lost, and Auld Lang Syne, but also i threw in a couple Christmas themed chapters to Under the Alolan Sun, which was fun

🎯 Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

ugh yes, lmao, blood bank, they didn't guess the exact details but the general idea, i was like oh shit i'm glad they picked up on the crumbs i threw lmao

🎨 How do you feel about fan art of your stories?

Always an honor! I might even make some one day, if my art ever improves enough for me to feel comfortable tagging it lmao

📈 How many fics do you have?

37 on ao3! I'm not going to include the ones on ff.net cause i can't remember my username, i have 50 open works (some as basic as an outline, some have 20k+ words) sitting in my docs that haven't been published

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Depends, usually outline, i typically start writing then add an outline later,

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

This one i stared on a while ago, the actual writing needs a lot of edits but i'm obsessed with the plot, after Green loses he flees to Kalos, changes his name to Blue and becomes the champion there, everything is great until Red randomly shows up to learn how to mega evolve his charizard, Red obvs knows who he is, they deal with things, red can't mega evolve at first, it's fun orrrr my hs au that i mentioned earlier, or the ones where green becomes a coordinator, either after losing or instead of battling, in 2024 i'm releasing more pokespe works and branching out on some of the ship stuff, gonna publish a few silver/gold, lance/cynthia, and a few others,

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

Just keep writing, not everything will be amazing, but everything can be edited and rewriten

💞 Who's your comfort character?

Green oak i like to see him cry <3

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Red: He can't cook to save his life

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Green, duh

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Green loses his memories after an accident during a battle

Red felt a tap on his shoulder, who would be bothering him this late? He turned to none other than the person he had been avoiding.

Green smiled up at Red. Red looked around for an exit.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He stated flatly, a finger poking Red’s chest.

“Maybe.” Red said, looking away. He attempted to make eye contact with any of his pokemon to get them to create a distraction.

“It’s okay, I know why.” Green said, Red stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at the ground. 

Instead of retreating, Green got closer right inside of Red’s personal space. He placed his hands on Red’s chest. Red was suddenly worried Green was going to push him. Was he angry? He wouldn’t have had any memories of the championship would he? Maybe he read up on it? Red knew he was physically stronger than Green, but Green had been hurt recently, and he really didn’t want to have to get into a fight with him tonight.

“I may not remember all of the events that took place to get us here, but there’s no way I could forget these feelings.” And with that Green crossed the short distance and pressed his lips to Red’s. 

Wait, what?!

Green pulled away and looked up at Red through his long eyelashes. He leaned up and pressed another chaste kiss to Red’s lips. 

“Sorry Red, I don’t remember anything about you except for how much I love you. I look at you and I get the warmest most wonderful feeling in my chest. I feel like I’m flying on the clouds when I think about you. I love you Red.” Green wrapped his arms around Red’s waist and laid his head against his chest. 

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

My omegaverse mpreg red one, that's not even published lol (may not ever be published hahaa)

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

probably kudos and hits, but really it's if i go back and reread it over and over again, everything i write is self indulgent so

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

i can't think if it, but there's little phrases or hcs that pop up in a ton of them

📚 Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

nope i do it for fun, if it became a job it wouldn't be fun anymore, although i am published it's technical accounting writing, and i do eventually plan on getting my phd once princess is older, so maybe? But that writing is research not fiction lol

⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

I'm a ridiculously fast typer, 34 words per minute is my average, 10k is a typical length, but my achilles heel is that i skip around a ton from fic to fic, so it may take months to get a fic done even though it's only 12k words

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

I suck at writing battles, working on improving my smut skills though!

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

Yes, cried writing ode to my soulmate, Lost (cried a bunch on that one and ended up calling my cousin and we talked for a few hours because i miss him), then this one break up fic called RIP that i'm not sure how it's going to end, i usually write a happy ending but i might leave them broken up idk

💥 How do you feel about criticism?

I don't handle it well, i don't like it, it makes me not want to write even if it has good intentions, sometimes i'll read wips that stopped posting years ago, and i'll check out the comments on the last chapter and i'll see criticism and it pisses me off cause i think, 'hm did the author give up because of this shitty comment??'

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

I am so bad at tagging, like minimal tagging, i tag triggers but the rest i suck at, i don't do any of the cutesy ones

🥰 How do you feel about reader interaction? Are you open to receiving questions about your fics?

Friends, romans, countrymen, lend me your ear, please do this. i will happily write out a writers commentary of my fics, or maybe if my voice wasn't so annoying i'd make a video with a dramatic reading and a dvd style commentary

[novadreii]

On one hand it's shocking that people in their 20s and 30s are getting diagnosed with colon cancer, something that typically is only seen in people 50+ after a lifetime of pounding booze and steaks and frozen dinners. But last year I had the opportunity to get to know another family who ate in a way that honestly fucking horrified me and confirmed to me that the parents were not going to live very long lives, and the kids would follow suite because it's all they were taught.

Fast food was consumed at least once a day in the house, tall sugary drinks were purchased for everyone in the car every single time they left the house. The food at home was mostly processed, from a box of some kind. Lots of sugary snacks. Any produce purchased was usually rotting in the fridge. The parents admitted they hated cooking and the most common foods were burgers, fries, noodles, etc. Shit that needed minimal prep or planning. The only regular vegetable served with meals was a Cesar salad absolutely smothered in dressing with more croutons than lettuce. Nutritionally useless. The kids in this house struggled with insulin resistance, ADHD, and other conditions that really necessitate a nutritious diet and to keep the amount of added sugar LOW. The parents and other adults had known heart conditions, diabetes etc and would just blithely laugh it off, like OOPS my diabetes is gonna hate that I ate all these sugar cookies haha! Yeah when your extremities lose circulation and fall off I bet you'll be laughing all the way to the hospital.

My mother, the bitch that she is, at LEAST prioritized feeding us home cooked, minimally processed meals. She built up a binder of recipes that were easy enough to throw together, combined with family recipes, and shopped in a way that the basics were always on hand. Veggies were served with lunch and dinner always. Fruit with breakfast and after dinner was required. And we'd get treats too, but they'd be homemade! She just didn't believe in boxed and frozen stuff, we weren't super rich or anything but she shopped specials and made it work. I'm grateful to her for that! As an adult it's helped me cultivate a taste for produce and home made things, I honestly can't stomach the taste of ultra processed junk because I swear I can taste the preservatives and plastics.

Yes. This is a privileged position to come from, but even when I've been broke I ate cheaply by eating as I typically still do: stocking up on lean, unprocessed meat when it's on special, eggs, cottage cheese and Greek yogurt, frozen berries which are much cheaper, beans and lentils, and filling in the gaps with dark leafy greens, broc, potatoes etc. If you only drink water and don't buy anything that comes in a box or bag, this is even more affordable than eating an ultra processed diet. I know it sucks, but you gotta MAKE the time to prepare your food. Batch cook meats and a pot of chili on the weekend. Every time you cook, make sure you have at least 1 serving per person of leftovers. I'm sorry, but the answer to lack of funds/time is to get creative, plan ahead and eat whole foods. Not buy shit that you have to just pop in an air fryer (another cancerous product nobody should be buying)! The amount of people I've known who subsist off off Dino nuggets and Pepsi astounds me. And of course, they are *mysteriously* plagued with health issues they insist they have no idea what the source of is.

This is shit that's taught. If you were not raised to feed yourself properly, it's a damn hard thing to learn. And witnessing a family passing on bad food habits and therefore poor health to their kids made me so mad but of course, there was nothing I could do about it except try and introduce them to healthy homemade stuff when I could, but I know that after I left they just continued eating like shit. It's honestly very sad to me because one of my most cherished values is the joy of nourishing myself and the people I care about with food that is healthy and tastes good. I think a good life past middle age is cultivated when you're young with good food and exercise habits so we don't spend our years north of 50 in hospitals and fiddling with a million prescription medications, being a burden to our children because we couldn't be assed to care for ourselves.

[shes-a-rebelll]

rant abt recent posts

i honestly find it kind of sad how so many green day fans actually think the guys live charitable lives. like. their vip tickets are $500. that’s actually fucking ridiculous for early entry and some merch. I know other bands charge those prices, but personally I’ve never been into another band that charged THAT MUCH for VIP (that doesn’t even involve a meet and greet!?). their ticket prices haven’t been low at all for at least 10 years.  $100 including tax and hidden fees for one ticket? honey, that is not low prices.  And their tickets have been at least $70 without taxes for over 5 years. And they are selling out STADIUMS.  low ticket prices are less than $20, like FIATP there are some popular bands playing only venues of about 200-300 people with $12 tickets, and those are the ones who are dedicated to affordable concerts and barely even making a profit while touring.  not only does green day make so much from their music and concert tickets, but most of the guys have started multiple other companies and own or co-own stores. I mean, seeing their lifestyles is as simple as looking up the previous houses they have sold. not to mention the fact that all of them also own SECOND million dollar homes in southern california next to the beach.  and they still say they live in “oakland” when in reality they live in more affluent cities nearby. apparently oakland isn’t good enough for their living standards any more. also (im not sure if this info is available on the internet but it is true), look into how billie joe COLLECTS VINTAGE CARS. even if they donate a bit to charity that would really mean nothing bc literally all rich people donate to charity- they get tax breaks for it so technically it even saves them money.  long story short I don’t support rich people, especially rich people who own multiple million dollar homes and millions worth of cars and instruments when they could be feeding families with that money, who still claim they represent the middle class.  that doesn’t mean i hate green day but it means i look past the bs and see that even they have flaws and they are not all perfect angels. if you want to argue with me about this, please actually open your eyes and do some research first before making false claims. enough said. and if they care so much about how hard their lives were when they were younger, maybe they would have normal homes and a normal amount of cars and not spend millions on luxuries and actually use their monetary luck to help out the families and children who are still struggling NOW.

[pedros-mustache]

nighthawks (10)

series masterlist || previous chapter

word count: 7.7k+

warnings: canon typical violence and weaponry, angst, sensuality, light alcohol use, language, x fem!reader

a/n: ayeee! she’s early! hehe.

thank you for your patience as i navigate the start of a new relationship and my emotionally draining job. sometimes i just don’t have it in me to write. BUT: here we enter my favorite arc—The Angst Arc. enjoy! 🤗 😉 (ps: peep the time jump 👀)

(beta: @pleasedin)

DAY NINETY—TWO MONTHS SINCE VISITING GROGU

“Here.” 

Din tosses a blinking fob to the annex table. It clatters across the polished surface, spinning on its side until you stop its rotation with the muzzle of your dismantled blaster. You look up, cleaning motions paused, brow arched in question.

The Mandalorian gestures to the fob, and when he speaks, his voice betrays none of the pride welling in the cavity of his chest. “That’s all yours,” he says. “Show me what you can do.”

//

DAY NINETY-ONE—LOCATION: XAXERIS BAZAAR

Din follows you down the Sunder’s ramp into the hot afternoon sun. Beneath the shadow of his helm, he sweats. Rivulets of perspiration trickle from his brow to his chin and soak the collar of his flight suit. It’s sweltering here on the outskirts of the Core. Between the sun and the influx of people gridlocking the open-air market, Din can’t help but grimace. Figures you would want to make a shopping trip before embarking on your first solo hunt; figures you would bring him along for guidance. Silly girl. Still unsure on newborn legs, but he’s watched you closely for ninety days. He knows: you’re ready. You don’t need him crowding your ear as much as he doesn’t need the infernal Xaxerian marketplace pushing in on his personal bubble.

He tugs on his cowl, wishing he had left it behind. He should have stayed on the ship.

Turning at the bottom of the ramp, you acknowledge Din with a flick of your eyes before returning your datapad. “Okay, so Devanner Breeth”—you shake your head—“That’s a fuckin’ mouthful.” 

“Get used to it. He’s rich. I imagine he’ll want to hear his name more than you’ll want to say it.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, though there’s a sparkle when you nudge his shoulder with your bicep. “Men. So predictable. It’s honestly embarrassing.”

As you stroll away from the Sunder, heading in the direction of the bazaar, Din pulls you out of the path of an oncoming cart. Your shoulder bumps his chest-plate, but you lift your face with a smile. Shit—he still isn’t used to it, your growing tenderness. It makes his stomach lurch and his own lips pull upwards, imitating your grin in whatever sorry way he can.

Ninety days he’s known you now. Three full moon cycles by Nevarro’s standards. Yet, in the last six weeks, Din feels as though he’s only just met you—the real you, scales peeled back, demulcent interior blooming under a modicum of care. Grogu did that. He’s sure of it. His kid has a funny way of stripping the hardened layers of a person’s facade. 

Fuck, looking at himself in the mirror, Din barely recognizes the man who blinks back. His Way and his Creed broken in pieces at his feet, but he would do it all over again if it meant gaining the one thing most attuned to the ways of his people: aliit. Family. Grogu changed him, too.

You hurry through the bazaar’s oversized archway. Orange and green streamers flutter overhead with the planet’s cool breeze, and the air smells pungent, like spice and perfume. Your steps drum against the pavement with excitement. He can feel your anticipation in the wake of your quick pace. The privilege of a solo job and the opportunity for an afternoon of careless spending pushes you through the bazaar’s crowd with cat-like agility, but burdened with armor and the weight of curious eyes, Din struggles to keep up. He grits his teeth. Yeah, you might be a bit smoother around the edges, but you still find ways to pick at his nerves. Some things never change.

He raises his voice over the consistent hum of the crowd when he loses sight of your back amongst the horde. “Scout!” No response. He stops walking, and an older man bumps into his back, skirting around him like a fish wriggling over a rock in the middle of a stream. 

He doesn’t need to worry. At least not yet. The outfits you bought on Daos-Seven are beneficial in more ways than one: loosened range of motion, impossible to ignore, not to mention easy access to your cunt. Even if he tried, he doubts he could misplace you in a crowd for long. Loathe as he is to admit it, like a magnet, he is drawn to your side. 

Still, it helps to cheat rather than search on mere gut-instinct alone when he doesn’t have to. 

He maneuvers the controls on his helm. The world fades to a washed-out blue, all the painted frippery of Xaxeris giving way to a single-minded focus. He follows the heated impression of your footsteps and pushes his way through the clogged thoroughfare. Shoulders and elbows swinging, he tracks your footfalls, ignoring the sounds of indignation that succeed his brusk, unapologetic movements.

He finds you speaking to a cart owner, and when he clears his throat, you turn with a bright grin. Something in his chest pulls, and he busies himself with resetting the controls of his helm. 

“There you are!” You walk to his side, hips swinging, threading a bright orange scarf through your hands as you approach. “I thought you’d gone off to sulk in a corner.”

“Sulk?” He frowns and grabs your elbow, pulling you to an empty alleyway. “No—you got away from me. Don’t do that again.”

You tug your elbow from his stiff fingers, but the movement is not as unkind as it might have been thirty days ago. There is a softness—a warmth—to the roll of your eyes and shake of your head. “I told you it wasn’t necessary to come along. I’m going to be awhile. I have a fitting in twenty minutes.”

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“I’m shopping, Mando.” Throwing the scarf around his neck, you hold both ends and tug him close. The heat of your body washes over him as you arch against his chest, your knee sliding between his legs. You lower your voice to a husky whisper and slide the scarf back and forth across the back of his neck. “I don’t need your help shopping.”

Din drops his hands to your waist to steady himself. He pushes his hips forward, and though you cannot see, his brow arches beneath his helm. “Anything could happen. There’s bad people out here. People who might want to ravage you… pull you apart with their tongue… make you cum on their cock…”

“Bad people, huh?” You tuck your lower lip between your teeth. “Like you?”

He angles his head forward as though to rub the tip of his nose over yours; you lean into the motion, eyelashes fluttering across your cheekbones. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “People like me.”

Spinning on his foot, Din crowds you against the wall, anchoring one of your wrists above your head with his palm. The scarf caught in your fist slips from your grasp. He slides his opposite hand beneath the waistband of your pants and finds your warm, wet heat. When he nudges the hood of your clit, eliciting a stifled gasp from your pretty mouth, he smirks. Already trembling for him. You may put on a haughty face, but you are putty beneath his capable hands every time. It makes his chest—and his cock—swell with pride. 

Opening your eyes, you press your palm to Din’s chest. You speak in a heady rush, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I always start what I finish. You know that.”

“Yeah but…” He slides his first finger through the slick coating your cunt, and you grit your jaw as your head drops forward on a whine. “Mando… I have an appointment.”

“Forget it,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna be gone. Won’t you miss my cock? How good I can make you feel?”

“You know I will,” you whisper. Lifting your face, you gently push his chest; he removes his hand from your pants and momentarily wishes he had kept that damned fob for himself. “It’s only a few days, though. Long enough to catch Breeth in the act.”

“A few days... Right.” 

He rubs his soaked finger along the seam of his pants, glancing over his shoulder as you step out from beneath his hold and adjust your clothing. He notes the determined pinch of your brow, and a sigh forces its way through his throat. You want this—it’s written in bright, hopeful ink over your face. Who is he to deny you what you’ve worked so hard to earn? 

“You should go then… to your appointment. I’ll wait here.”

You turn away from the mouth of the alley where your eyes scan the hustle and bustle of the bazaar. “You’ll wait?” Checking your chrono, you shoot him an upturned brow. “It could be a few hours.”

He folds his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait.”

“Okay.” Your face softens into a smile. “Thanks, Mando.”

Grunting, he gestures to the outside world, to the place where you will land once jumping from the nest. He is no mother hen; he does not coddle or shelter you from the storm. He will push you from the safety of the Sunder when the time comes, and he will watch you struggle to gather your bearings as you find your way without his supervision. He will watch you walk into the fog, leave the nest, fly with the strength of your own, fully-developed wings. But even so, he finds there is a twinge in his gut today. When you disappear within the crush of the bazaar without a proper farewell, his hands curl to fists at his sides. He doesn’t want you to go.

Fuck.

Din drops to the alley wall and resists the urge to lift his helmet and scrub the exhaustion from his face. 

He picked this specific bounty for your first solo run out of the handful of fobs Karga gave him on the last drop off. Devanner Breeth—genius inventor turned political big-wig on Coruscant; currently suspected of smuggling illegal cloaking devices to anyone who will pay an exorbitant price. Nothing proven, but there are plenty of people willing to take Breeth’s mind and bend it to their will should he have the knowledge and skill he boasts about. Plenty of people who want him dead for the same reason.

Breeth is an easy enough mark: older in age therefore likely to give up should a fight arise; tempted by pretty things therefore likely to draw you into his inner-circle without a second thought; stands to lose power and prestige should his underworld dealings be revealed. You can do this; you can take him down. Din knows it. But three days at a political convention on Coruscant posing as an interested client… 

That takes you where he cannot follow. And, Maker, it’s eating at him.

He has grown used to your company. Before visiting Grogu, he resisted your presence. He ignored your quirks, and your habits, and the force with which you became a fixture in his ship. But now, after allowing you to scale his walls, he greets your foothold in his life with a growing measure of appreciation. He seeks you out rather than leaving you to your own devices: 

He eats with you… sort of. (Really, he sits with you while you take your meals before he has the privacy to eat on his own, and that is enough.) He works with you on your sparring skills and your shooting acumen in the frigid hold of the ship. He listens to your grand schemings, and he chuckles to himself. He was once idealistic; he was once prepared to take on the galaxy with nothing but his own two fists. That spark, that shine—he sees it in you too. And for the first time since a small green child came his way, he wants to watch that spark fan into a flame. 

And your body… He cannot quench his hunger for your warmth and touch. He fucks you differently now; everything has changed. There are lines he will not cross: no bed, no touch of his mouth upon yours, no more skin than is strictly necessary. But he craves you more than he has ever craved another. He finds solace in the tight grip of your cunt, and he buries his face in the curve of your shoulder as you ride his length in the dim light of the cockpit. Over and over, the song in your throat as he takes you a symphony.

He should be afraid—and he is. He should resist—and he tries. But with each passing day, he slips. You pry open his tight grip on the gruff exterior he wears as a mask. If he isn’t careful, if he loses vigilance for but a moment, he will fall headfirst into your abyss.

As he promised he would, Din lingers in the alleyway. A misty rain settles over the bazaar as time slows to a tedious slog. Iridescent lights—purple and blue and yellow—pour from windows overhead and shimmer in the rainwater that gathers on the chipped road. The overflow of shoppers has thinned with the onset of night and poor weather. Din taps the toe of his boot on the ground.

Twenty-two hundred hours by his chrono—you’ve been gone too long. More than likely swallowed by the frivolity of the day. He considers leaving, returning to the Sunder and prepping for his own bounties, or finding you on his own, but he promised he would wait until you returned.

You are grown. You are capable. You can handle yourself. So he leans against the wall, ankles and arms crossed, and waits.

Another half an hour and frustration pushes aside the pride in Din’s chest. Your transport to Coruscant leaves from the hangar bay in less than a standard hour. How many clothing items could you possibly need for three days? While he is confident in your abilities, he is less confident in your punctuality. When his chrono beeps with the beginning of a new hour, Din makes up his mind: He’ll drag you from the stores if he has to if that’s what gets you to Coruscant. You’ve wasted enough time already. 

He stoops to gather your single bag of belongings from the ground and sling it over his shoulder. Stars, he’s become a glorified bellhop—for you and Grogu both. Somehow… in some way… tonight, it does not bother him.

He steps out of the alley and glances down either side of the sparsely populated thoroughfare. Huh, Xaxeris is kinda nice when the whole population doesn’t crowd a single market. He rather likes the way he can see the—

Heels click against the road, fast paced and anxious. He knows that gait, has listened to it, urged it to slow lest intentions be given away by footsteps alone. Din glances over his shoulder. A boulder drops to his stomach; his tongue shrivels in his mouth. Turning completely, the bag on his shoulder slides to hang by his leg.

“Scout?” He clears his throat of any lingering pubescent squeak. He says your name—your true name—and you look up from avoiding puddles as you hurry down the road. “You—” He swallows hard. “You’re going to be late.”

“I run on Scout Standard Time! Galactic Standard Time be damned. Well, what do you think?” You spread your arms and twirl on the ball of your foot. “I figured I should get something that might endear Breeth to me. Do you think it will work?”

Work? Does he think it will work? The squeeze of Din’s cock at the sight of you is answer enough.

The gown is white silk. Long. Two slits which expose the crest of your hips and the length of your legs to the night air. Your breasts push against the bodice, and your shoulders glisten under the street lights. 

He can't breathe. Fuck, he can’t breathe.

How is he supposed to let you go when he can’t breathe? When spots swim before his eyes? When you are the most magical thing he has ever seen?

You wave a hand in front of his face. “Still with me, Mando? Do you think Breeth will like the get-up? I know it’s a bit much…”

Heart a galloping monster in his chest, Din moves before his better angels can stop him. He has to touch you before you go. If he doesn’t…. 

He lifts his left hand and pinches the tips of his gloved fingers. Slowly, as though not to disturb the air which freezes between you, he removes his glove inch by inch until his flesh meets the night. He flexes his fingers then removes his opposite glove. Your eyes drop to his skin, pupils expanding. 

“Mando…” 

Ignoring your breathy whisper, he reaches for your hip. The silk fabric is like water beneath his palm; he rubs a crease between his thumb and forefinger. He moves his hand over the dip of your waist, over the rise of your breast where he pauses his knead his fingertips at your cleavage. He traces the length of your neck with his thumb and tilts your head upwards so he can meet your stunned gaze. Your skin is hot, flushed with shock and desire. Your lips part, and he nudges your plush lower lip with his knuckle. 

He wants to kiss you. With everything that composes his being, he wants to kiss you. 

He’s never kissed anyone before.

“Yes,” he finally says. “The get-up will work.” You release a shuddering exhale, and he drops his hand from the smooth skin of your face. “I want you to take something.”

Tucking his gloves under his tacbelt, he fishes a silver band out of his pocket. He takes your right arm in hand, brushing his thumb over the bone of your wrist as he turns your palm over to face the sky. With gentle, unhurried movements, he hooks the bracelet around your arm. The center stone—a clear, unvarnished thing—winks at him when he loosens his grip.

“I can’t follow you to Coruscant. I’m wanted there. I can’t hear you from that distance with an earpiece like we’ve done before either. But this”—he flicks the bracelet—“press the center stone and I’ll be by your side before you even blink.”

After studying the jewelry, you nod—then run your pointer finger over the ink staining the knuckles of his left hand. The feather-light touch electrifies his body enough to send a shiver down his spine. “What do those markings mean?”

Din glances down, tearing his eyes away from your soft features. Rune-like symbols in black ink cover the tan skin of his knuckles. He watches your nail—painted now, a pearlescent white—trace the markings. “It’s my family name. In the Mandalorian language. I don’t speak it very well.” 

You lift your face, lips forming a circle, darkened eyelashes fluttering in thought.

He pauses before lowering his voice to a whisper. He curls his hand around the fingers which touch his skin. “You must be safe,” he says. “You’re going where I can’t follow. Tell me you’ll be safe.” You nod hard enough a section of hair falls loose of its pin. He swipes it behind your ear and holds fast to the curve of your neck. “Tell me, Scout.”

“I’ll be safe, Mando.” You grip his forearm, and your eyes soften, melting like soft butter under a warm sun. You ooze a gentleness he has never before seen you wear. He wonders if this is what—who—you were before the galaxy ruined your goodness. “I’m ready for this. I know it.”

“Me too.”

Din Djarin walks you to the hangar bay, his ungloved hand wrapped tight around your warm palm. He says nothing, and you do not fill the silence. You simply allow him to guide you to the loading ramp of the Tetcott, a direct transport route from the outer rim to the inner rim. As you stand on the ramp, last minute passengers bustling behind you to join the crew onboard, he squeezes your wrist.

“Don’t fuck it up,” he says, the weight of everything he cannot convey sharpening his words.

You grin and drop his hand; he already misses the press of your skin against his. “Me? Fuck things up? Never.” You toss him a wink, pausing at the door of the Tetcott; his bracelet slides down the length of your arm when you hold the door’s frame for support. “See you in three days, Metal Man.”

//

DAY NINETY-TWO—CORUSCANT. THE HUNT BEGINS.

Coruscant sits like a gaping mouth in the center of the galaxy. A deep yawning pit, jagged buildings like teeth, swooping transport like flecks of iron spittle. The city’s hot breath wafts over your skin as you tarry, hesitating at the top of the hangar bay stairs. You look out over the concrete landscape below, the possibility of failure an invisible, lurking beast, and you swallow hard. 

Fuck—you are in over your head. Your fingers twitch for the bracelet on your wrist. One push of a button and you can leave. You can retreat to the familiar, the safe. It’s tempting. Mando… he’s waiting for you… It would be so easy to go back to him and tuck yourself under the protective covering of his wings. 

But no. No. You can do this. You will do this. 

Someone bumps your shoulder as they hurry past and breaks you from the glass shell of your fear. You inhale and, though the city smog catches in your throat, the unfiltered air does you well. The grit and the grime is second nature to you now. Between your own fall from grace and the start of your career in the underworld, you are used to a little dirt beneath your nails. 

Fisting your hand in the skirt of your gown, you descend into the heart of Coruscant. Three days—seventy-two hours—four-thousand-three-hundred-twenty minutes. A finite amount of time to find Breeth and end his miserable existence. The clock tick, tick, ticks over your head.

You’ll bring him in cold. After discussing the possibilities with Mando, you decided: dead is best. Though the reward remains the same whether Breeth stumbles into the carbonite freezer breathing or with his brain leaking from his ears, your first solo hunt should be a simple one. The less mess, the less opportunity for disaster—the better. 

The dagger strapped to the inside of your thigh burns hot. Soon, you think. Soon. 

You have nothing but a name and a general understanding of Breeth’s daily schedule to go by. It’s bare bones; the holo-tabloids you read prior to leaving the Sunder certainly had a lot to speculate about Breeth’s society life but no specifics. Still, it’s a start. 

Finding your hotel is easy. Checking in under an assumed name comes with a skip in the beat of your heart when the attendant double-checks your identification, but otherwise no issue. You take the turbo lift to your room and steal a moment to prepare in the plush, otherworldly comfort before setting out to find your mark. 

You drop your bag to the oversized, overstaged bed. No amount of pillows (a luxury, if ever you saw one) can calm the rising tide of anxiety in your stomach. You stand poised to set out on your foremost test: a solo hunt, no Mandalorian to guide the way, nothing but raw instinct and skill to carry you from one decision to the next. A shudder runs down your spine as excitement mingles with the nerves in your veins. Devaneer Breeth. Like Kiminn and Setarr before him, you will carve his name in the lining of your soul. A prize for your mantelpiece, a trophy for your gilded case. 

Turning from the bed, you glance out the floor length window to your right. Coruscant throbs with energy despite the late hour. A flood of colored lights illuminate the crowded skyline, and you allow your gaze to soak in the hum of the city. The people back on Inora would unravel to see such advanced technology. Even you find your jaw dropping in awe, and you wonder—

A knock on the door. Your stomach clenches. No one should be knocking on your door. 

Expect the unexpected. Isn’t that the first rule of bounty hunting? You suppose you didn’t realize the unexpected would come to call so soon.

The sound comes again, followed by a gentle call of your name—your false name—through the heavy wood. Stepping slowly, you unhook the dagger on the inside of your thigh and wrap your fist tight around the handle. You unlatch the door, breathe deep, then swing it open.

On the other side of the door stands a young man, face marred by acne and impressionable youth. In the harsh, sterile light of the hall, you watch his pupils expand as he takes in the skin exposed by your gown. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. You relax your hold on the dagger and drape yourself against the doorframe.

“Yes?”

The boy thrusts forward a silver platter. “I was told to bring this to you, miss.”

You look down. A single everlily stem rests in the middle of the platter. Long white petals with forked blue pollen buds in the center; a delicate, nearly translucent stem that glistens beneath the light. 

Meeting the boy’s stare with a lifted brow, you point to the flower. “I didn’t order this.”

“No,” the boy says, shaking his head. “My boss told me to bring it to you. It’s from Din Djarin.”

“I don’t know a Din Djarin. I think you’re mistaken.”

“I’m just the messenger, miss.” He pushes the platter forward again. “But, if I may, there were many men—and women—who watched you from the bar as you checked in. Maybe Mr. Djarin is waiting for you there?”

“Hmm.” You accept the flower with a measure of hesitation. “Perhaps…”

You dismiss the boy with a wave of your hand and the slide of a few credits after a moment of consideration. Returning to the solace of your room, you twirl the everlily between your fingers. Din Djarin? You haven’t the faintest idea who that might be, but at least you are now sure of one thing: The credits you spent on your ridiculous and revealing outfit were worth it. Breeth will crumble under the strength of your appearance alone. Surely he will. 

Your only goal this evening is to locate Breeth and weasel your way into his circle. You can kill him later—tomorrow perhaps—but tonight you want him comfortable in your presence. That is an obtainable objective; at least, you hope it is. Mando taught you to start small, so you will follow his advice. You would drown if you focused on the island in the distance; it is best to concentrate on each stroke of your arm through the waves.

After dabbing perfume on your neck and wrists, you exit the hotel into the warm night air. Breeth’s fob pulses like a heart in the pocketbook under your arm. You step to the beat of his heart, strides long and hips loose. As you follow the path Breeth’s fob carves through the city, your mind wanders. You should be more mentally disciplined, especially on such an important mission, but Mando—his skin—his hand: it all flashes before your eyes in vivid color. Gods, he’d taken his glove off for you. For You. Your chest twists with sick delight at the memory. 

Golden, his skin is golden; flecked with sunlight, pierced with the ink of his people. You want to slide your tongue between his knuckles and taste his flesh, drink the musky sweat that gathers between his gloves and feast on whatever he will give you. Your body still tingles with his lingering touch, even all these hours later, and the pinpricks of anticipation for more spur you onwards. 

The faster you slice Breeth’s throat the faster you can return to your Mandalorian in shining armor. 

Breeth’s fob leads you to a towering hotel four blocks from your own. The building—all glass and glittering metal—bleeds luxury. It drips like diamonds from the entryway chandelier, blankets the soles of your heels as you cross the marble floor. A farmgirl like yourself—you shouldn’t be here; you were not made for a life such as this. But the building’s elegance buoys your confidence rather than strips you clean of your surety; and when you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror, you smile. You blend in, yes, but you should blend in. You must become one in a long line of women in sleek gowns hanging on the arm of a suited man in an ornate bar.

You can do this.

Finding the bartender, you order a glass of something mild enough to take the edge off of your nerves. The alcohol smooths through your veins, and you lean your back against the bar to survey your surroundings. A cluster of low tables and leather tufted chairs, dim lights and candles to illuminate each place setting. Humans and non-humans alike mingle throughout the room, speaking in quiet, delicate voices. The air smells like dignity and grace, like pomp and power. You’re definitely in the right place. Now all you need to do is find Breeth and turn on the charm.

You slide away from the bar. Thoughts about Mando be damned. Thoughts about your decimated and lonely farm on Inora be damned. Let this night be about you and your success alone. You’ve come so far. Like Icarus, you will soar beneath the sparkling sun and shine.

Sitting in the center of the room, his arm draped around the chair of a man about your age, Devanner Breeth sips from a wine glass. He is younger than you anticipated; perhaps fifty or so name days under his belt. He sits tall, shock of white hair luminescent in the dark room. Regal nose above a thin mouth, broad shoulders and a salt-and-pepper beard. You lift your stemmed glass to your lips. Not half bad. Shame you’ll have to end such a pretty face.

You clear your throat, leaning forward to break Breeth’s intimate conversation. “Excuse me?” The polite phrase melts from your mouth, husky, dripping with intrigue. Breeth turns from the man at his side, and his brow arches in question. “Are you Devanner Breeth?”

His head tilts; Mando’s helmet following the same gesture bursts in front of your eyes, but you shake the image away. “Yes. Who is asking?”

“I read your scientific journal. The one on astral cloning. I had to come and speak with you. Maybe ask you a few questions. If you’ll let me...” 

“Huh…” Breeth leans back in his chair, evidently impressed. His eyes widen then drift across your face, your chest, the snug pull of your waist. “Did you now?” He gestures to the chair opposite him. “What’s a pretty girl like you reading a boring old paper like that?”

You lower yourself to the seat across from him. You prop your chin in the palm of your hand, tugging your lip between your teeth. “Can’t a girl be pretty and like science too?”

“I suppose so.” Turning to the man next to him, Breeth nudges his shoulder. “What do you think, Daniel?” 

Daniel considers you at Breeth’s request. Silver grey eyes framed by white lashes harden to ice, and you resist the urge to stiffen as Daniel rakes you over with a hard glare. When he leans forward and a forked tongue slides from behind his painted lips, you take a sip of your drink to keep from grimacing. 

“What was your favorite part? Of the paper on astral cloning? Tell me which section caught your interest first.” There is a possessive quality to Daniels’ tone, one you take care to note Breeth responds to with a firm hand to the shoulder. Daniel sits back, angling his body closer to Breeth’s, though his unyielding gaze remains fixed on you.

You swirl what remains of your drink in the bottom of your glass before asking: “Are you trying to gatekeep a politician?” Daniel’s eyes narrow; Breeth’s chest puffs at the challenge in your voice. “Don’t you know how desirable Mr. Breeth is?” 

Rising from your seat, you place your glass to the side then drop your hands to the table. You hoist yourself onto the slick surface. The table adjacent yours quiets with an astonished hush. In a place like this, painted pretty with luxury and high-class, a girl crawling over the table stands at odds with the self-contained air of the room. Your skin grows hot with the weight of a dozen eyes, but all you see is Breeth. The strong line of his jaw above an elegant neck, perfect for the cutting. You grin—all feline and sure—as you crawl, hands and knees, closer to your bounty, your prize.

“I’m sure you know, Daniel, how even the silliest of girls want to fuck Mr. Breeth,” you continue. “But the smart girls… the ones with brains in their heads instead of vacuous waste… we want to fuck him too.” You arrive at the edge of the table where your face hovers over Breeth’s. Warm, fresh breath washes over your face, and you grin as his pupils expand . “A big cock is only made twice as delectable when there’s more than brawn to back it up. Don’t you agree, Mr. Breeth?”

A spark, a flash of desire, and you’re in. Tick, tick. The clock over Breeth’s head begins its countdown. You have him in your grasp. Men—predictable—easy every time. Your smile widens.

Lunging forward, Breeth wraps his hand around your throat, tugging you close so that his mouth can claim yours. It’s an ugly mash of teeth and tongue in a room that calls for the slow caress of romance. You swallow a gasp. He does not—cannot—affect you. Though the hot slide of his tongue through your mouth feels good, ignites pale embers in your gut, you have a better man—a man of brawn and brain and braggadocious ego—waiting for you elsewhere. Him—you fan the flame only for him.

“I like you,” Breeth says, pushing you back by the neck. His voice betrays none of the delighted blush staining his cheeks. “Come with us to the opera. You can sit by me. You won’t mind that, will you, Daniel?”

Daniel blinks. Despite his frosty complexion, fire drips from his eyes. “No… Of course not.”

“Good.” Breeth rises from the table. “Then we’ll go.” Grinning, a mischievous glint in his eye, he extends his hand to you and pulls you down from the table. He presses his firm chest to yours, and the steady beat of his heart urges your rapid, hammering heart to slow. “We’ll go together.”

//

You’ve never been to an opera. Never had any reason to go until now. Never had the opportunity either. Inora was hardly the hub of culture and high-society. A backwater, molasses-slow dump more like. Oh, how you wish Jeelia were by your side. She would dissolve like sugar on the tongue to see such elegance, such grace and poise. You wish—you wish you could tell her about this, about your adventures… If only your fervent wishing could turn dreams into a reality. If only you could wake the dead with the yearnings of your heart alone.

No time for wishing. No time for dreaming. Only single-minded focus. 

The Coruscant Opera House makes Breeth’s hotel look like a wart on the backend of a hog. The vaulted ceiling stretches higher than what your eyes can focus on. A flock of white nesting birds glide from potted tree to potted tree, chirping around the music played by a string quartet in the building foyer. Creatures of all shapes seem to parade across the waxed, marbled floor; and floating chandeliers sparkle off of jewels and gowns and suits alike.

Devanner Breeth smirks and pats the hand cushioned between his elbow and forearm. “Quite glorious,” he says.

You unhinge your jaw from the floor and clear your throat. “Yes. Exquisite.”

“I helped design the lighting mechanisms, you know.” As you come to the bottom of the grand staircase leading to the theatre, Breeth pauses, pointing to an ornate chandelier suspended above your head. “How is that for brains, my dear?”

You follow the line of Breeth’s finger, and true, the design is genius. The light appears to hang on its own accord, no string or rope to hold it secure. It spins in a slow circle, casting prisms of rainbow hues over the walls and floor. Impressive—and Breeth knows it. He watches you study his creation, and you feel his eyes sift through the minute reactions on your face. Is he intrigued by you? Amused? It’s hard to tell. What you do know is his ego rivals Mando’s. You can smell it, that thick layer of arrogance coating his tongue, sweetening his words with pride. He wants you to oogle, to lap at his feet like a dog. 

Fine. You can do that. 

Leaning to the side, you dip your chin and squeeze Breeth’s arm with your fingers. “I’ve heard other rumors about you,” you whisper. Your voice drags like silk sheets over a soft mattress. “About other things you can do…” 

“Oh really?” He angles his head in curiosity, lowering his voice to match yours. “What sort of things?”

You glance over your shoulder. It’s part of the act—the bashful socialite, fluttering her lashes and avoiding the curious gaze of others—but the moment affords you time to force your stomach to settle. It’s a risk to push things further, to attempt to part the overgrown branches that obscure Breeth’s hidden agenda, but you have to chance it. You need to know—for certain—what you are dealing with. 

“Well”—you trail your nail over Breeth’s wrist and avoid his eyes; the more demure the better—“a little birdie told me you can do more than clone the stars…”

Breeth nudges your chin with his finger, forcing you to meet his stare. “What more can I do?”

You blink. “Cloak—you can cloak ships.” Pause. “Or… something…” 

Criminal first. Prideful man second. The momentary spark of fear in Breeth’s eye tells you enough: You have the right man. You’re on the right track.

Attempting to smooth ruffled feathers, you toss your head back on a high giggle. “But I’m not even sure what that means! It’s just something my brother said to me. I may be smart, but even that sounds a little out of my depth.”

Breeth frowns. Opens his mouth. You hold your wide smile, despite the tremble rising to your lower lip. Did you go too far?

Daniel cuts Breeth off before he can speak. “Devanner.” You turn in time with your mark; Daniel stands at the top of the staircase, his hand offered to the politician. He does not look at you. “They’re about to open the curtain.”

“Oh goody!” 

You drop Breeth’s arm and hurry up the stairs, grabbing Daniel’s waiting hand with a nail-biting grip. He spins on his heel, and you hasten down the carpeted hall. Grunting in disdain, he mumbles beneath his breath as you pull him toward Box Eleven, the designated loge afforded the richest of the rich. To your great relief, you hear Breeth chuckle at your girlish glee, and his return to aloofness sets your worry at ease.

In the plush, padded theatre box, Breeth sits in the row closest the balustrade. Daniel takes the seat on his left, and you lower yourself to the armchair on the right. The house lights dim, and the alcove fades into the background of the theatre. You inhale, run your gaze over the hundreds of attendees beneath the balcony. Like a sea of ignorants—unaware of Breeth and his hand in the death, the untimely ruin, of thousands; unaware of you and the knife that slips across the sweat in your palm… just in case.

When the opera begins, Breeth gives you a warm smile which you return in kind. He settles into his overstuffed armchair and taps his finger to the beat of the music swirling through the room. Comfortable, vulnerable, exposed. 

If it weren’t for Daniel or the two armed guards hovering by the door, you might attempt to slit Breeth’s throat now. No one would need to know you were ever even present; you’d be gone like a ghost in the night. You could simply use the cover of darkness and the volume of the opera to smoother Breeth’s screams. A simple, easy job; a good way to get the whole ordeal over and done with. It would get you back to the Sunder sooner, too. Back to Mando… 

You glance over your shoulder and take stock of the guards by the door. Heavily armed men, sure, but nothing you haven’t taken down before. Daniel, too. Fuck, you could tip his scrawny ass over the balustrade and be out the door before he hit the floor below. 

Your heart beats against the confines of your chest. Should you do it? Make a go of it now? 

What would Mando do? 

A cool hand slides over your wrist, fingers nestling between yours. Your train of thought derails as Breeth leans over the arm of his chair. He maintains a tight focus on the soprano in the middle of the stage, but he whispers low and steady in your ear: “I knew you were coming.”

The muscles in your lungs tighten. Your jaw grinds over your teeth.

“That’s the thing about bounty hunters,” he continues. “Either silent as the grave or loose lipped, haughty to a fault.” Without turning his head, his eyes carve a deep path to locate your face. “Can you guess which camp you fall in, dear?”

I—knew—you—were—coming.

Oh fuck. The dressmaker on Xaxeris. You’d… you’d talked too much. When standing on the fitting box, as the elegant Kaminoan took your measurements, you’d talked and talked and talked. Excitement for the job got the better of you, and you divulged your newest bounty, the secrets you held in the fob at your side, and now—oh fuckfuckfuck.  

Cold shame washes over you, draining the blood from your face. You move to pull your hand from Breeth’s grasp, but he holds tight. “That’s right. I have friends in all places. It pays to stay alert.”

You’ve failed. Barely a day into the mission and you’ve already bungled it beyond repair. The dressmaker told Breeth you were coming. He’s been waiting for you all along. Of course it was easy to weasel your way into his circle. Of course he’d brought you to the opera without a second thought. None of this evening’s success was built by your skill. He knew you were coming.

He knew you were coming.

The shame churning in your gut turns to anger as you imagine the disappointment in Mando’s voice when you return without the bounty. Well, you can’t allow that to happen. He’s given you his skin, his protection, his trust; the least you can do is bring him an offering that proves yes, I’ve listened and yes, I’ve learned. 

Jumping to your feet, you lunge over Breeth’s chair, curved dagger lifted high over your head. Daniel shrieks and topples from his seat as Breeth tips to the right in self-defense. You grab the scruff of Breeth’s neck, blind rage painting your vision scarlet. 

But you are kicked to the floor before you can strike. 

A firm boot to the center of your chest, and you fall. Something snaps below your lung, and you swallow a pained scream. A guard moves to press the muzzle of his blaster against your forehead, but you kick the inside of his shin and stab your knife between his kneecap and closest tendon. He howls, staggering to his uninjured knee. 

You roll to the side of your body that doesn’t scream out in pain and attempt to wobble to your feet. Your heel catches on the hem of your gown, and you stumble as you try to stand on unsteady legs. Maker, it hurts to breathe. But you have to get out—get out, get out—before you are truly, irreparably injured. 

The exit remains closed, but you can make it if you can manage to avoid Breeth—and Daniel—and the remaining guard. Lurching forward, you grab the back of a chair to steady yourself. The world spins. Someone grabs your shoulder, but you wrench free with a sharp heel to the toe. 

Blood pools in your mouth, and you cough. Spittle blankets the red carpet beneath your feet. Pain eats at your stomach. Oh shit, you can’t make it. You can’t breathe.

Another hand on your arm, and you spin, untucking a throwing star from the cleft of your breasts. Though the blade slides your right breast, you flick your wrist and listen for the gurgle of a sliced throat. But nothing so pleasant tingles your ears. Just a dull thump.

When did your vision start going spotty? Why does it hurt so much to breathe?

Why are you such a fuck up?

A wallop to the back of your head sends you crashing to the floor. You groan, press your palms to the carpet, try to lift yourself. A leather shoe returns your face to the floor, your cheek to the bloodstained carpet. A bone in your face groans under the pressure. A hot tear slides over the bridge of your nose. 

Breeth crouches beside you, and the devil-may-care affect is no more. He is nothing but sin now. 

He grabs your cheeks between tense fingers, further irritating the bruised bone in your face. You wince, but maintain his beady stare. “You’ve come for the wrong man, my dear.” He lifts your arm and jingles the bracelet on your wrist. Tearing it from your body, he snaps the jewelry in half and drops it on the floor. “Say goodbye to your precious Mandalorian.”

You do—you do, you do, you do. Fuck, Mando…

I’m sorry. 

You say goodbye, and what remains of your heart crumbles like a house of cards—

—and all goes to darkness. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[ms-starflower]

Young Survivors — Maribat

It’s almost four am here, I just finished writing this and am just tired enough to actually go through and post it. And this title is the only thing my tired brain could come up with. Anyway. I haven't posted something I wrote in years, but all the Maribat I’ve read recently made me want to write something for it.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to write a 2 part, but if I do it’s definitely going to be Timari and contain a couple of typical Maribat tropes. And a pinch of salt.

Also, disclaimer: I haven't watched Miraculous in years and most of my DC knowlege come from fanfic or tumblr so... sorry not sorry.

Now with a part 2!

Next >

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mei Leyton’s oldest memories were of her mother, dolled up in pretty dresses and elegant makeup. In her daughter‘s eyes, Margaret Leyton was the most beautiful woman on earth.

For as long as she could remember, Mei would sit on the bed and watch as her mom would get ready to head to work. She had always loved those moments with her mom.

(How do I look, my little flower,” she said, twirling around Mei with a grin, making her laugh. It was Margaret’s favorite dress, a vintage halter blue dress with white accents and a white bow around the waist.

“Like a princess, mommy! The prettiest princess ever!”

“Oh no, no no no. You are the prettiest princess ever, my little flower.”)

She was four when her mother let her help for the first time, letting her pass along brushes and products. It’s then that she understood what were the purple marks on her mother that she covered with her makeup.

(“Life is not fair to us, my little flower,” she had said when Mei asked about it for the first time. “Being an orphan and pretty little girl in Gotham isn’t safe, and it doesn’t give much choice when it comes to survival.”

Mei didn’t understand then, but it didn’t matter anyway, life would make her understand soon enough.)

When Mei was seven, the GCPD found her mother’s body.

When she didn’t see her that morning, Mei hadn’t been worried; it wasn’t the first time. Mom would be home by noon, she always was. Until that day.

(The investigation wouldn’t get very far, it was just another prostitute of Camellia street, nobody cared about them. They were just there until they weren’t anymore.

Another girl would take her place in a couple of days. It was how those kinds of things worked in Gotham.)

That day was kind of blurry in her memory. She remembers being pulled out of class in the morning, and that the cop that told her about her mother’s death was very rude.

(“Your mom is dead, kid. A lad found her body in a dumpster this morning,” the guy had said as soon as she had sat down in the headmistress’ office. “Do you know who she worked for? Or on what side of the Camellia she stayed?” He had asked, halfheartedly.

Mei had shaken her head, even though she did; you don’t talk to cops in Gotham, mom always says said that it was the easiest way to get yourself killed, for people like them.

“Alright,” he had said, not surprised. “A social worker is going to pick you up in a bit to take you to your new home, kid.”

With that he had walked out of the office, not looking back. As if where she would end up was going to be home.)

She remembers that the social worker from CPS was a brunette with tan skin, and looked really overworked, but had a kind smile.

By the end of the day, she was taken to Elliot's Hall for Children, an overcrowded, understaffed orphanage with more kids than they could realistically care for.

(They don’t care for the children, they just put them there for a while and act as they do. Most children leave after a couple of days, and if they don’t, they get taken anyway.

Some come back with a police escort, some manage to survive in the streets, and nobody talks about the ones that are never seen again.

You don’t work there because you love children, and if you do, you don’t last for very long.)

Mei wasn’t stupid, her mother told her stories about those kinds of places. She came from those kinds of places, and Mei saw how the man in charge here had looked at her when the social worker dropped her off.

She wasn’t going to just stand here and wait for him to sell her back in Camellia street. Or worse, to the Candy Dealers.

Taking with her what she absolutely couldn’t leave behind, Mei made a choice her mother hadn’t been able to and took her chance with the streets.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mei was a Camellia kid and, as such, took to the streets easier than most newcomers. She had picked up a few tricks from her aunties and her mom, and it helped her to survive out here.

The only (glaring) differences were the absence of her mother, the lack of a permanent roof above her head, and the fact that she had to provide food and money herself now.

(One of her favorite places to pick up wallets was Gotham Academy, where Gotham’s rich send their children. The kids always had money on them, and it’s not like they would miss it.

Though she couldn’t go too many times in a row, not without risking being spotted and remembered.)

She had been on the streets for two months when she met Jason Todd; the boy who would become her family.

She heard him before she saw him, to be honest. It was an awful crashing noise coming from around the corner, and it made her look.

He was running like the devil was after him, and judging by how the cops running behind him were clutching their batons, she wasn’t that far from the truth.

The noises were because of a couple of trash cans the boy had spilled in their way to slow them down.

And he was coming her way.

Against her better judgment, she grabbed his arm when he passed in front of her, and pulled him behind her into her hideout. Quickly getting the plank of wood back in place, she put her hand on his mouth before he could say anything. With the dumpster in the alley, the entry was almost invisible from outside.

They stayed there as they heard the men pass in front of their hiding place, listening as they argued about where the boy could have disappeared before their voices faded completely.

They waited another couple of minutes before he removed the hand she still had on his mouth and crawled out of there.

“Thanks,” he muttered with a scowl. “I woulda’ve been just fine without help but… yeah, anyway.” Then he had started to walk in the direction he came from.

“Hey! Wait!” She said before she could think about it. “Are ya just gonna, like, go? Just like that?”

“Huh, yeah? What do ya want me to do?” He asked, looking back at her from above his shoulder without stopping his walk. “Stay to drink a cup of tea and talk about the weather?”

“Well.. no. But I just… I just wanna talk a bit, ya know?” She couldn’t really explain why she didn’t want him to leave yet, it’s not like he was the first street kid she had helped out. He just felt different, and somehow she knew he could become important to her.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed before turning his head back to look forward. “The streets are not some daycare for princesses who want to make friends, kid.”

“Kid— hey, dumbass, you’re, like, ten years old! You’re a kid too! And I’m not a princess, I can survive alone just fine!” Before she knew it, she was walking behind him, the weird feeling forgotten for the offence his comment created. He looked back at her with a frown, before choosing to ignore her. Not letting that deter her, she rambled at him about all the ways why she wasn’t a kid any more than him.

“I thought you could survive alone?” He said, talking over her, when he realized that she wasn’t going to let him be.

“I can.”

“So why are ya following me? Tryin’ to drive me crazy?”

“Well, no. It’s just... that I can do it doesn't mean I want to.”

“Look, kid,” he said, ignoring her protest and talking over her, again. “You should just go back to whatever orphanage you came from, there is probably some nice little family who's gonna pick you up. Then you could make all the friends you want.”

“Like people actually adopt kids in this city. This is Gotham, you dummy, not ‘Annie’. Some rich white guy isn’t going to come and pick up children from the streets to make them live the Grand life.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” he growled out without pausing in his steps. “Still, you’re pretty enough, I’m sure some nice people would adopt you in a second if you let them.”

“Yeah, sure. Mom thought the same when she was a kid, and guess what? She started working on Camellia street when she was fourteen, but nobody asked her if she wanted to. Because she was pretty enough,” the little seven years old spat with venom, her eyes narrowed. The boy stopped walking, turning toward her with eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. “Her best friend wasn’t, but mom said that she had the prettiest green eyes ever. When they found her body, she didn’t have eyes anymore, because some rich person paid to have pretty green eyes.”

“I— I didn’t—” he stuttered, eyes wide. With his scowl gone he looked so much younger, and Mei’s anger subdued. He wasn’t that much older than her, just a couple of years, maybe three or four, after all.

“It’s… okay, I guess. It’s Gotham. I just thought we both would have more chances to survive if we helped each other out. And, ya know, the company wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, but when they resumed walking he slowed down enough to let her walk beside him without almost-running.

“Great! So, Annie, where are we going now?” She said with a beaming smile, bursting into laughter at his indignation and protest against the nickname.

(“Can’t you stop calling me Annie already?! I told you my name’s Jason!”

“Nope, Annie.”

“Well, then, that makes you Sandy, doesn't it? Ya do follow me around like a stray puppy.”

“I’m not a dog— wait, hold on a minute! I knew you saw the movie! You liar!”)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was ten when her life was put upside down once again, in the worst of ways.

It took practically no time before Jason “Annie” Todd became her brother in all but blood, it took longer for Jason to admit it, and they spend almost three years surviving together, barring the occasional trip back to the Children's Houses.

Though, they always found each other a couple of days after they escaped from those places.

Sometimes, Jason would plan something that he needed to do alone. Because of course, he did.

(“It’s the best job, my plan is perfect. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be great Sandy!”

“Yeah, and why can’t I come?”

“It’s too dangerous! Plus, you need to stay here and keep our things safe!”

“Yeah, if you say so, Annie.”)

That day was one of those days.

He was gone for less than an hour when they found her.

The Candy Dealers.

Mei paled when she saw them, wearing their nice suits and overly sweet smile. They told her they were social workers, specializing in homeless children, and offered her a lollipop. Social workers in Gotham don’t give candy to the kids, even the nice ones, and she knew from her time in Camellia street that the lollipop was drugged.

(“Never, ever, take candy from a Candy Dealer, Mei. Do you understand me? Never,” her mother told her gravely. “They put bad stuff in them, and if you put it in your mouth, they will take you away from me. I couldn’t live without you in my life, my little flower.”)

She tried to run, even before the first one got his hand totally outstretched toward her. But her panic made her stumble, and she was no match for them.

She tried to kick, and scream, and bite, but soon she felt a pinch in her neck, and everything was black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next period of her life was one she tried very hard to forget. For months she was moved, her and dozens of other people, from containers to containers, warehouse to warehouse. Twice they were put in a boat, the containers staying closed for so long, the next time she saw the moonlight, it burned her eyes.

She quickly learned that it was pointless to try to escape (and that Jason wouldn’t come and save her).

Then, one night, the place they were at was illuminated with blue and red lights and the police sirens were so loud, they drowned everything else.

She didn’t let herself hope, though. (She did, she hoped so hard her chest hurt.)

They (probably) weren’t in Gotham anymore, but her childhood didn’t instill her much trust in the police.

They did get them out. And she learned that they were in Paris now. In France. (That was a long way from Gotham.)

There were twenty-seven other people with her in the container. Four of which were kids, and only one other was also an orphan. They weren’t placed together, though. Because the kid had family back where he came from. Unlike her. (She had Jason. He was her family, but they didn’t listen.)

The French social workers took a while to know what to do with her exactly, but they didn’t want to send her back to Gotham (why not? She wanted to go back and find Jason!). So, in the meantime, they placed her in a foster family—one without any other kid, as per her therapist's advice. (The therapist didn’t know anything. She said Gotham wasn’t good for her, but Jason was in Gotham.)

Funnily enough, it ended up being a more permanent solution than previously considered, because the foster parents, Tom and Sabine, quickly fell in love with the little girl.

Not before long, Mei Leyton became Marinette Dupain-Cheng. (They changed her name to give her a ‘new beginning’ because her therapist thought it would be good for her. She didn’t want to have a ‘new beginning', she wanted to go back, to find Jason, to be the Sandy to his Annie. She was Mei, the Camellia’s kid, Sandy, the street’s kid and it was enough for her. She didn’t want to be Marinette, the bakers’ kid.)

So, when Mei was first put into the care of the Dupain-Cheng household, she regularly tried to run away. It was unsurprisingly harder than in Gotham, though. Tom and Sabine were way more attentive than Elliot Hall’s staff ever was, and more than a third of her tentatives were folded even before she was past the front door.

It took her three months (and forty-three unsuccessful tentatives) before she finally accepted that there would be no way for her to go back to Gotham. (Not that she had known how she would manage to do that before, her plan never got that far.) It took another six months before Tom and Sabine trusted her enough to let her wander the neighborhood alone.

The first thing she did the day her ‘new parents’ let her go to the library alone was to get to a public computer, and look Jason up. She didn’t really think she would find anything when she typed Jason Todd and Gotham in Google that day (maybe an obituary). She definitely didn't think she would find her best friend (brother) on the covers of so many tabloids declaring that he was Bruce Wayne’s ward.

She didn’t know how she should feel about the fact that he proved her wrong and became some real-life Annie. She wanted to feel angry, or hurt. Even more so when she realised that Wayne adopted him not even a full week after her (kidnapping) departure from Gotham, but…

But seeing Jason in the pictures… He looked so angry. Angrier than she ever saw him. And hurt. There was hurt hidden in his expression. It was well hidden but she could see it. (She did that, she was the one that hurted him. He probably thought she left him. That she wasn’t any better than his deadbeat of a father and abandoned him. What if he hates her now, because she was gone for so long?)

She needed to go back to Gotham, find him, and explain everything. She needed to tell him she didn’t want to leave him behind, that he was her family, and that it would never change. But Tom and Sabine didn’t want to take her back there, not before she was older, because she wasn’t ready yet, they said.

She didn’t care, though. No matter how long it would take her, she was going to go back. So, she slowly started to act like the perfect little girl. She didn’t really change, she just stopped bringing up Gotham so much, started to help more often in the house and at the bakery, and started to call Tom and Sabine Papa and Maman. (It wasn’t real, at first. But then, they just crawled into her heart against her will and became family. They didn’t replace her Mom or Jason, though. Nobody ever will.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

She started to heal. Slowly, without even realising. She opened up to a couple of children at her school, made friends with Nino, and sort of Frenemies (more enemy than friend, though) with Chloé Bourgeois. She picked up hobbies like sewing and designing, baking with Tom, or learning various martial arts with Sabine.

But she didn’t forget, going back to Gotham was still her ultimate goal. Until the news reached her, when she was twelve.

Jason Todd was dead.

Her best friend, her brother in everything but blood, her Annie. Dead. Jason was dead.

She felt like a part of her died with him, reading the words but not really processing. She let herself drown in her grief, closing up to everyone around her. Surprisingly, Chloé was the one that made her react. Literally slapping her to make her come back from the dead. (Not entirely, though. Mei, the Gothamite part of her, stayed dead with Jason. Only Marinette, the nice little parisian, came back.)

“I don’t really know what’s up with you, Dupain-Cheng,” she had said while Marinette cradled her sore cheek, her faux-contempt badly hiding her worry. “But you need to put yourself together. Tormenting you is no fun if you don’t react to it, and people are too worried for you to be afraid of me. Don’t make me call daddy on you.”

“I…” She had started, only to stop herself. She had looked back at Nino and Kim, both of whom were looking at her with poorly concealed worry. “Yeah, sorry Chloé.”

She pulled herself out of the worst of it after that, at the obvious relief of the people around her. None of which even knew why she was in this state. She still cried herself to sleep most nights, and sometimes felt like someone gouged out her heart with their bare hands, but she also started to let herself think of the good times. Started to let herself feel the good things happening around her, in the present.

Then, she saved the life of an old man, found magic earrings and a bug-mouse-kwami in her room that told her that she needed to become a hero and save Paris.

She thought of her big brother, of how he would always protect her when someone tried to rob them. Hide her, before even thinking of himself, when the cops would chase them down, trying to bring them back to Elliot's Hall. Give her all the food when they couldn’t get enough for the both of them. How he was a hero. Her Hero. And, really, there was only one thing she could say to that.

“Tikki, spots on!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

So. That's it. That was fun. I'm going to sleep now, goodnight.

Btw, Jason's super plan that day was totaly to steal the Batmobile's tires.

[krujuice]

Did you hear about the vegetarian who had a heart attack? Yeah, me neither. That's because studies have shown that vegetarians have a lower risk of heart disease than their meat-eating counterparts. In fact, according to Dr. Neal Barnard, a renowned physician and advocate for plant-based diets, "vegetarian and vegan diets can help prevent heart disease, and even reverse it in some cases."

So, why is a vegetarian diet so beneficial for heart health? Well, for starters, plant-based diets are typically lower in saturated and trans fats, which are known to raise cholesterol levels and increase the risk of heart disease. In addition, plant-based diets are rich in fiber, which can help lower cholesterol levels and reduce the risk of heart disease.

But don't just take my word for it. In his book "The Vegan Starter Kit," Dr. Barnard cites several studies that support the heart health benefits of vegetarian diets. For example, a study published in the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition found that "vegetarians had 24% lower mortality from ischemic heart disease than non-vegetarians." Another study published in the Journal of the American College of Cardiology found that "vegetarian and vegan diets are associated with a significantly lower risk of ischemic heart disease."

But what does a heart-healthy vegetarian diet actually look like? Well, it's all about incorporating a variety of fruits, vegetables, whole grains, and legumes into your diet. For example, you could start your day with a bowl of oatmeal topped with fresh berries and chopped nuts, have a salad with lots of leafy greens and colorful veggies for lunch, and enjoy a stir-fry with tofu and lots of veggies for dinner.

Of course, making the switch to a vegetarian diet can be challenging for some people. But Dr. Barnard offers plenty of tips and resources to help people make the transition. For example, he suggests starting with small steps, such as swapping out meat for plant-based proteins like beans, lentils, and tofu. He also recommends finding support from others who are also interested in plant-based eating, whether that's through online communities or local vegetarian and vegan groups.

And if you're looking for a little bit of humor to keep things light, here's a vegetarian joke for you: Why did the tomato turn red? Because it saw the salad dressing!

All jokes aside, the heart health benefits of a vegetarian diet are no laughing matter. So if you're interested in improving your heart health and reducing your risk of heart disease, why not give plant-based eating a try? With a little bit of creativity and some delicious vegetarian recipes, you just might find that you don't miss meat at all!

[ragingbookdragon]

It's Who We Are Underneath That Defines Us

Kyle Rayner x Batsis One-Shot

Word Count: 1.9K Warnings: Explicit Language, Slight Angst

Author's Note: Really gotta make the story where the Batfamily learns she and GL are dating. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

“Hey babe?”

She hummed absentmindedly, her eyes still trained to the stars above. “Yeah, Kyle?” Fingers twitched against her palm, then laced with her own; a heartbeat pounded against her skin, like a pulsing speaker, causing her to look over at him. “Is everything alright?”

Evergreen eyes met hers and he murmured, “Do you ever think about what life would be like if you weren’t a superhero?”

She blinked, the question giving her a slight pause. Leaning closer, she propped her chin in his shoulder and teased, “Thinking about how you could’ve had an apple pie and picket fence life, Kyle?”

A grin crossed his lips and he glanced over at her. “To be honest with you, (Y/N), I’m more of a cherry pie kinda man.” His gaze dropped, and his eyes roamed her body. “Blame Warrant on that one.” She rolled her eyes, but the laugh she gave him showed her amusement. Kyle paused, his gaze searching her face. “But back to my original question...what do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t a vigilante?”

(Y/N) inhaled deeply, rolling away from his shoulder and laid on her back, her eyes scanning the immense field of stars above them. “I don’t know, honestly. I’ve never really given it much thought.” Raising her hand, she traced the scars across her expanse of her arm with her eyes. “I’ve been training to be a vigilante since I was ten years old...helping people is all I’ve ever really wanted to do with life.”

She looked back over at him. “But since you asked, if I wasn’t a vigilante, I’d probably be a stuck-up rich bitch who overcharges her dad’s credit cards and throws hissy fits when she gets told no.” Kyle snorted, and she giggled.

After a moment of silence, he looked to her and asked, “Would you ever change anything you’ve done?”

The question he’d given her had been one she’s asked herself so many times. What if’s rising to the tongue of a girl too afraid to choose a path other than that of the least resistance, but ultimately keeping them contained and taking the hardest ones anyway. (Y/N) bit her lip slightly, the memories of every mistake, every wrong choice, flashing behind her eyes like lightning in a storm. The fingers laced though hers squeezed gently, dragging her from them, and she glanced back over, her eyes tracing the wisps of hair at his temples that had fallen from the gel he’d put in it earlier.

She blinked, then gave him a smile, her voice soft as she replied, “No...I don’t think I would change a single thing.”

Kyle’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and he questioned, “Why not? Hasn’t there been a time where you’ve screwed up monumentally and couldn’t change it?”

(Y/N) watched him carefully, the words toying with the tip of her tongue as she asked calmly, “Are you talking about what happened to Alex?”

His face momentarily darkened, a mixture of anger, hate, and self-loathing, then it fell, and she saw the pain and regret in his eyes and heard it in his voice as he muttered, “I’m talking about everything that I’ve done wrong.” He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, the heel of his tennis shoes scraping against the brick of the roof. He let out a heavy sigh, causing her heart to tighten, and she rose beside him, curling her arm through his.

They stared at the city across the water, then she murmured, “When I was sixteen, I accidentally shoved someone over a support beam during a fight.” He eyed her, silently wondering what had happened and just what the hell this had to do with his issues. “Didn't mean to, of course. But he grabbed me from behind, and I did what I'd been trained to do—react. I freed myself and made the distance between us. But I misjudged the force of my kick and he tumbled over and down about a hundred feet onto concrete.”

She paused, thumb rubbing the back of his hand. “When my family and friends saw what I’d done, even if it were an accident, a lot of them decided to keep me at an arm's length. ‘She might kill again’, they said, ‘If she’s killed once, she’ll do it again...there’s no way we can trust her anymore.’ Eventually, I stopped patrolling with the Titans and Teen Titans. Hell, I even stopped helping the Justice League. I did my own thing by myself because no one trusted me anymore. ‘Til this day, there are some people within the superhero community who shun me and don’t trust me. And at every meeting, somehow, someway, it's always brought up.”

(Y/N) looked over at him, squeezing his hand again. “Wherever I go, whatever I do, that follows me. It’s never going to be let go, and it’s certainly never going to be forgotten. However, despite those problems and feelings, and what occurred in the past, that accident doesn't define meor my actions. Yes, I unintentionally took someone’s life, but I’m not a murderer. I carry that burden with me, and I always will and while I can't change what happened, it drives me to make sure that I don't make the same mistake again.”

She let go of his hand, slipping her legs on either side of his body, her hands coming up to cup his cheeks; she caressed his cheekbones with her thumbs, staring into his eyes, and mustered the sincerest voice she could. “Kyle, what you’ve gone through, the people you’ve lost, the people you’ve saved, and the friends you’ve gathered along the way? That’s not who you are...it’s what you do with it that defines who you are.” His eyes widened slightly, and his lips parted to speak, but no words fell from them.

(Y/N) gave him a warm smile and leaned forward, pressing her lips against his forehead; she pulled back and murmured, “It may not mean much, but I'm proud of you, Kyle. You make me proud every single day.” She watched him exhale shakily, and she swore she could see the damn inside him breaking as he lowered his head, his arms reaching to pull her against him.

She shifted, perching in his lap, and let him bury his face in her neck. Kyle let out a breath, but it felt more like a soft sob, and heat blossomed against her skin where his lips touched.

He let out a sound, crossing between a groan and grunt as he told her, “I love you, (Y/N).”

She hummed, wrapping her arms around his neck, her lips brushing his temple. “I love you too, Kyle.”

They stayed that way for a few minutes, simply holding the other. Providing the anchors needed to keep their spirits alive. Eventually, (Y/N) pulled back and dragged his face away from her neck, huffing a laugh when he whined lowly from the loss of contact.

She reached up and wiped his face. “You look like a kid who was told no to ice-cream before dinner.”

Kyle let out a chuckle, moving her hands away and rubbing at his face vigorously. She climbed out of his lap and sat beside him once more, and he looked over at her wondering, “How do you manage to stay so positive outside the mask? To be the same person in costume and out?”

(Y/N) went silent, thinking for a moment, then she said, “A few years ago, I asked my dad the same thing, and he told me, ‘It doesn't matter who we are underneath the costume or out in the real world...it’s what we do in or out that defines us. If the person you claim to be isn’t the same person inside and outside of uniform, you don’t need to be wearing it.’” She glanced back over at him, nudging him in the ribs. “Don't worry about it though, you’re still a dork inside and out of G.L.”

Kyle let out an amused scoff, placing a hand against his chest. “I can't believe you would insult your boyfriend like that. A dork? I’m hurt.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, looking back at the city. “Kyle, you doodle in the middle of J.L. meetings, and it’s usually caricatures of my dad strangling Hal, the Joker, Jason, or Dick…typically it depends on what’s going on during the meetings and who’s been a pain in his ass for it.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it, then raised a pointer finger at her. “Alright, you have me there.”

(Y/N) looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Of course I have you there, Dork Lantern...” She gave him a grin, wiggling her eyebrows and quipped, “I sit and doodle with you.” The two of them laughed, and she rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a sigh. “I could stay with you here forever.”

Kyle nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Me too.”

A moment of silence passed them, and as they were enjoying it, a voice called out, “Oi! Kyle! Queenie! Are you guys up there!”

She let out a groan, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “So help me God, I can’t enjoy anything without dumb and dumber sticking their noses into it.”

Kyle looked over at her, his eyebrows furrowing as he pointed out, “But there’s only one?”

(Y/N) raised a hand in a ‘wait’ motion, then she waved it and, “Of course they’re up there Little-wing. The roof is where all the teens go to make out.”

Her eye twitched, and she leaned over the ledge, shouting, “The only person who’s made out on the roof is you, Dick. And it was with Kori after you guys broke up...AGAIN.”

A scoff sounded below followed by, “Hit me where it hurts why don't you!” She rolled her eyes, huffing, then he asked, “Is Kyle up there with you?”

“And what’s it to you?”

“Just wanted to make sure you guys are acting appropriate.”

“Dick...I am older than you. Kyle and I are both older than you.”

“So?”

(Y/N) turned to Kyle and mouthed, ‘Wanna get out of here?’ He flashed her a grin, then a strike of green blinded her, and he stood before her in his Green Lantern suit. He held out his hand. A beam of green light surrounded them, and a moment later, (Y/N) felt herself drop into a seat. She looked around, a grin appearing on her lips as she ran her hand along the dash of the constructed car.

“Kyle, are you trying to woo me with my love of nice cars?”

He matched her grin, laying his unoccupied arm across the seats. “I don't know...is it working?”

She nodded, sliding over into his side. “Yes. It is.” He chuckled, and they started moving, leaving her two brothers yelling for them.

“Kyle! Are you letting (Y/N) ride in the Green Machine?! You never let me do that!”

“(Y/N)’s my girlfriend, Jason!”

“I’M YOUR FUCKING BEST FRIEND! WHAT EVEN!”

She leaned across Kyle, glaring at Dick and Jason. “Go do something productive with your time, losers.”

“I am hurt, Jellybean! I thought you loved me!”

“Only when I can get something out of it!” (Y/N) glanced at Kyle and grinned. “Hit the gas G.L. Don't let ‘em catch the taillights.” He smirked, and they waved as they left Wayne Manor behind them.

[nothoughtsonlynat]

The Chick with the Red Magic (W.M.)

Warnings: None? Maybe some swearing?

Word Count: 1.4k

It’s a typical New York night. The old apartment buildings tower over you, the smell of cigarette smoke filling the air from where an old man is perched on his fire escape. There aren’t many people around, and those who do dare to wander the streets this late, stick to themselves. You look up at the dark sky as you walk, and you can’t help but wish that the stars were visible through the city pollution.

It had been a long day. First, you had several hours of classes. You were in your third year of college at NYU, working toward your degree in criminal justice. The plan was to become a detective here in New York. Hey, it might not have been a very detailed plan, but at least you had one. After classes, you went to the gym with your friend, Henry, from school. Then you had an 8-hour shift as an EMT. To say you were exhausted would be an understatement.

You pass a particularly dark alley as you near your favorite coffee shop一 not that they were open this late at night. After you’ve passed the alley, you hear some strange sounds coming from it. Muffled grunts and low thuds fill the thick air. You follow your gut as you quietly ditch your bag on the ground and creep into the alley. You spot a brunette surrounded by four men. You fail to notice the red tendrils floating through the air around them. One man notices you and when he comes for you, you knock him unconscious with a hard punch to the jaw. Your face scrunches up in pain as you grab your wrist and shake your hand一 that always hurts a lot less in training. The other three men are thrown against the brick wall by the red hue, which you finally take notice of, and you instinctively take a step back. The mysterious woman’s eyes snap to yours as she finally notices your presence. You hold her gaze and fight the urge to hightail it out of there.

“Who are you? What was that?” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel.

“Um, I一 you don’t recognize me?” She steps closer and you shake your head with furrowed eyebrows, confused at her question.

“Should I?” “I- I guess not. I’m Wanda. I swear you’re safe. What you just saw... well, I can’t really explain it. But I’m with the good guys, I promise.”

“Yeah, right, okay. Would you even know if you were a bad guy?” You did your best to sound skeptical, but in all honesty, this woman had somehow already gained your trust. Maybe you wouldn’t make such a great detective, after all.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N.”

“Well, thank you for the help, Y/N.”

“Yeah...I’m pretty sure you didn’t need it,” you deadpan, gesturing to the pile of unconscious bodies further down the alley.

“You should probably go now before my boss gets here, unless you wanna end up in questioning and debriefing all night.”

‘Questioning? Debriefing? I know damn well this girl ain’t a cop’ you think to yourself.

“This is all very mysterious, Wanda, you know that?”

She breathed out a laugh. “I’m aware.”

“Will I see you again? I’d like to solve the mystery, if you’ll give me a chance.” You don’t know where the sudden burst of confidence came from, but something about her thick accent and her kind green eyes makes you want to talk to her for hours. 

“What’s your full name?”

“Um, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Then, yes. I will find you again, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Okay, now I’m concerned for my safety.”

A wide grin spread across her lips as she said, “No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. But I probably should be. Uh, goodnight, Wanda.”

“Goodnight.”

<Two days later>

Three loud knocks disrupt the peaceful silence that had previously settled in your apartment. You set down the textbook in your hands and rise from the couch. You pull the door open, confused when you see a beautiful redhead standing on the other side. Her face displays no emotion and she scans your figure from head to toe. You tilt your head in a questioning manner, debating whether you were about to get stabbed or converted.

“Um, can I help you? Are you alright,” you ask her, cautious of why a random woman would show up at your door.

“So you seriously don’t know who I am? Or Wanda,” she asks with a raised brow.

“Uh, I一 what? You know Wanda?”

“You know who the Avengers are?” 

You nod your head in affirmation. “Yeah. Team of superheroes. Everyone knows about them,” you reply plainly. You had nothing against them, you just didn’t really care. Why is this lady asking about the Avengers? You should definitely reconsider becoming a detective.

“I take it you’ve never paid much attention to them?”

“Not really. What does this have to do with Wanda? Who are you?”

“I’m Natasha. Wanda and I are Avengers.”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds. “Bullshit.” She nods her head with a small smirk on her face. “Huh,” you say, your voice an octave higher than usual.

“Mhm. I came here to scope you out, see if you’d be a threat to Wanda, but you seem entirely harmless, so here’s her number,” she said, handing you a slip of paper.

“Um, thanks, I一 wait, I’m not harmless! I can be very harmful! When I wanna be…”

“Yeah, sure. She told me all about the punch. Very harmful,” she teased before patting your upper arm and walking away down the hall.

You barely wasted ten minutes before calling Wanda.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Wanda. Or should I call you ‘My Great Avenger’,” you tease over the phone.

“Oh, God, please don’t. It’s good to hear from you Y/N.”

“It’s good to hear from you, too. I was beginning to worry that I had been hallucinating. So you really sent your friend to make sure I was safe for you to be around?”

“Ugh, I didn’t ask her to do that. She insisted when I told her about what happened. I only wanted her to find you一”

“Oh, so you told your friends about me? I’m honored.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, tell me about yourself, Y/N.”

“Well, I’m a junior at NYU, I work as an EMT, and, apparently, I’m very trusting because I ran into this chick with red magic the other day and I literally gave her my full name on the spot and everything,” you joke.

“That definitely wasn’t very safe thinking on your part. I’m glad that you blindly trusted some weird girl with powers, though. It probably made her night,” she says, playing along.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say she’s weird. Different, maybe, but normal is boring. And you should see her, she’s really pretty. She’s got the kindest eyes and the most amazing smile that could outshine the North Star.” She’s silent and you wish that you could see her face, hoping that maybe you’d put a smile on it. “Although her friend is kind of intimidating. I’m pretty sure she could kill me without batting an eye,” you continue.

“Yikes, not the scary best friend. You definitely don’t want to piss her off.”

“Definitely not. So, what do you think? Should I ask this girl out on a date?” “The chick with the red magic or her scary best friend?”

“The chick with the red magic, of course.”

“I think...you should. Maybe you could take her out this Friday?”

“Maybe to dinner? Something real casual, so I can get to know her outside of a stuck-up, annoying rich-people-restaurant?”

“I think she’d love that. Maybe you could pick her up at seven?”

“I think that sounds like a great idea. I can’t wait to see her.”

“She can’t wait, either.”

“Wait, just to be clear, you know I’m talking about you, right? Like, this was me asking you out? ‘Cause that would be awkward if you didn’t and I’m gonna need your address to pick you up-”

She cuts off your nervous rambling with a laugh and says, “Yes, I’m aware. I’ll text you the address in a bit. Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Right, cool. Bye, Wanda.” You hang up the phone with a huge smile and jump around in a celebratory dance, already planning Friday’s date.

[princessofprocrastination]

She’s Creepy (Dream)

MASTERLIST

(PART 1)

pairing : dream / clay x reader

summary :  apparently being a huge fan of a big youtuber is considered being a creep, according to minecraft gamer, dream. and ever since he called you mean things, your world turned upside down. (ANGST) (TRIGGER WARNING)

GEORGE’S POV 

looking back, there was so many things we could’ve done before she saw us.

walked out before she did? 

not stared at her like she was the only source of food in a stranded island?

but then again, we were still in shock. but we were left in more shock after she did what she did. 

-

she settled the bill and was proceeding to walk out the restaurant alone, since her family went off first. 

since she wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings before, we didn’t think she would this time. 

but we were proven wrong in the next second. 

she looked up from her wallet, coincidentally, looking up to us. 

her eyes moved from me to nick to clay. she looked confused for a second. 

and then, a smile. 

wait? a smile?

you smiled at us, bringing up your wallet-less, right hand to wave to the three of us. 

i looked to see what the other two boys reactions would be. 

as expected, shock clearly written all over their faces. 

-

YOUR POV

three years can make someone change. a lot, in fact. 

they say to forgive and forget. but logically, how does one forget something that change your whole life? 

but you forgave them. you were not heartless. you weren’t going to bring this to your grave. that seems so childish of you. 

at the end of the day, what happened years ago changed your life, for the better. 

you were making better money than you did when you still made videos. 

sure, now you couldn’t really enjoy life by posting on the internet you doing things you love or posting the people you cherish. but that didn’t matter anymore. 

you had a good career, a good life. 

and you still looked up to the three boys. 

sure, they hurt you a little. but you were sure they must’ve did something to stop people from ruining your life after you left social media. right? 

so you smiled at them. 

you would be lying if you said you weren’t shocked and confused. you were almost speechless. what do you say to the three people that made you the woman you are now?

how did you not notice them sitting on the table just opposite you? and why were the three of them together? as you knew before, they don’t even live in the same country. 

maybe they have met since then and they’re just enjoying a good dinner. as you just were. 

“hi, haven’t heard of you guys for a little bit.” you walked closer to their table. 

your family left, anyways. they said they would catch up with you another day, seeing that most of them have jobs, just like you. 

“uh. we- we haven’t heard from you either.” sapnap, nick. 

nothing changed. they still looked the way they did three years ago. 

besides dream, of course. up till today, you had no clue what he looked like. but damn, he is one hot dude. 

“please, sit down. that is, if you don’t have to go.” george. even after three years he is still so adorable and awkward. 

you pulled out the empty chair beside sapnap, sitting down. 

“since i haven’t formally introduced myself, i’m y/n.” you said, shaking sapnap’s hand. 

the polite texan brought your hand to his lips and kissed it instead. how sweet. 

you smiled at him as he told you his real name. 

they took turns introducing themselves. 

air still tense, you tried to make it less awkward. 

“stop thinking about the past.” you broke the awkward silence. 

“how? you were forced to leave the country.” dream, or clay said. 

“that was years ago. now i’m back and clearly fine. my fault for not getting a place with better security, anyways.” 

“no. it was clearly my fault for sayin-” 

“let’s just put this behind us now. it doesn’t matter now, anyways.” you cut off clay’s words. 

clay looked like he was thinking about it for a while before he nodded and let it past him. 

“still, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean all i said.” clay looked into my eyes, sincerely apologizing. 

“i forgave you years ago. don’t worry about it.” you smiled at him.

“god you’re too nice.” you laughed at what clay muttered under his breath, thinking you wouldn’t hear him. 

“soooo, frozen yogurt?” nick asked all of you. 

everyone agreed. maybe then, you’ll know each other more. 

not as content creators, but as normal people. 

“let’s go to my house.” you told them. you lived alone in a big house, constantly lonely. and you didn’t want the night to end yet. 

although they were hesitant, they agreed. 

it was obvious they didn’t want to accidentally push any boundaries with you. they acted like you are still fragile. they were scared that the wrong thing you make you blow up. 

you told them that you would never do that. that you were comfortable with any kind of questions, to not act like you were a piece of glass. 

you drove to your house, clay’s car trailing behind, nick sitting on the passenger seat of his car. 

george asked you politely if he could follow you instead of clay. 

obviously, you told him he could. he was to adorable to say no, anyways. 

although he is the oldest, it felt like he was the opposite. he was just so shy and quiet. 

in the car, he told you everything. what clay thought of you, the times he cried in his home watching your old videos and looking at your old photos. he told you the times clay wished he spoke to you instead of acting arrogant. 

you almost teared up at that. so this is why george wanted to drive with you instead. got it. 

george told you clay basically fell in love with you through social media, that he felt the need to lash out on your in the eyes of the public due to his jealousness. 

apparently he felt like he didn’t stand a chance with you. 

“has he seen himself in the mirror lately? that man is beautiful.” you laughed at your own comment. 

“well, technically, you didn’t know what he looked like. but yeah, he is pretty hot, huh?” george laughed along. 

“i didn’t know what he looked like, which made it so much better. i simped for a green smiley face, can you believe that?” you laughed even harder. 

“his voice is pretty attractive, too.” george agreed and laughed with you. 

you stopped at the security post which was unusual for you since the security guard knew your car and you could always just drive in without stopping. 

“the car behind mine is with me.” you told the guy. 

“yes ma’am.” he told you, and cleared clay’s car. 

“so this is what being rich is like.” george said. 

“you’re an idiot. you’re rich too.” you told him. 

“you live rich, i don’t” he replied. 

“touche.” you told him. 

you parked your car in your garage, leaving space for clay car beside yours. 

you and george walked to your front door, you using your fingerprint to open the door. 

“hey, y/n?” nick called you as you opened the door to your house, them stunned at the classiness of the layout of your house. 

“yeah?” you acknowledged him. 

“are you single?” you almost chocked on your spit, but laughed it off. 

“yes, nick. why?” you turned to him, confused on why he asked you that question. you were surprised to see how close he was to you. 

“hey mamas, let’s go on a date someday.” nick invited you, clearly joking. 

“nick! you can’t just say that.” clay. someone’s jealous. 

“you paying?” you jokingly asked nick, staring into his eyes, acting serious. 

“you bet.” 

“where are we going?” you asked him, leading the boys to the living room to watch some television. 

“in n out.” nick laughed but still managed to let out the answer. 

“text me the date, i’m down.” you answered him. nick laughed, going up to you to kiss your cheek. you shook your head at his stupid antics. 

“it’s that easy.” nick told the other boys, more specifically, clay. guess he was trying to get clay to do something. it’s too obvious. 

“wait. is this real? you guys are serious?” clay asked, almost sweating, it seemed. he asked it like it was an urgent question. 

“you’re an idiot, clay.” nick told him. nick put his arm over your shoulder as he sat next to you on the couch, stealing the remote to pick a movie. 

“no clay, not real. he’s just messing with us.” george finally said something.

you heard clay sighing. you assumed he sighed in relief. you laughed to yourself. nick realized what you were laughing at, laughing along with you. 

“you know, don’t you?” nick whispered in your ear. you nodded, smiling to him. 

“know what?” shit. clay heard that? you shook your head, telling him to forget about it. 

and he did forget about it. or so you thought. 

while the four of you watched hamilton, he was the most silent. but you didn’t think much about it. you talked at some point of the show and continued watching. 

“wait a second.” clay realized something. 

“FUCK. YOU KNOW.” clay basically screamed. 

george almost snorted. “duh. you couldn’t have been more obvious, loverboy.”

“shit. how did you know?” he asked, looking at you straight in the eyes. 

you pointed to george. 

-

and that, is how you find yourself a boyfriend after years. 

you weren’t even sure how it progressed after that night. 

the boys stayed at your place and you order a shit ton of clothes their size so they could keep staying here without buying anything. 

you were glad they willingly stayed. you were lonely in that house anyway. 

you were making breakfast for three starving boys and yourself when you felt hands on your waist. “you’re too kind.” he whispers in your ear. 

“you’ve told me once or twice.” you chuckled. 

“get a room.” george yelled, nick agreeing. 

“i will kick you out.” you threatened. 

“kidding. we love you.” the two boys tried to take their words back. you and clay laughed at how stupid they were acting. 

-

TAGLIST

@sarah-limelight  @your-typical-giggle  

[extravaguk]

santa&prada

part of my opposites attract! series. 

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / kth / jjk

pairing: rich!jimin x reader

summary: Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

wordcount: 5k

genre: smut - angst(? - fluff (? idk u tell me

rated: m 

warnings: a christmas fic in late november, cursing, a huge misunderstanding lmao, i call jimin ‘park jimin’ too many times bc i felt like it, car sex, oral (f recieving), some good ole spanking, (kinda) rough and unprotected sex, a lil of dirty talk, spit kink. thats about it. just an excuse to write jimin fucking you in a car. jimin is not as bad as oc thinks srsly.

The first time you meet Park Jimin is through mutual friends. On a firday night on December, with white, red and green lights decorating the streets of New York, filled with the typical hustle of the masses doing last minute Christmas shopping, the freezing weather impacting your body temperature, cursing yourself for choosing tights, a skirt and heeled boots that are too pretty but too uncomfortable to wear.

You had never considered yourself a particular enthusiast of Christmas festivities. You guess discovering Santa Claus was, actually, your parents before the rest of the kids in your class was one of the many reasons that made you grow up too soon and therefore, not allowing you to fully enjoy the month of December. Or maybe it had nothing to do with Santa, and more to do with your parents deciding to get a divorce a day before Christmas Eve. A traumatic event for seven year old you, but completely forgotten and overcome by twenty-four year old present you.

Growing up each Christmas suffering the consecuences of a shared custody would have probably had a disastrous effect on anybody else, but not you. Although the separation was a tough reality to accept at first, fortunately your parents were always capable of raising you in an environment full of love and affection, just like any other kid. And you prided yourself on having moved on from those circumstances a long time ago (even if your therapist disagreed and blamed many of your behaviors on it. Whatever.)

To put it simply, December was just not the month for you. It was just another month, like the remaining eleven of the year, except Mariah Carey's voice was heard every five minutes everywhere you'd go and people gave each other presents as if it was only during that time of the year when they remembered their loved ones. 

The only thing you could thank Christmas for were the well deserved two weeks of holidays our work allowed until the new year's arrival. Fifteen days of rest, peace and baking those gingerbread cookies that Seokjin died for and that you sincerely denoted as nauseating.

You truly had no idea what exactly you did wrong that night. You don't know if it was something you said, or something you did, but what you did know was that Park Jimin pursued a silent and personal vendetta against you that continued nowadays.

"Here are your disgusting cookies, you filthy animal." it might have been that very first sentence you said when you entered the bar and reunited with your friends that didn't cause a good impression. "Shit, it's cold as fuck. My nipples are harder than my life." or maybe it was your selection of words while you waved every familiar face hello until you stopped to look at the only (pretty. too pretty, as well) one you had never seen before.

"_____, it's Chrismtas! Santa Clause will only bring you a lump of coal if you keep cursing like that!" Lisa laughed while she kissed your cheek and made space for you to sit next to her. "Oh, by the way, this is Jimin. A friend of Namjoon. He's a newbie!"

Park Jimin was stunning, you had no trouble admitting that. You weren't blind, you weren't stupid, and you could go as far as theorize that his dark eyes, his light and always immaculate styled hair, his sharp jawline and those plump lips as red as cherries must have been sculpted by Satan himself.

Fuck, you were even sure you'd be on your knees in front of Park Jimin in an alternative universe begging for his dick inside your mouth. But in the universe where you and the real Park Jimin reside, he would never come near you unless somebody was aiming a gun into his skull.

You're not precisely sure what it was, but a brief exchange of glances and an evasive and sligh shake of hands with Park Jimin was enough to make you feel ashamed and withdrawn for the rest of the night.

If Jimin wasn't even able to drop a polite "Nice to meet you", he sure as hell wasn't able to pretend you even existed.

Even the small talk you had tried to engaged with him about his shiny pair of shoes went terribly wrong.

"Oh, are those Dolce and Gabbana?"

"Dolce and Gabbana are homphobic, racist and sexist, so no" the grimace on his face should've been enough to make you regret speaking to him in the first place , but the snarky voice of his made you want to run away and hide from him until next Christmas.

In reality, you swore you didn't care. Seriously. Other's opinions were never something that could easily bother you or keep you awake at night. You had always turned a deaf ear to the cruel children that made fun of you due to your parent's divorce, you had always ignored the amount of men that never considered you "ladylike" enough (what the fuck did that even mean, anyway? what exactly made a lady and what didn't?), and you had always disregarded any envous comment surrounding you.

So, fuck Park Jimin! You had said to yourself. He's just a well mannered rich boy. Somebody who didn't resemble you in any aspect. A stupid, pretentious, spoiled boy who's had everything he's ever wanted in the palm of his hand, unlike you. Who the fuck cares what Park Jimin thinks? 

But apparently, you did. 

You would have never placed such importance to whatever it was that roamed inside Jimin's head if his appearances in your group of friends hadn't been so recurrent.

Because each time you were forced to see Jimin's face, you were also forced to experience a strange knot of discomfort and humilliation growing in your stomach in his mere presence. It's not like Jimin did anything specific to make you feel that way. He might not even do it on purpose, or his intentions might not be entirely evil. Maybe he simply didn't realize how he always avoided being by your side like the plague, or how his body immediately tensed and he balled his hands into fists everytime you were less than two feet away from him, or how he would look at you from the corner of his eye everytime you decided you speak, almost as if he was waiting for you to shut up to finally let out the air he was containing inside his lungs in relief.

Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

And with time, you couldn't help but attribute that disdain and hostility that Park Jimin always directed at you to the many undeniable differences that constituted each of you. Park Jimin, with his impeccable and always well ironed Prada shirts, his spotless trousers, jewelry that probably costed more than three of your annual salaries, and always emanating that Givenchy fragance that screamed "wealth!" every rare occasion you could experiment his presence next to you. Exactly two years after that first meeting with Park Jimin, you hadn't been able to avoid reciprocating that feeling of contempt towards him. Not when you were the only victim of his arrogance. Everybody loved Park Jimin, and Park Jimin loved everyone. 

Except you.

Clinging to your glass of Don Pérignon and finishing the rest of the liquid in one go, you try to snap out of your own thoughts, reminding yourself to return to the conversation you're currently having with Taehyung about a pretty waitress that he's met during one of his art exhibitions (or at least that's what you think you caught him say) and forcing yourself by all means to stop observing the friendly and kind smiles that Park Jimin was shooting to those present from across the room and that you will never be able to achieve. 

"_____? Are you even listening to me, darling?" Taehyung's voice is what makes you finally look away from the dumb blond standing on the opposite side of the room, blinking a few times before clearing your throat. 

"Sorry, Tae." letting out a sigh, you try to brush back and put in place the strand of hair that escaped the intricate hairdo you had tried and so miserably failed to do yourself to try to fit in and hopefully impress such environment of preppy and privilaged people (ahem, Park Jimin)  falling on your forehead as best as you can. "Just been really stressed this week and I'm on another planet. You know how I feel about Christmas. I think I need a new flute of . Or five."

Taehyung sends you a look full of empathy and places one of his hands in your shoulder, squeezing lightly in a comforting way. "I'll get you another one. I'll be right back." You quickly interrupt him though, to prevent him from standing up before you.

"No, really. I'll go. I need some fresh air anyways, if you don't mind." And of course Taehyung doesn't mind, so you get on your feet as graceously as your tipsy state allowed you to (who told you it was a good idea to drink three glasses in less than thirty minutes of the extremely expensive champagne Taehyung had brought to the Christmas party he had organized and why did it convince you it would appease your anxiey?) and make your way towards the table where the rest of the bottles are. A table dangerously close to the conversation Jimin and that friend of Lisa (whose name you don't remember) were having.

Both are with their backs turned and, honestly, you take a silent moment to thank God or whatever is up there because the last thing you need right now is yet another awkward interaction with Jimin, so you try as best as you can to refill your glass of champagne to get out of there as soon as possible, praying to make your exit going unnoticed.

But no. Because the stars and the universe loved to align to make you suffer! They love to play with your karma and they love making you damn that one day you didn't help that lady cross the street. They love making you regret buying those plastic straws. They love making you feel guilty for hacking your neighbour's Wifi when you run out of money to pay for yours. Because the moment you try to take a hold of the bottle in your hands, it slips out of your grasp, and you're watching in slow motion how the sparkling berverage ends up spilling all over the extremely expensive (or so you assume. Balenciaga maybe) suit pants Park Jimin decided to wear that night.

Everything is kind of blurry and you can't even hear anything. You can only watch as Park Jimin turns around, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, until his eyes find you, the bane of his existance and immediately recognizing the culprit of his now drenched piece of clothing. And you can watch as, once again, his gaze turns almost black and narrow lightly as to reprimend you for what you've caused. But of course he doesn't say a word. He has nothing to say. He doesn't even look surprised. No. Because obviously, Park Jimin knew that if there was somebody in this room willing to ruin his night, it would be you, and only you.

"Shit!" you're the first one to break the strained silence, but that only makes Jimin flinch. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm so fucking dumb! J-Jimin, I'm so sorry, let me just go grab a paper tow-"

"Don't." his voice cuts through you. Literally cuts through you. Because it's not often that Park Jimin decides to aim his words at you, but everytime he does it holds the same frigid tone. Like knives trying to painfully stab your being. "Just, don't."

In reality, you don't know a lot of things and you don't know what causes what happens next. You don't know if it's the specific time of the year, you don't know if it's your internal stress, or if it's Park Jimin, his voice, or the fact that he will never like you. But it's instant. They way something compresses your chest, and suddenly your eyes are not glaced by the alcohol but by something wet that threatens to flow. You would never admit to anyone they're tears.

So, shutting your mouth and swallowing the uncomfortable feeling of anguish in your throat, leaving your flute forgotten on the table and grabbing the bottle instead. Without saying a word, your feet start moving up the stairs of the ridiculously enourmous house Taehyung owns towards the first free and empty balcony you can find. Free of people and free of Park Jimin.

Closing the large window behind you, you allow yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath; the icy temperature outside immediately welcoming you. Although the hairs on your arm stand up and you know you're probably going to catch a cold (because the dress you've chosen for the dinner is not at all appropiate for such winter climate), at least the tension in your body seems to disappear while oxygen keeps that ugly feeling in your heart at bay from continuing to choke you.

With shaky hands, you take a big gulp straight from the champagne bottle. Fuck Park Jimin. No man will ever have the power to make you feel what you're feeling right now.  Fuck Park Jimin. And fuck his beautiful face and his ability to make you tremble and fear looking like an idiot. Fuck his fancy clothes and his perfect manicured hands and his marvelous but frigthening presence. 

Knock knock.

The sound makes you jump back from the window, hand grasping your chest while you turn around, coming face to face with the man in question.  Your first instinct is to ignore him. But that thought is already out of the way when it's him the one who struggles with the window lock before opening and taking a step towards you. You step back as he steps in, raising your head up high and puffing your chest. Because your second instinct is to tell Park Jimin to go fuck himself.

"_____, I would like to-"

"You would like to what?" Jimin looks taken aback at your harshness. Alcohol has always been a weapon of mass destruction in your system, provoking words to flow too easily and without filter out of your mouth, more than they already do when you're sober. Especially when it's mixed with the frustration you've been harboring inside of you for two years. That's why when the words start to come out, they won't stop. "To make me feel like shit one more time? To look at me with that fucking conceited face trying to make me feel like you're better than me? Or would you like to ignore me once again as you always do everytime we're in the same fucking room to make sure I know you hate my mere existance, even if it's just the two of us right now?"

The steam leaving your lips due to the accelerated beat of your heart blurs his face for an instant while he looks at you dumbfounded. The silence and his expression makes you scoff, an acidic smile adorning your face while you take another sip of your drink because even with such a stupid face, he still looks delectable with his white shirt and ruined pants. You turn around, removing a tear that you hadn't even realized had fallen during your speech and that, frankly, you were hoping he hadn't either. You would blame it on the cold, anyway.

This time, a gust of wind running through you from head to toe, making you forget of Park Jimin's presence looming behind you, reminding you it's still December and the fabric of your dress is doing nothing to conceal you from the cold.

But before you can do anything about it and blame yourself for being dumb and not taking your coat with you before deciding to step into balcony, Park Jimin surprises you once again, this time by placing his navy blue blazer over the naked skin of your arms.

Your back straightens when you feel his warm breath caressing the back of your neck, at the same time that a voice you have never heard Park Jimin use with you echoes in your ears.

"I really don't hate you, _____. I..." Jimin wets his lips. His body trembles, but it's not due to lacking his own coat, while his brain hurriedly searches for words eloquent and adequate enough to explain voice his thoughts. "I like you very much, _____."

Scoffing again while you shake your head, you push down with all your inner strenght the incipent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach that Jimin has managed to cause in just a matter of seconds. It's probably the longest sentence you've heard from him in two years, and you don't exactly understand why your body is reacting the way it is. But you're also not willing to give Park Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that. He doesn't deserve it anyway. So with all the courage you can muster, you turn around with your hands clenching.

And even though being at such short distance from Jimin is a bit overwhelming and unexpected for you, the irritation still making your blood bubble is enough to not let a man as handsome as him derail you from your current circumstances.

"Well, fuck you Park Jimin. You certainly have a funny fucking way to sh-" his hands cradling your jaw that pull you closer to him and his lips that silent you roughly, but with surprising care. Only for a moment. A moment in which your body betrays you and make you melt into hir warmth. But his voice, low and sinfully husky, murmurs against your lips. 

"God, that mouth of yours..." he goes back to attacking your own lips, this time more firm than before, snatching a sigh from you. The sound has his tongue asking for permission into your mouth, and with your body betraying you once again, you part your lips to allow him in. It's him who whimpers this time, while one of his hand moving until it reaches the bottle in your hand and letting it drop carelessly onto the floor, ignoring the sound of glass shattering and the future scolding you'll get from Taehyung. Instead, he sneaks that same hand on your waist, pulling your body flush against his, fingers digging onto your skin. "It's been driving me crazy for two years. Two years, _____."

He mumbles between kisses and swipes his tongue against yours, while he stars walking the both of you until your back meets the nearest concrete wall. 

"Two years of having to hear the incessant filthy words that leave your mouth..." his own stop their movements and you catch yourself before begging him to reattaching his lips to yours, enjoying instead the path of wet kisses and bruises his lips traile from your chin to the pulse of your neck "...and trying my best to hide the painful boners I get whenever you're nearby." 

With your eyes shut, your hands are back in motion, ignoring the voice in your head reminding you he's still an asshole and finding their way between Jimin's soft golden strands of hair. He hums in appreciation, sending goosebumps all over your body. "So, s-so why not do anything about it sooner?" you say, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe properly.

You feel Jimin's body tensing before you and he ceases the movement of his lips against your neck. Breaking away, your heart stops, afraid you might have ruined the moment. But Jimin's in search of your eyes, eyebrows very lighlty raised, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. You don't know for how long you stare at each other until Jimin comes out of the trance, eyes descending over your flushed cheeks, the very same color as your lips and the soft flesh of your neck until they reach your cleavage, the glimmering fabric encasing your breasts, taunting him the same way they had been doing all night long.

"You scare me so much..." and then, one of his hands repeats the same journey his eyes just did, until he touches your shoulder, right under his own blazer. "Everytime I look at you, all I can think of why the hell a girl as real as you like you would even glance my way." he slides the strap of your dress slowly tentatively, just enough for you to stop his advances if you chose so. You don't. "You're smart in ways I could never compare, so funny it makes me jealous, and so pretty it leaves me speechless. You're...You're everything I'm not."

His voice resonates in the atmosphere, and you would love to blame it on the cold again for how your body has reacted, but your body heat has increased so much since he started kissing you that it would be stupid not to admit that it's just the effect that Park Jimin has on you tonight. You're sure he would've had the same effect if it had happened before.

Your now uncovered breast doesn't even has to suffer the consequences of the icy wind, because one of Jimin's arms quickly comes around you to hold your body against his, lifting you ever so slighty until your erect nipple is at the same level as his mouth and his lips are enveloping it in their warmth. You gasp his name, and that encourages his teeth to tug softly before his tongue stars moving in circes. 

"My God, you're so perfect." Your head spins while you hold onto his shoulders as tight as you can, the undeniable heat roaming all over your form, hips involuntarily rutting his incipent erection poking your abdomen. "Been thinking about this since that night we first met." Looking for relief, Jimin mirrors your movements without ceasing the administrations on your chest, as one of his hands lifts one of your thighs to wrap around his waist, closing the short gap remaining between the both of you. 

"Ohmygod! F-fuck, Jimin," trying to form coherent phrases is almost impossible, not with Jimin finding a slow and tortuous rythm with his hips, his clothed cock rubbing against your core. Something shifts in the air, because Jimin stops abusing your nipple with a loud pop, and shuts you up by pressing his mouth onto yours in an urgent, dirty and desperate kiss. You could almost hear him swearing, while his hand keeps your jaw in place.

"S-stop talking like that, ______." his voice, inaudible, and his face now hiding in the crook of your neck, the thrusting of his hips speeding up, more and more frantic this time. The hand not holding your thigh against his hipbone reveals your other breast, hand covering it and giving it a light squeeze before tugging at your unattended nipple between his forefinger and his thumb while his tongue and teeth mark the skin on your neck. 

"Hell, I've been dying to stuff your mouth with my cock to prevent you from such foul language," the soft whimpers leacving your mouth coax him into taking the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric until his fingers easily find the place in your body calling to him the most through the lace.  It's immediate, how his fingers dampen at the first touch, surprising the both of you, and how your body jolts and an embarrassing sob escapes your throat. "How-how are you this wet? Holy hell, I could just slide right in..."

And as he says that, one of his fingers pull aside the fabric of your underwear and glide into you, so easy. You insides burning while he fingers you, another finger being added with his thumb rubbing circles on your nub. And fuck, you're not sure if you're just too horny and Park Jimin is a magician with his hands, or maybe it's the way he keeps mouthing at your chest and whispering how soaked you are, but you don't think you've ever been so close to cumming in such a short period of time.

"W-whats stopping you?" you manage with a voice that doesn't even resembles yours, but before your hands can even make work of the zipper of his trousers, he pulls his finger out from your center, causing you to whine in protest.

Jimin licks his lips, eyebrows framing the dark expression that his eyes ooze. Although the desire in his eyes is more than evident, it is also evident the faint hesitation in them. Because Park Jimin doesn't do things this way. Park Jimin was raised in a world of correct manners and conservationism. A world that has taught him when and how to act. And as badly as he is dying to fuck you against the wall of Taehyung's ridiculously inmense house, he also wants to do the right thing. 

"Let me take you on a date." 

Park Jimin has been spoiled his whole life. Being born in a well-off family has always provided him of everything he had ever wanted and more. From the innecessary number of toys Santa Claus left under his Christmas tree every year since he was a baby, to his fisrt extravagant sports car at the age of eighteen. Park Jimin has never been a greedy or needy man. How could he, when he's had everything he's ever wished in the palm of his hands. He has never missed anything in his entire life. Hasn't missed a roof over his head, warm food on his plate or brand new designers clothes each week. 

It has taken him two years to control himself. He still remembers that night he first met you, just like he remembers every single time you both had coincided in the same place at the same time. He remembered your scent, had memorized your figure over your pieces of clothing and had tried as best as he could to keep a distance from you because he knew you would never give him the time of day. How could you? You probably despised everything he was because he was definitely nothing like you, and that thought intimidated the fuck out of him. He was a mess everytime you wear nearby. Never relied on his voice because he knew he would stutter if you ever spoke to him, could never trust his eyes because if he ever looked at you he was afraid he wouldn't be able to look away. 

And everytime you spoke, shit, that voice of yours always cursing here and there left him wondering how would you sound in a different setting and if you would still be that badmouthed. More specifically, between his sheets. So he did everything he could to minimize your interactions as much as possible. He just never thought he would come across as such a jerk. It was never his intention to hurt you, and seeing you cry that night (although you denied you did, over and over again) seriously made him realize he wanted to make things right. 

He was trying really, really hard to keep it in his pants, to be the same well composed and controled Park Jimin he had mastered himself to be. 

But that damn dress.

After seeing that little black dress hugging your figure when you started taking off your coat at the restaurant, the brief flash of thigh tights that you accidentaly (or not so accidentally) had blessed him with by crossing a leg over the other, that exposed collarbone calling his name and those heeled sandals with straps wrapping around your ankles, reminding him of the snake tempting Eve, Park Jimin was sure he needed to dig into that apple more than anything he has ever needed before.

That's why he surprises you right after you both finish the second course meal by telling the waitress you won't be having desert, at which you look at him somewhat indignant. But the look he shoots you is enough to make you understand if somebody was going to have desert tonight, it would be him. In his Mercedes. 

"I'm gonna-" you gasp, fingers tugging at the soft strands of his now ruined blond hair, his head between your thighs and your legs thrown over his shoulders. His hands have a grip of the meaty flesh of your ass, holding you firmly againt his mouth as it works wonders on your clit. You're sure it hasn't even been ten minutes since Jimin had opened your legs in the backseat of his car, not even bothering to take your underwear off, simply moving the fabric aside before diving in, and you already feel yourself on the edge of an orgasm.

"I know." voice vibrating right into your core, he slows down his administrations, tongue carefully and delicately lapping at your folds while he enjoys the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip and fondly brushing his hair back. You meet his eyes as he pushes a finger inside your core and your whole body twists in agony. 

"N-no!" 

Jimin stops immediately, lifting his head and focusing his concerned eyes on you. He's about to ask you if he's done anything wrong, but you're fast to roughly pull him up by his hair until his face is leveled with yours. You answer him by kissing him and he returns the kiss with the same eagerness, and now it's your hands that are looking for his cock, palming him through his pants.

"Your dick. Inside. Right Now." you punctuate each phrase with a kiss and he only stops kissing you to pout.

"But I wanted you to cum on my tongue." but still, he's putty in your hands when you undo the botton and the zipper. "Wouldn't you rather me fucking you in my bed, where we're more comfortable?" you notice the slight quivering of his voice when you slide his trousers and boxers down, just enough to pull him out. 

"You can eat me and fuck me as many times as you want tonight, tomorrow and whenever you'd like, but right now..." none of you contain the moan in unision that leaves each of your mouths when just the head of his lenght comes in contact with your entrance. "I really can't wait anymore." brushing your lips over his, you lower your voice. "Wanna get on my hands and knees for you."

Park Jimin has tried to do things the right and appropiate way throughout all his life. He's been a professional from a very young age on how to be in charge of his emotions, his desires and his impulses. Always well mannered and well composed. 

But it's in this moment that Jimin comes to the realization that the only thing that has ever made him lose his mind and self control, is you. Seeing you like this, ass up, grinding your drenched and still thong clad cunt all over his precum dripping lenght, he can't control the way his hand bunches the fabrick of that damn dress over your waist, then flies to your right cheek, a sharp sound of skin filling the air, tearing a gasp from your throat.

"God, I'm-I'm sorry. Couldn't help mys-"

"Do it again."

And he does, the palm of his hand now leaving a reddenning print on your flesh, making you jolt back involuntarily, aligning yourself to the head of his cock and like he had hoped, he slides right in. Not all the way, because Jimin is sure he would cream inside you too soon and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he did. He wets his lips, clenching his jaw and dropping his palm one more time, hand more steady and purposeful. 

"You like it rough?" voice hoarse and a hand beside your head holding himself, your back to his chest, twitching beneath him as he soothes the sting with his free one. 

"I like you rough." turning your head slowly to peer at him from the corner of your eye, your hips moving on their own accord trying to take him deeper. Your head is suddenly pulled back harshly, Jimin's fingers tangling in your hair as his own hips close the remaining gap between your bodys in an abrupt thurst. You squeal, Jimin's cock finally filling you up to the hilt just like you wanted him to be, the pleasure making your arms wobble and finding it harder to mantain your balance. 

Jimin's breath fawns over your ear, his tongue darting out to suck on your skin sending chills down your spine. "You're such a dream." he groans, torturously sliding out of your core that's gripping around his shaft for dear life. A whine of protest escapes your lips and he tightens the hold on your hair in response, diving right back in. You fall forward, your arms' strenght betraying you as his thrusts find a new rhythm. With your eyes closed shut, you try to muffle the sound of your voice with the back of your hand as Jimin's lips place soft kisses to your exposed shoulder.

"Don't be quiet." he stands straight, the pull on your hair arching your back in such a enticing way it was Jimin look away for a second, cock buried inside of you and his hips faltering. "Been dying to have you like this for so long."

Another clap of his hand against your right cheek, and a particular stroke of his dick that has you mewling as your climax approached again. "S-so good, Jimin. Oh my god."

"You're gonna cum for me?" his fingertips leave bruises on your skin and the windows of his Mercedes are foggy, just like your mind. You can't concentrate on anything that's not Jimin's cock sliding in and out and how much you wished this had happened way sooner. "Gonna cum for me like a good slut?"

Park Jimin always takes his time. Always does things nice and slow to assure the best outcome possible. 

But he can't contain the acceleration of his hips against yours as your walls clench impossibly tight around his cock, your orgasm finally taking over . Can't contain himself from falling forward again, hand twisting your head in his direction and his mouth searching for yours in a fiery and messy kiss. And he most definitely can't barely contain himself from cumming when your you ask him to spit in your mouth. 

"You're gonna kill me." he breathes, removing himself off you and quickly maneuvering you on your back, his dick finding its way back inside you. Picking up right where he left off, skin slapping against skin in an obscene melody, he collects a considerate amount of saliva in his mouth before dropping it into your welcoming tongue, watching you swallow with a smile he hopes he'll be the only one to see in the future. 

And that's what has the last bit of his self restraint slipping from his fingers. He somehow manages to rip the top of your dress down, fabric tearing until your tits are free and his mouth is attacking your nipples, white strings of his release panting your walls, some of it them oozing out that he fucks back right into you. 

It's between ragged breaths, kisses and tender carresses that Jimin promises you more dates in the future and new dresses that he can't promise not to savage apart again.

[blueprint-han]

on top of the world ↠ hhj.

genre: royal au; fluff inspired by a fucking barbie movie leave me alone okay

⇥ warnings: if having a ballroom dance with hyunjin is a warning, then <3, district names are randomly chosen, not meant in reference to SKZ !!

wc: 1.5 K

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not aim to represent the activities of the real Hwang Hyunjin, nor does it represent JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

type: drabble.

taglist: @stayverse @districtninewriters @inkidz​ @sunoo-luvs 

part of: the url drabble game; requested by @tpwkjerii​ (requests for this are closed now!)

↯ note: dghwey i had literally no idea what to write for your url, so i searched up the full form of “tpwk” and ended up with “treat people with kindness”. I developed it into an idea i already had. Tell me if you like it <33 ⇥ dawn.☀️

↯ note 2: oh... i cannot... write fantasy for the life in me. ⇥ dawn.☀️

“Ladies, all in line.” The instructor clapped her hand, signaling all the princess and lady royals to line up in front of her. You quickly scrambled out of where you were seated, almost doubling over your heels as you tried to wobble your way to the line. 

Oh curse those heels. They were gonna be the reason you crashed headfirst into the floor one day, you were sure. They were those typical pointy, magenta colored pumps that only an expert in poise could pull of properly. Your uniform didn’t help either, layers and layers of clothing — topped of with a jacket, which meant you would be sweating buckets if it weren’t for the air conditioning.

Gosh, you hated being the princess and heir to the next throne. Why couldn’t you just lounge in the courtroom in your sweats and sneakers? They were more fashionable anyway. When your mom had told you that you were gonna attend “Royal Training School”, you’d pictured horse riding in the lush green stables, elegant dinners with rich silverware, and most of all — just having some time away from the royal castle, just having some time for yourself and having fun in that time.

Well, you were in for a huge mess.

It’d been only a week since you attended this place, and you hated it. The place woke you up at 5 a.m., shoved breakfast (which was mostly a piece of “high gluten” bread) to your hands and then took you ballroom dancing. So your day was terrible from the beginning already. There was no horseback riding, no sword fighting, because according to your parents — “princesses didn’t do fights”. Seemed superstitious to you, someone with a forward thinking mind, but what could you do?

Too dazed in your thoughts, your foot slipped and you lurched forward. You yelped loudly, but before you could catch the attention of the class or feel the polished marble against your face, a hand wrapped around your waist, ceasing your fall and holding you mid-air.

“You okay, princess?”

You snapped back into attention, eyes meeting with your classmates, all of them having a shocked look on their faces, and some of them anger. Turning around, you were surprised to gaze into hazel brown eyes that seemed to draw you in without reserve.

“Um..., princess?”

“Ah, yes!” You snapped out of it once again, straightening up as you smoothened the fabric of your shirt. “T-Thank you.” You took once glance at his face, and... wow. He was absolutely ethereal. His golden locks of hair fell perfectly over his temples, he adorned a majestic black suit and by just looking at him, he exuded confidence.

He giggled. “It’s alright, princess. Glad you aren’t hurt.”

“Oh, that-”

“Ahem!” The both of you looked to the side, noticing now how the entire class, along with the instructor were giving you snobby glares. “If you’re done chit chatting, can we start out class, Princess Y/N and Prince Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin. That was a pretty name.

You noticed that there was another line of men, wearing similar attire like Hyunjin, lined up in front of the princesses. “They must be from another academy,” Silent thoughts flooded your mind as you took your place, and your eyes went wide when you found yourself face to face with the Hyunjin guy again, though there was a reasonable distance between the both of you.

“Now, royals.” The instructor chimed, clacking her heels against the surface as she waltzed to the edge of the room. “You’ve been practicing ballroom dancing with yourselves for a while now, so The Head and me decided that it would be a good idea for you to get a little peek of what the actual thing looks like.” She said uninterestedly, picking at the underside of the nails as she started the music.

Immediately, slow, melodious music flooded through the speakers as you looked at one another. and then at the guy in front of you... err, Hyunjin. “You’ve already been partnered up, so get started.”

Your mouth dropped open a bit when you realised what the instructor’s statement meant, almost panicking when all the girls next to you bowed down gracefully, coaxing you to follow the same. Hyunjin did the signature “bow down and lend a hand” pose like his other classmates, and you hesitantly straightened up, lending a hand to him.

Immediately, just like how confident he looked, he pulled you close to himself, settling his hands on your hips as a smirk graced his features.

Ah... so he’d noticed you blushing.

You didn’t know why you were blushing in the first place. You’d never met this person before, but something about him just made the giddy schoolgirl in you bubble up to the surface. You shyly settled your hands on his shoulders, moving along to the beat with his motions... and silently praying your ant’s worth of dancing knowledge would not fuck this up.

“So, should we do the introductions?”

“What?” You asked, almost stumbling on your feet once again. You made a mental reminder to burn the current pair of heels you were sporting.

“Don’t you introduce yourself to the person you’re dancing with?” he heaved a laugh, almost melting at how adorably bashful you were getting in his hold. You were about to mumble a response, but then stopped, gathered your confidence, and smiled sweetly.

“Oh well then, I’m Princess Y/N from District 8; honor to meet you.” You said in a sing song voice, muffling a laugh as Hyunjin twirled you around in his hold and pulled you back. The velvet coat was soft under your touch, and for some odd reason, you wondered how his soft-lookin hair would feel under your palm.

“I’m Prince Hyunjin from District 10; equally honored to meet you,” He tilted his head to the side and you noticed him bite his lip for a second. Brushing it off, you continued swaying to the music, feeling slightly more at ease now.

“How’s school here, princess Y/N? You enjoying?” His tone was respectful, almost like he was talking to a friend he met after many years,

“Nah,” You rolled your eyes, making Hyunjin look at you like a confused puppy, waiting for you to explain. Hyunjin wasn’t used to someone hearing they disliked royal training, especially when he’d found it nothing but enjoying.

“It’s just the same old. “Oh go to ballroom, learn to balance books on your head, walk with grace, eat your food elegantly, dance again. sleep early!” Your voice was a hushed whisper, yet mocking. “You’d think that’s what I should’ve expected, but I wanted to learn sword fighting, horse riding, that kind of stuff. They barely let us outdoors here.” You tsked, watching as Hyunjin bit his lip again.

“What?” You asked, figuring that Hyunjin knew you’d noticed his action.

He chuckled. “Your stepping on my toes.”

“Oh crap I am?” You looed down, pulling your feet farther away from his as an apology crawled up your tongue, but before you could shoot it out, Hyunjin stopped you. “It’s okay.”

“Maybe I’ll step on yours and we’ll get even?” He winked, a smug look on is face as he waited for your reply. The music was basically forgotten at his point, both f you lost in a world where nobody else existed, just you, your thoughts, your words, and your giggles. You mirrored his playful expression. “I’d like to see you try.”

Hyunjin didn’t break eye contact, and you felt a small flutter in your chest when he did so. He lifted his foot, but you were too quick, you moved your foot away the moment he settled his own down, and then for revenge, you stepped on his foot once again.

“Ouch!” Hyunjin shrieked, and thanks to the loud music. no one could hear him. You hadn’t stomped too hard thankfully, but Hyunjin’s cute expression when he crinkled his nose sent you into a spiral of giggles.

“Hey! You’re supposed to treat people with kindness” He pouted, twirling you around once again as he led you to the next spot in the ballroom. Your feet basically slid around at this point, and you didn’t even mind your heels.

“Yeah? That’s what you get for trying to step on a princess’ toes.” You rested your head against his shoulder, muffling your giggles as well as calming your heart at the sudden sprut of confidence.

Hyunjin’s grip on your waist tightened, making you straighten up, faint heat dusting your cheeks. The dance was almost coming to an end, and you wished it could go on forever. You hadn’t had such fun in a while, but unfortunately, Hyunjin didn’t belong to this academy. Sadly, the dance would come to an end.

“Maybe I can teach you horse riding?” Hyunjin inquired, a curious glint in his eyes as he watched your reaction. You gasped in shock.

“Y-you’d be willing to do that?”

“Of course, if you’re up for it.”

“How will we even do that?”

“I mean, you can’t tell me you haven’t sneaked out of the premises at night.”

You remained silent.

“Thought so.” Hyunjin winked again. “So, what do you say?”

You twirled around one more time, moving slightly closer to him when you came back this time. The next moment, the music stopped, and you murmured to him with a smirk pulled at your lips.

“I’d be on top of the world.”

↯ note: 🕯️ ignore me this is just a small prayer that tumblr doesn’t make me battle the tags yet again 🕯️ may the tumblr gods be in my favor atleast this once ;-; 🕯️ ⇥ dawn.☀️

[thirstyforcharacters]

Bar Fight (Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x fem bounty hunter! Reader)

Part 1 of 2 of The Bounty Hunter and the Mandalorian

Summary: When a bounty hunter attempts to get her quarry, the ensuing battle with a mysterious stranger takes an unexpected turn.

Notes: Hello! This is meant to be the prequel to Rendezvous, (which you can find here) it's the scene that was briefly described in one of the beginning paragraphs. It can also definitely be read as a standalone, though! I know my updates definitely haven't been as frequent because finals are getting close, but I'm still trying to write because it's one of the only things keeping me sane. Hope you enjoy this Mandalorian story! PS: Thank you for 50 followers 🥰 I know that doesn't sound like much, but I honestly didn’t think that anyone would actually read my content, so thank you for giving me serotonin! (use of she/her pronouns, no y/n)

Warnings: smut! 18+ only! a bar fight (duh)/canon-typical violence, finger-fucking, hand jobs 

WC: 2.8 k

Another day, another bounty. That’s what you were thinking to yourself as you flew Freya, your trusty ship, back to Nevarro. Solonoe Carslit apparently owed some money to the Hutts, and of course, being one of the best bounty hunters in the guild, you were able to get the job done. Dragging Solonoe back to Tatooine wasn’t much of a problem once you knocked him unconscious and froze him in carbonite, and the Hutts payed you well, giving you enough money to make a much needed repair to your hyperdrive and get enough fuel to last you for a few weeks. You even splurged on a new pair of boots, since your old ones were torn to shreds. Now, you were headed back to Nevarro; Greef Karga said he would have some more jobs by now.

You touched down on the planet, landing in the open space just outside of town. You strode your way down the streets, and most who were in your way practically leaped to the side as you brushed past. You usually had this effect on people, your stoic expression, dark and practical clothing, and the blaster rifle, which you took off the body of a Stormtrooper, slung across your back, the blasters hanging from your belt, and the knives tucked snugly in their thigh holsters usually intimidated those who weren’t like you. You swiftly entered the cantina in which you knew Karga would be located.

And there he was, sitting at a booth, tucked in the corner of the bar, glancing around for anyone interested. And interested you were.

You sat in front of him, folding your hands on the table and giving him an intense stare.

“Ah, you’re back,” he acknowledged, “I’m sure the Hutts paid you handsomely.”

“You could say that. But I want a little more.”

He chuckled, “Always on the move, you are. You’re lucky, I think I have something for you.”

He took one of the familiar pucks from his pocket and turned it on. A human woman appeared on screen with bright green hair, which was shaved on one side, and eyes to match.

“Isahei Haradde is the name. Apparently, she stole a sizeable sum from a rich Imperial family. Rumor is that she’s hiding out somewhere on Bespin. They’re offering a pretty sizable reward for the one who catches her. In beskar.”

“Beskar?” your eyebrow raised, “that could be enough to buy myself a new blaster. Or make some new armor.”

“Indeed. I’m sure you’re up for it, you’re one of the best we have. Though, I will tell you, there are multiple other bounty hunters gunning for her as well, given the size of the reward,” warned Greef.

“I can handle it,” was your short reply.

Karga wished you good luck as you snatched the puck and jumped up from the table, eager to move to your destination. You made your way back to Freya. You were quite proud of her; she was an old, beat up Republic gunship you found in a scrapyard that you had fixed up yourself. The heavy armor and multiple guns you had rebuilt meant that almost no one could take down your baby. You had gotten her pretty beat up a couple times, but you always made sure the dings and bumps were taken care of.

You punched in the coordinates to Bespin and off you went. You launched into hyperspace and put the ship on autopilot, choosing to focus your attention on the job instead. Bespin was a mining planet, which mostly appeared clean from the outside. But you knew where all of the shady spots were, the seedy bars, the dark alleyways, the mine shafts that were used as hideouts for criminal masterminds, etc. Knowing the type of personnel you usually had to deal with, you figured you’d probably start in one of the bars.

Before long, you had arrived on the planet. You landed on one of the landing strips more on the outskirt of the city so that you could be a bit more inconspicuous, and wandered through the city until you found your destination.

Cloud City Cantina wasn’t exactly a creative name, but the drinks were cheap and there was plenty of activity not meant for the faint of heart. You could already hear some commotion from the inside when you approached the door and peaking inside confirmed your suspicions. Four people were standing by the bar, one you immediately recognized as your quarry. The other three were a Togruta female, Rodian male, and someone dressed head to toe in beskar armor, so you couldn’t tell exactly who he was, but you recognized him as a Mandalorian. Though you couldn’t see his face, he was alluring; while the other two were arguing loudly, he just stood there, observing through his helmet. He was casually leaning against the bar, one of his hands propper up his head, and the other was holding his blaster. The trio were obviously bounty hunters who were “discussing” who was going to get the bounty. You decided that you would decide for them, and you strode over to them.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you snarked, clearly not sorry, “but I’ll be taking that bounty.”

Before any of them could react, you swept the Rodian’s legs out from beneath him. He squawked in surprise and the other two lept into action. The Togruta shot at your head, and you managed to duck just in time. During the confusion, Isahei sprang from her seat and made a run for the door, but the Mandalorian launched a whipcord from one of his vambraces (which you didn’t see coming) and it wrapped itself around her, causing her to topple to the ground. The Rodian staggered up from the ground and threw a punch at your head, which you skillfully deflected. You reached behind you and grabbed a beer mug and promptly smashed it over his head. He dropped to the ground once more, definitely at least unconscious. You turned your attention back to the Togruta, who shot at you again. You took out your vibro-knives and ran at her, slicing first at her blaster wielding arm, then at her face. She jumped back, expecting the charge, but you still managed to clip her arm, making her hiss in pain. She brought her elbow down and slammed it into your stomach, making you groan in pain. You slashed back at her in retaliation, and blood soon tinged her thigh from the deep cut you inflicted. She dropped to the ground as well.

You looked around for the Mandalorian, and barely saw him dragging the quarry through the crowd. Without really thinking, you hurled one of your knives at him and it sunk into one of the gaps in his armor, jst above his elbow. He dropped the quarry with a grunt of pain and whipped around while yanking the knife from his arm and throwing it on the floor. You assumed he locked eyes with you, making you smirk triumphantly.

“Couldn’t let you get away with that,” you called to him, stepping through the crowd, which parted for you, “I’d like that reward.”

“Well, you’re not getting it,” came his reply, which was sort of staticky through the helmet.

Even so, the deep timbre of his voice made a strange flipping feeling make itself known in your belly. Being attracted to your competition wasn’t going to help you in this situation, especially seeing as you were now practically face to face.

“Really? I beg to differ.”

“I’m the one who restrained her. That bounty should go to me.”

“Well, I’m the one who started the fight in the first place, and you wouldn’t have been able to restrain her without that. So technically, you couldn’t have done it without me.”

He didn’t say anything after that. You thought that maybe you had gotten to him when he suddenly took his rifle off of his back and swung it at you. You ducked out of the way and took out your own. You were in too close of quarters to be able to shoot at each other, so you used your rifles as bludgeoning weapons while Isahei, your quarry, just layed there.

After a long bout of fighting, it became pretty clear that neither of you was more skilled than the other. You both leaned against the bar, out of breath, staring at each other. You were sure that his stare was meant to be intimidating, if his body language told you anything. But yours was also a bit more of a sensual nature. You couldn’t help it; he was a strong fighter with a sexy voice. You could tell that there was muscle upon muscle underneath his armor, and you were able to see the way his pants hugged his massive thighs. You did your best to be subtle, but that was kind of difficult in such close quarters.

“I saw we just do rock, paper, scissors and call it a night,” you joked.

He chuckled, “I think I have a better idea, especially since you can’t keep your eyes off of me.”

You flushed slightly at being caught, but hoped that the dim lighting of the bar covered it up, “I’m just trying to be intimidating. This usually works.”

“Yeah, because staring at my thighs is extremely intimidating.”

Oh. Well, you couldn’t play it off anymore.

“To be fair, I can’t say I’m entirely innocent in that regard, either.”

Oh. He was attracted to you, too. That was news.

“I see. So what’s this idea of yours?” you questioned.

He leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “Whoever makes the other come first gets the bounty.”

Your eyes widened comically. He was asking for what you had been thinking, and in pretty explicit terms, too.

The soft laugh near your ear sent shivers down your spine, “At a loss for words? Or are you not up for the challenge?”

“No,” you said immediately, “I’m up for it. I like to think I’m pretty good with my hands.”

“I’m sure you are,” he murmured, picking up your knife and tucking it back into your thigh holster, purposefully brushing his fingers along the inside of your thigh, “but so am I.”

The two of you dragged the quarry to a small, unassuming inn and snuck into one of the empty rooms. You left the quarry outside of the room, attaching the cord to a bannister, knowing that it was a very small chance of her escaping. Once you closed the door, the game was afoot. Almost immediately, he pushed you onto the bed; you should’ve known you were fighting a losing battle then, but you were determined to get this quarry. He draped himself on top of you and teasingly pinned your hands above your head.

“That’s cheating,” you snapped, “how am I supposed to get you off if I can’t use my hands?”

“Get creative,” he replied while his hips slowly began to grind into yours.

Though he was playing it cool, you could feel how hard he already was through his pants. Maybe you had a shot at this, as long as he didn’t know that you were already dripping. Every grind of his hips against yours made it more and more difficult to keep the moans that were threatening to spill from your lips at bay, but you managed to keep them in. Until one of his hands travelled from you wrists down your torso to the small strip of skin showing between your now-untucked shirt and your pants. His fingers slipped under the band of your pants and somehow almost immediately found your clit, rubbing vigorously. You couldn’t help but moan softly at the feeling.

“Maker, you’re dripping. Sure you’re gonna last?”

That was enough for you to spring into action. You pulled your wrists out of his one-handed grip and trailed them down his armor-clad torso. You removed the armor that was blocking your path downwards; though it was difficult without his assistance, you managed. You were about to dip your hand under the waistband of his pants when he ran one of his fingers through your slit, making you whimper and temporarily forget what you needed to be doing.

“Shit,” you breathed when his finger pushed into your dripping cunt.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmured, “bet you’re gonna cum soon with how wet you are.”

With all of the self-control you could muster, you grabbed his wrist to still his movements and used your other hand to finally reach into his pants and grab his rock-hard member. A soft groan crackled through the helmet, causing you to finally see through his put-together facade.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” you crooned, starting to move your hand, desperate for him to cum before you.

You saw him nod jerkily, then he used his free hand to pull your hand from his wrist and begin his movements in earnest.

“It does,” he started, “but I need you to come first.”

“Not a chance,” you said through gritted teeth, twisting your hand around his dick, “that bounty is mine.”

Only moments after you said that did he add another finger, making you clench around him. He curled his fingers inside of you, making a soft “fuck” fall from your lips as you continued to jerk him, brushing your thumb across the tip. He cursed as you brought your thumb, covered in his precome, to your lips and sucked.

“You taste divine,” you whispered, batting your eyelashes enticingly.

“Glad you think so,” he snarked, “Maker, you’re just gushing around me, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t deny it; this was the wettest you had been in a long time. You knew that you weren’t going to last much longer; your legs were trembling and you were barely holding back your orgasm, making you redouble your efforts. You increased your pace, making him moan out in pleasure. Just when you thought that maybe you had him, his thumb rubbed against your clit, and you were done for. Your orgasm washed over you and you whimpered as he fingered you through your high. You tried to continue to jerk him through your orgasm, but you lost your grip on him as the pleasure overtook you.

You came down from your high and you could almost feel him smirking.

“Guess I won.”

“Guess so. You may have won the bounty, but I could just leave you on edge with no way to get back down. Not much of a winner now, are you?” you sassed back, pulling your hand out of his pants.

In a flash, his hand grabbed your wrist and pulled it back in, “Now that would be rude, wouldn’t it?”

“So is taking my bounty.”

You attempted to pull your hands away, but he grasped them both in his own. You knew that he was stronger than you, but you tried to break free anyway.

That is, until you heard him whisper, “Please.”

You looked into where his eyes would be in the helmet and you felt your resolve break. You knew you couldn’t just leave him high and dry, even if he did just take your bounty.

“Okay,” you replied, and he released your hands.

Your hands returned to their former position, wrapped around his dick. Now that you weren’t worried about getting off, you focused your attention on him. His dick was pretty, hard and absolutely leaking. You knew he was close. His body language was tense, like a bowstring that was too tight.

“Cum for me,” you purred, “I can tell how close you are.”

A sound akin from a whimper fell from his lips as one of your hands moved to toy with his balls. It wasn’t long before the bowstring snapped, and the white liquid covered your hands. You wiped off his release on the inn’s sheets, knowing that someone would probably clean it sometime. You both got off of the bed and got yourselves together. You exited the room and the Mandalorian took hold of the quarry. Disappointment began to settle in at your lost bounty, though you tried not to show it on your face.

You must’ve failed though, because he meandered back over to you and placed his hand on your shoulder, “You’re a really good fighter. You’ll get another one.”

“Thanks,” you replied softly, though you were still pretty frustrated.

“At least you got a pretty decent orgasm out of it,” he remarked.

A small smile spread across your face at that, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Here, give me your holo,” he requested.

Your quirked up your eyebrow, but handed it over. He punched something in and handed it back to you.

“If you ever want to do something like that again, let me know.”

He dragged the quarry behind him then, and before long, he was out of sight. When you couldn’t see him anymore, you took out your holo and glanced at your contacts.

Mando.

That’s what he had saved himself as. Your small smile grew wider. Perhaps you’d be seeing him again. For now, though, it was time to get your next job.

[angloie]

Charms.

(1/?)

> Percy likes to deceive. Lie, manipulate, more lies; it was a part of his job, after all. Annabeth has been deceived. Lied to. Manipulated. She's an woman of many secrets- secrets she'd rather not let anyone know.

> Assassin! Percy x CEO! Annabeth.

> Warnings: Mostly angst + fluff, character death and some violence. Nothing too explicit. Mentions of blood/mild injuries as well as alcohol. (characters are aged up!)

pt. 2 || pt. 3 || pt. 4 || pt. 5

Percy's thumb rule was never do anything he didn't want.

To live a happy and healthy life, that was completely normal; especially for such a laid back guy like him.

Choosing this... rather wild career was something he wanted to do, willingly. Life was short, so why not make the most of it? It was getting awfully bleak with the normal civilian life. After all, no one would believe the nice young man who helped the old man carry the groceries to his car would be someone who killed for a living. A smile so bright that it could give the sun a run for its money and warm sea green eyes could hide so much more than just innocence.

The ceiling to floor windows of his penthouse showed a breathtaking view of the New York skyline, sun moving behind the tall buildings and moon replacing the orange hue. Being an assassin had its perks- despite endangering his life on multiple occasions. The pay was just out of this world. All that cash just to kill off some sleazy politician, or that one corrupt buisness man? Sign him up. Zero hesitation.

Percy frowned at the dried blood on his once pure white gloves. He was quick to peel them off. He shuddered at the unsightly view of a small stain of blood on his onyx-colored suit.

He would just buy a new one later. Small things like that didn't matter. Sure, that might've been a gift from one of his clients, but it wasn't anything he couldn't replace.

Hanging his coat on the rack beside the wide entrance, he sighed with clear tiredness. One night of forced politeness and smiles took a toll on him- Also due to the fact that he had just done his job as an assassin. It wasn't what you could call easy.

His muscles were aching and sore in all the worst places, every move throbbing with full pain. The shallow slash on his lower abdomen had soaked his shirt in a dark crimson red, most likely going to leave a bad stain. He would have to clean that later.

The penthouse was big and rather spacious. White Walls and abstract paintings lined them, reflecting off the almost pristine marble floors. It took a while for Percy to get settled in, it being a huge place and all that. But he soon made it feel like home with the help of old picture frames that held memories and the Nemo stuffed animals resting on the leather couch.

“WOOF!”

And Mrs. O'leary.

Mrs.O’leary- a huge, slobbering dog with thick black fur- bounded towards him in a frenzied greeting. She hopped up on her hind legs to lick his face, tail wagging at a unmatched speed. She barked again, this time more quieter.

“Yeah, yeah. It's nice to see you too.” Percy laughed as he tried to pull away. Once he went to the kitchen to grab a bone-shaped treat. “Who’s a good girl?” He cooed, tossing the snack in the air. Mrs.O’leary jumped up to snatch it before barking and padding away. Her tail still wagged with elation.

When Percy first moved here, it was quite nerve-racking. He'd heard that this place was an especially good spot for people like him- meaning people who did some illegal activity. Well, that was what he assumed. Percy was 99% sure that his neighbor just in the penthouse below him, (Leo was it?) had to be involved in some sketchy stuff. That creepy smile of his with a mysterious staining his shirt never meant any good. Or maybe when his other neighbor, had a odd looking duffel bag slung across his shoulder. Oddly human shaped, maybe. With a horrible smell of something rotting. Percy recalled introducing himself a Nico DiAngelo. A pretty reserved and quiet guy, usually having a frown of his face. Well, other than that time when he had his boyfriend over, a sunshiney guy with sun-kissed hair. He never got the chance to catch his name.

Wrapping a white cloth around his wound, Percy's met with a sense of familiarity. Fixing his own injuries by himself. It would bee nice to have some help once in a while, but that would mean exposing him. He's definitely not ready to risk that.

Other than his boss and a couple of really close friends, no one knows about this. Percy nearly slipped up once- when a old companion from high school came over to visit, and his small arsenal of weapons were revealed. The little compartment hidden behind a painting. Not another word wasmsaid about it. Percy made up some half-assed excuse about auditioning for a movie so they were fakes.

It didn't take much of a expert, but the were far from fakes.

His phone rang from beside Percy, making him jolt in surprise. The contact name made him smile just the tiniest bit.

"Hey, mom," Percy began. "Why'd you call?"

"Can't your mom check up on you once in a while? How are you?" Sally beamed, cheerful voice on speaker mode.

He walked over to the bathroom where he stood in the full length mirror. A hint of blood seeped through the white bandage; now full wrapped. "Good. How's Paul and Estelle doing?" He asked.

"They're doing great! Me and your step dad went out with Estelle yesterday to see the movies." Sally smiled. "Estelle is growing into such a energetic ball of energy." She joked. "Just like you."

"Is that so?" Percy laughed, splashing his face with water. It felt cool on his skin, causing tiny pricks of coldness to pop up all over.

For a while, him and Sally conversed. She told him about her day (mostly gushing about Paul and Estelle) while Percy smiled and listened. He did his best to hide the fact that he'd been fixing up his wounds in silence. He cursed silently in pain when he touched an sensitive spot on the slash.

"Percy? Are you alright?" Sally asked in concern.

"Yeah! I just... hit my elbow. Its nothing. " He hastily replied.

"Okay," Sally exclaimed in relief. "By the way, when are you going to visit your old woman? Estelle misses you, you know."

"Yeah, well tell her I miss her too." A sense of gloom over took the conversation. "Look, I'm busy now but..." Percy looked over to the mirror again. "I'll call you later. Maybe I can visit you guys over there soon." He exhaled.

"We're looking forward to it! Isn't that right,             Estelle?" Sally gave the phone to the little girl who was jumping with excitement.

"Come over soon Perce!" She garbled. It sounded like she was eating something halfway.

"I will. Talk to you later, 'Kay?"

"'Kay!"

A wave of guilt overwashed Percy as soon as he ended the call. It was killing him inside, to not be honest with them about his real job. They just thought he was a simple marine biologist who got one hell of a promotion. Yeah, he wished. That seemed easier than killing for a living. He was going to tell them sooner or later. He just had to. Not today- not anytime soon, that is.

Jolting himself out of his thoughts, Percy's phone rang. He was quick to answer it. Was it Sally calling again? Percy put down the metal spoon he was holding, letting it rest in the pot of soup bubbling on the flat stove. 

“Hey, Percy!” The horribly familiar voice rang from the other side of the line. Percy grimaced.

“What is it?” He groaned.

“Is that any way to talk to your boss?” He tsked. “But I have news for you!”

“Do tell,” Percy muttered and went back to his soup. 

“I have a mission.” Apollo grinned widely. “You up for it?”

“Again? Didn't I just do one yesterday?” Percy rolled his eyes. He was tired; completely tired. Usually the missions weren't this close together- sometimes they could be even months apart.

“Yeah, but this one won't happen for a week or so. And it ain't just the typical mission.”

“Yeah? And what's that?”

“Its a info operation. Meaning-”

“I know what that means!” Percy interjected. “Just tell me the details already. I’m hungry.”

“Jeez, okay mr. grump. Annabeth Chase. You know her?” Apollo said, scoffing at Percy's tone.

“You mean the owner of that one architecture company? What about her?” He asked.

“She’s connected with Thalia Grace and Luke Castellan.” Appolo explained. “Apparently people have been talking about their new heist that they're planning. By what I've heard, it's going to be huge.” 

Those three names- Thalia Grace, Luke Castellan, Annabeth Chase. Annabeth especially, was the most well known in the regular world. Her being the stoic founder of Athchase as well as being a crazy rich and famous person, that's a no brainer. Luke and Thalia, on the other hand, their heists were well known anywhere. Annabeth didn't have a criminal record of any sorts. That's a big reason she can keep up her reputation. It's not like the woman did anything wrong, its just that... the fact that she is connected with the two is enough to ensure suspicion. Growing rumors of her planning some of their crimes were spreading fast. Percy's heard of things like that, her being the mastermind of killing and stealing.

“Alright," He nodded. "Im interested. Go on."

“New York. That's where the three plan to meet up. Get information, maybe use your charms into getting her to trust you."

"N-new york..!?" Percy was left shocked at that.

"I've booked a flight there. 5 in the morning sharp tomorrow. I reccomend you arrive on time." Apollo chuckled.

"Yeah, whatever."

"And Percy?" He called out.

"Hm?"

"You have my full permission to kill Annabeth when you're done." Apollo darkly said, hanging up without another word. Percy rolled his eyes for the tenth time on the call.

Well, all right.

Next destination: New York.

"So, New York, huh." Annabeth swirled some of her cocktail in the glass, circling her wrist in a rotation. The blue liquid swirled together in a repetitive motion. Sapphire Martini tasted rather bitter on her tounge, but decent nonetheless. She enjoyed the slight orange twist.

"Why here of all places?" She asked.

"Its a golden opportunity, dear Annie. The Olympians only gather once in a blue moon, so we're going to make the most out of this!" Thalia sipped from her own glass, some regular red wine. She'd never had such a taste for 'Those fancy rich drinks'. Whatever that meant.

The Olympians, as Thalia said before, were a group of 12 of some of the wealthiest and prestigious people from across the world. Only a few select people could be a part- it was exclusive as to anybody who was just normal as a couple million rich. New York would be holding a auction quite soon on a famous opera house; and surprise, they would be there.

"Don't call me that." Annabeth winced at the name. "And who exactly is we?"

"Don't go all acting like you didn't agree, alright? Plus, you can gain a thing or two from all this." She grinned.

"I have a company to run, Thals, You know very well that I dropped that type of business years ago." Annabeth shook her head. "This is seriously risky."

"But you love that. Don't you?" Thalia pressed, standing up.

She truly did. The thrill, the rush of energy you couldn't get anywhere else. Thats what had driven her to join Thalia and Luke in the first place. That feeling alone made her eyes sparkle with desire.

"Yeah." Annabeth places her drinkdown back on the glass table. "I do."

Okay I'm back with some more hot garbage!!! here's my latest thing-- a assassin au. I need to do a ship other than percabeth tho 😔😔