#note the fat rolls they’re the most important part

[dckweed]

ROSIE!, alpha!simon riley x omega reader

in which captain price sends alpha simon on a much needed vacation to his secluded countryside cabin, but leaves out a most important detail- he has a live in omega caretaker to care for his little cabin when he’s away! and she’s the prettiest, sweetest little thing that simon ever did see..

warnings: alpha/omega universe, mentions/depictions of abuse, smut, pregnancy, kind of forced proximity?, ill add as i go...please note that i know NOTHING about COD but i am in love with the 141 guys and this has been rotting in my brain.

this will be a series, as well as there will be side stories for gaz, soap and captain price!

part one: over the garden wall and to the stream to die

It was a pretty day, the sun shone brightly down on your typically pale skin, staining it a light shade of red (you’ll loathe yourself later for not wearing sunscreen, cheeks, neck and shoulders red despite your large gardening hat that you put on for shade), it twinged a bit, but you didn’t mind. You were enjoying the garden, it had become lush and full over the past couple of weeks, the sun (despite its wrath on your skin) feeding the various plants and bushes with its light, making everything vibrant and fragrant. You were making your own arrangement of flowers, picking up some yellow roses and a few pansies, in hopes that it would make the kitchen of the cabin all the more cheery for the guest that would be arriving that day. 

You had received a message from your boss (for lack of a better word for the alpha that employed you to live in his home) the night before about an arrival, a guest come to lay low and spend the summer. You assume it’s another Alpha, one of the lot he had told you he worked with on his little task force and while it makes you nervous to be alone with an unmated Alpha that you don’t know, you know that John wouldn’t put you in any danger knowingly. With trust in the man that sent you a fat lump of money every other week, you had no qualms about welcoming the unnamed guest into the cabin. 

You had already turned down the guest bed, fresh linen adorning the mattress, and tidied up the whole house, and you even had a plate of fresh cinnamon rolls baked from scratch sitting out on the small table in the kitchen and it wasn’t even noon yet. Anticipation was beginning to eat you alive, a nervousness settling into your muscles that just made you ache for something to keep you occupied (a trait that got you many a beating by your papa’s hands when you were growing up, his voice still in your head calling you an annoying runt as he took the belt to any part of you it would reach), you hum as you continue to work, the pale blue of your pretty little sundress getting dusted by dirt every time you crouched down, your bare knees covered in the black soil of the garden. You didn’t mind, you liked the way the sun felt on your skin and the ground beneath you, you went for so long without feeling either that you would embrace both happily without complaint. 

Your bouquet was slowly becoming a large bunch, beautiful petals hanging over the edge of your little wicker basket that you brought along to carry the trimmings back inside in, not wanting to squish them in your hand the whole time, and you were just snipping through the last of a beautiful rose stem when you heard the garden gate squeak open, you pop your head above the bushes and look, eyes met immediately with a hulking form of an alpha, his forearms laden with a large duffle bag and a mask pulled over his eyes. 

“Who the ‘ell are you?” They’re brown and beautiful and they’re narrowed at you, looking about you, deciding if you’re a threat or not. Just like the rest of his body, his voice is thick and strong and deep. It verberates in your brain, the sound of his voice rattling around in there. Your breath catches and your cheeks flush and you have to avert your eyes, the little wolf in your brain barking at the sight of this man standing before you in the garden. 

‘He’s so strong, so pretty, look at him, look at him, look at him!’

“‘Ello?!” You jump, swallowing a thick lump in your throat, that nervousness in your body boiling up. The only thing that comes out at first is a squeak, and you close your eyes, cheeks flushing even farther. “You mute or somethin’ there Rosie?” A dig at the color of your cheeks you’re sure because there’s no way that he knew that that was what John and everyone else you’d ever met had taken to calling you if he didn’t know who you were. 

“I-um-..” What was wrong with you? “I..live here..” That was it? That was all you could come up with? ‘Not even your fucking name?’ 

“Like ‘ell you do.” Your bottom lip quivered, the gruffness of his voice scarring you more than you already were. Your knees shook but you straightened yourself up otherwise, your fathers voice ringing in your head about how spineless you were. 

“I do. I’m sure you’re the guest that Alpha John told me was coming, but he certainly didn’t mention how rude you were!” You huff, turning on your bare heel to stomp your way through the garden and back to the cabin, though you wanted nothing more than to climb over the garden wall and drown yourself in the stream not too far off from the house. Oh how badly you wanted to die from the embarrassment, but even more so you wanted to throw your bouquet of flowers to the ground and stamp on them, throw your fresh baked cinnamon rolls into the bin even, all of the things that you had done for the mans arrival to make the cabin nice and inviting and relaxing and all he could do upon meeting you was make fun of your reddened skin, flushed from embarrassment! Alpha’s could be brutes, you knew, but they didn’t have to be so rude!

‘Oh but cut him some slack, he’s so pretty, he looks tired..maybe he just needs a hot meal in his belly and his dick sucked..’ You gasp at the voice of your wolf, never had she been so crude! “No!” You shouted both in your mind and outloud, slamming your wicker basket down onto the wooden top of the island as you went about searching for the kitchen shears, not even bothering to listen to see if the man was following you. ‘Did you see how thick his thighs were? His arms? I bet he could hold us up with ease-’ 

There’s a shuffling of footsteps behind you and a clearing of a throat that interrupts your wolfs inner monologue. You turn around, not to acknowledge the Alpha standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the light of the sun shining brightly behind him through the open door, but to grab the fresh bunch of flowers you’d so graciously picked for the beast. They were beautiful, you didn’t have it in you to not trim up the stems and put them in a pretty vase. 

You keep your eyes planted on the work at hand, trimming each stem one by one and setting it off to the side. He shuffles in that spot for a moment longer, but you don’t look at him like you know he wants. He huffs after a few more seconds and you hear his footsteps taking him up the stairs, the smell of him wafting so strongly through your nose as he passes by you to get to them that you have to grip the edge of the counter so tightly your knuckles turn white. Your wolf nearly taking control of you completely, wanting to follow him. She’s chanting in your head about his smell and how she just wants to drop to her knees for him, let him do whatever he so pleased as long as it made him happy. 

She had felt that way about Alpha John at one point in time too, and just like that, you knew it would pass and she would calm down once she got used to his presence. 

You would just have to ignore her until then. You were good at that, ignoring her. Your father had beat it into your head because you were an omega that you were nothing, that you didn’t even deserve a wolf, and you had believed him. Had ignored her and your natural instincts for more than half of your life, until John came along. Until he saved you. And now here you were, living in his home, making it nice and homey and putting meals on the table for a man whose name you didn’t even know. 

Wasn’t that a funny thing?

Heavy footsteps echo above you as you work, and you begin humming, attempting to shut him and the annoying second voice out of your head. You take your time as you arranged the bundle of flowers, you had picked such a big bunch that you had enough for two full arrangements and you were just placing one of them in the middle of the round table that sat by the stairs in the kitchen when you heard his footsteps coming back down, a heavy pitter patter that sent your heart racing, but you were ready to face him now, to welcome him into the cabin. You suppose your wolf was right, he needed a hot meal, and who were you to turn away from cooking someone in need a good belly full of food?

He clears his throat again when he comes off the bottom step, from your peripheral you can tell that he’s fully facing you, large meaty hands on his thick, muscled hips. He wore a dark green tshirt that stretched so tightly over his muscly chest that you were sure it would rip, and it hung just barely above the waistline of his jeans, that fit him so snugly you weren’t sure how they hadn’t ripped already. 

“Listen, lovie, s’pose I was a bit rude back there, yeah?” You say nothing, but look up at him fully now, making eye contact as your hands still fidget with the glass vase you had set so neatly in the middle of the table. “‘name’s Simon..I work with your Alpha..”

“S’not my Alpha.” You say pointedly, and under the mask he still wears you can tell a smile is spread across his face at your words. “And neither are you, so don’t go getting your hopes up. You’ll be keeping your big paws to yourself while you’re here, or i’ll be telling John.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He says, his body seeming to relax now that you’ve spoken a full sentence to him. “What can I call you?” 

You sigh, cheeks heating. “Ironically, most people call me Rosie.” You say, turning away. You didn’t know what your actual name was, your father had never called you anything but Runt or Omega, and your siblings always followed in his suit. You were content to go by whatever John wanted to call you whenever he finally came to your rescue, who were you to argue with the man who had saved you?

“These for anyone?” He’s pointing to the plate of cinnamon rolls when you look over your shoulder, setting the second vase on the window above the kitchen sink. 

“Help yourself.” Your voice is soft, gentle, a smile spreading when you begin to talk about the food you had made. “Made them from scratch, strawberry cream cheese icing and everything!” 

He moans as he bites into them, and you’re sure he’s putting on a big show as a form of apology but either way it prickles you in the best way and puts a big happy grin on your face. “Jesus lovie,” He groans. “I’m gonna be fat by the time i leave, arent i?”

[bludpudding]

I fought with this piece so much take it away

me drawing. for some reason

[cookie-crumblr]

Locked In, Walking Out

Part: 1

F!Reader X Max ~Yandere Prisoner OC

His info: ⛓💌⛓

Part: 1 2

!!MINORS DNI!!

CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, DARK FIC Yandere, reader has a vagina, not too defenseless reader, Imprisonment (not of mc) shock collars(not on mc), swearing, cat calling, corrupted systems, teasing, pet names (sweetheart, dollface, princess, doll), sa NON-CON not from mc, a gross man-pig assaults reader, hurt no comfort, blood, dissociation

!!MINORS DNI!!

Author’s note: sorry if my bad mood comes across in this one…

You work as a junior prison guard at Locke West Maximum Security Penitentiary.

You were given a huge bonus, better health benefits, and a fat raise when you were reassigned here.

You couldn’t say no.

Besides, what could possibly go wrong at the nation’s most secure prison…

Made so secure, just to hold the nation’s most dangerous criminals…

They’re forced to have shock collars on, so it’s not like they can do anything, right?

Day 1~

“New blood eh? You must’ve done a good job to get transferred here. Grats.” The senior guard called “Nills”, spoke a little too monotone for that to be a genuine congratulations, but you take it.

“Thanks sir,” you reply enthusiastically.

He looked you over, and smiled, while leaning in closer, “You might not last long here, sweetheart,”

Another guard walked in, and your senior backed up.

This Junior guard was to be your tour guide, and as she began, you noticed she used a similar monotone voice.

“This is the employee lounge,” her voice drew out. “This is the locker room, and where you’ll be changing—” If you could fall asleep while walking this would be the time you did. “This is the— This is where—” UHG! you aren’t even paying attention. Pay attention…

Now you’re only focusing on trying to re-focus!

“BZZZZZZZT”

You were jolted back to the present as heavy doors buzzed open for you both. You were suddenly excited, now you get to see the prisoners, and experience what your new job has to offer…

“Hey honey! Bend over for me, won’t cha?!” a prisoner in his locked cell heckled you. You realized you hadn’t been asked to change into your uniform, so you were still in your nice clothes.

You wore a short dress (no matter how you think you look, you pull it off perfectly), nice enough to impress your boss, but definitely too sexy for depraved men who are locked in cells.

“Oh yeah… That happens, regardless of if we’re in our uniforms or not. Ya get used to it, trust me.” She rolled her eyes and buzzed his collar.

“ARRRRRRRG!! You jealous BITCH!” he spat, as he fell to the ground.

You kept up with her, instead of sticking around that cell.

“This is their canteen,” She was back to her boring tour voice, but this time you managed to listen, being more alert with your surroundings around these men.

Towards the end of a less crowded cell block, you noticed a rather large cell coming up… “What’s that for?”

“That’s Max’s cell. His people pay off the prison for his comfort,” She said plainly.

“What?! that’s a thing?!” you exclaimed.

Prisoners shouldn’t be “comfortable”! you thought.

“Yeah, prisons, and wardens like money. They pay well enough, and Max stays out of our way.”

“Who is this, Max?”

“You know… The Aristandros family… You seriously don’t know?” She looked shocked. “Maxwell Aristandros. The head of the family that controls over half of the nations resources…”

“Wait… If he’s that important to the nation… Why the hell’s he in here?” you ask, stunned.

She shrugs “Maybe he’ll tell you. His is the only confidential case here. None of us know. Except maybe the warden…” She puts her hand on her chin.

You arrive at the lavishly decorated cell, your jaw on the floor. You almost don’t notice the man that matches the aesthetic of a gorgeous old painting, even in that orange jumpsuit and black collar. He’s lain over a chaise lounge, eating an orange, his face toward you, giving you a cheeky smile.

You scowl at him, “HOW CAN WE ALLOW THIS?!” You motion with a wide stance toward the cell, and toward him. “Shouldn’t he be, I don’t know, suffering here?! to be becoming a better person or whatever! WHAT IS THIS?!” You can help but feel angry over this whole stupid scene of a man with three life sentences, supposedly in charge of over half the nation, and in prison living like he’s the king of some medieval fantasy land!

“Woah, I like this one Cher! Give my complements to the warden for me.” His voice was smooth and silky to add a bright red cherry on top of his whole stupid yet beautifully crafted icecream sunday.

Cher sighed and placed a hand to her head. “listen, like i said, his people pay us. It’s not like the taxpayers are wasting any money on this one.”

You couldn’t help but still feel angry, maybe even more so since he seemed to enjoy your outburst.

You end up going home that day much angrier than you thought.

“Time for a romantic bath with myself and some icecream…”

Day 2~

“You look nice, dollface,” he nodded his head.

“Get used to it 232. The warden herself gave you to me, so you’ll be seeing this a lot.” you rolled your eyes at him.

“It’s max, doll, and I’m inclined to correct you, she gave you to me. Not the other way around. You’re mine.” he smiled smugly.

“Who’s in possession of who’s shock collar.” You state tapping your foot in front of his cell door, getting fed up with his games.

“A formality. a necessity really,” he shrugged. “Never know what a dangerous man like me would do to a pretty thing like you without it.” his smile became wolffish, showing off his rather predominant canines.

“Uhg. You’re insufferable. Just, get ready, I have to escort you now,” You placed your hand on the reader near the cell’s door, it buzzed approvingly.

As it slid open, he rushed out and grabbed you. Before you knew what happened your head hit the wall you are now pinned to.

“Careful, princess, what if someone saw us like this?”

Your face reddened, what is this?

And, why do you kinda like this…

It’s your job now to control him.

You lifted your knee hard to meet his groin, and he doubled over. After that, you pressed the button for 232’s shock collar, and he fell to the ground, convulsing.

While he was distracted you tried to catch your breath and still your heart.

You can’t let that happen again.

You stand outside the showers when you hear the slaps of shower sandals approaching.

Goodie…

“Hey beautiful, miss me?” he came out with a loosely wrapped towel hung low around him, showing of his toned body and that perfect v carved into his hip bones. “Hey, eyes up here,” he smirked.

F-fuck…

“W-What are you talking about? Go get dressed 232. Quit fooling around, you have a very busy day today,” that for whatever reason, I have to babysit…

He lifted your chin, your face blushing, you stared back into his eyes. His voids of pupils, surrounded by dark brown, feel like they might be sucking you in, you think you could lose yourself in them…

“Good girl,” he smiles and gently lets your face drop, to go get dressed.

While he’s gone you try to compose yourself.

WTF was that Y/N! get a hold of yourself! UHG. You seem to be doing a ton of groaning today, and there’s still plenty of time for more unfortunately.

You make it to the canteen with your prisoner in toe…

“Hey there sweetheart! Give us a show!”

As the man stood, you whipped out your baton, sensing you’d need it.

Max lurched forward, and you blocked his path with your baton at his gut.

“Don’t, 232” you say sternly.

The cat caller’s eyes widen at you stopping Max, and he sits back down slowly.

You put the thing back away on your belt and escort Max to the back having him sit by himself. People approach and you allow them to sit with some distance between them. They talk to Max in what sounds like some code, but you don’t really care if they’re conspiring.

Your job is just to babysit him…

Day 3~

As you’re dressing your senior walks in and puts his arm up over you, he’s staring down your top’s open buttons.

You roll your eyes.

“Didn’t realize you’d be worse than the men in the cages, sir,” you say continuing to pull up your boots and fasten your belt.

He leans down closer, his cigarette stained breath permeating your precious bubble, “Sweetheart, I already told you you wouldn’t last,” he licked his lips, “Now you’re Max’s pet, poor thing. I see why he picked you…” he leaned back, a satisfied smirk plastered on his old face.

After that weird and uncomfortable encounter you made your way to Max’s “cell”, this time you had your baton ready before opening his door. He casually walked out, hands up behind his head.

“Hey there doll, how’s my good girl doin’ t’day?” He asked, his voice so smooth, you falter in your tough nature again.

“H-hey…” You spoke shyly, then coughed “I’m good, thanks… H-how are you?”

He smiled, “I’m glad to hear that,” Before you realized he was standing behind you, his face ticking your neck, “You want to kill some time with me, doll?”

His hands ghosted gently over your arms, as if almost asking permission.

You need to say no…

“Y/N!” you hear your superior yelling.

Max gripped you tighter momentarily in anger, before letting you go. He’s sending death glares toward Nills.

“S-sorry Sir!”

“come with me.” he turns and walks behind a corner. you lock Max back into his cell.

“This kind of behavior deserves some kind of punishment, don’t cha think” Nills asks in a manor that’s definitely not questioning, and definitely too creepy to be work appropriate.

“What? Listen, I have to take 232 to the showers now. Are you done?” you tried to walk away, but he roughly grabbed you and pulled you back.

“Oh you’re not getting off easy here, sweetheart…”

“Don’t call me that, creep!” you stomped on his foot.

He covered your mouth with his hand in a way you couldn’t bite it, and pulled you closer.

Who would have thought it’s not the prisoners you have to worry about, but your superior…

He undid your belt as he held you against a wall, your tried to fight, or grab your weapons but he easily overpowered you.

His hand was shoved down your pants in seconds, and he lifted it up to inhale your scent, you gagged against his hand.

You kept fighting, however useless it was.

He’s disgusting!

Now he’s pulling your pants down and turning you around. You hear his buckle being undone too, and tears prickle and threaten to fall. You refuse them, not wishing to loose your dignity to this man.

You don’t know what to do to stop this, and there isn’t anything anyway… Please, don’t… You try and say, but with his hand still covering you you can only puff out bursts of noisy air.

Your throat vibrates with the rest of the sounds of distress you desperately try, and yet fail to let out.

His dick is pressed between your legs and he doesn’t prep you before entering…

You feel like your being ripped apart, it hurts so bad, like sandpaper it’s so dry inside you, and it feels like his length never ends.

The tears that you refused fall freely now. You give up fighting and slump into his grasp waiting for him to finish.

Luckily he does fast. Obviously you’d prefer if he hadn’t at all… If this whole thing hadn’t at all…. You’re definitely taking a plan b, and getting tested after today… But how are you gonna go about the rest of your shift now? how do you come back tomorrow… You’ve been here 2 whole days almost 3, just for this?

You slide down the wall and cry into your knees.

You don’t even notice him leave.

Whether you’re a virgin or not, you see blood pooling between your legs through your uniform.

You don’t care about anything right now.

You just hurt all over, and your heart feels as heavy as a thousand ton weight sinking inside you. You might throw up, no you wish you could.

You wish you could exspell what’s just happened from you.

and your mind for a short while takes you away, not with white wings into the sky peacefully, but with a heavy and dark fog, that seems to swallow you whole and suffocates your thoughts.

You call the warden some indiscernible time later and tell her you’re going home, she hears the tone in your voice and lets you without asking.

[asweetprologue]

Food of the Continent

Alright kids this is a little different from my normal stuff and entirely self indulgent! I recently worked on a fic that involved mention of quite a bit of food, and me being myself, I put a decent amount of research into it. I decided to compile that for those who, like me, get to a scene where the boys are eating and find themselves at a loss. What would a medieval witcher and bard eat on an average day? I’ve based my findings on medieval Poland, which isn’t, obviously, the Continent. If you want to add potatoes to your fantasy world, go ahead! The Witcher 3 certainly did. But if you’re looking for accuracy, please see an extensive list of medieval appropriate foods below the cut! 

Medieval Polish Cuisine

Meat

Pork

Beef

Poultry

Fish

Royalty/Nobility only: Venison

Most common: Pork, Beef

Breads

Rye bread - Used mostly commonly for trenchers

Common white bread - Often used for harvest feasts

Rusks or binavice - A hard tack-like bread used for soldiers' rations

Manchet breads - Essentially wheat rolls

Boiled breads (bagels, ring pretzels) -  Also called circuli or bracellus if you don’t want to say that Geralt is eating a bagel, but he could have! They were a very common street food.

Rogale or crescent rolls

Most common: Trenchers, white wheat rolls

Vegetables  

Field peas

Cabbage

Onions

Fava beans (used for animal fodder, peasant food, and flour)

Mushrooms

Leeks

Beats

Kale

Lentil (lower class food, often stewed)

Parsnips

Cucumbers (treated as a fruit, a type of melon)

Skirrets

Rutabagas

Turnips

Radishes

Lettuce

Alexanders

Carrots (VERY rarely)

Most common: Peas, cabbage, onion; parsnips and skirrets in the winter

Notes: Pickling and dry storage were extraordinarily important for surviving the winter months. Peas could be saved dry and reconstituted by soaking them in water, and cabbage was turned into sauerkraut. Also note the lack of potatoes! Anytime you think of potatoes in a meal, substitute them for turnips.

Fruits and Nuts

Apples

Pears

Plums

Cherries

Hazelnuts

Strawberries

Blueberries

Raspberries, sloes, cranberries, and rowans (all used to make juice or in fermented beverages)

Raisins

Almonds (expensive)

Figs (expensive)

Most common: Apples, pears

Notes: Serves always after the main meal, fresh or cooked. Apples were often dried and eaten year round, or made into a butter and jarred. While not part of the Polish diet, I posit that more exotic fruits like oranges (used for cooking, not eating), peaches, lemons, and dates could probably be brought north from Nilfgaard, but they would be more rare and expensive the further north you went!

Herbs

Parsley (helps kill the onion smell)

Dill

Garlic

Mustard

Fennel

Most common: Parsley and dill

Oil

Lard

Butter

Poppy and hemp oil

Notes: Butter and lard were extremely important. Medieval people burned a lot of calories, so fats were a critical part of their diet. Almost every meal would have been smothered in some kind of animal fat, unless it was a Friday.

Drinks

Honey water/milk

Hydromel (similar to mead, less alcohol)

Mead

Ale

Wine

Desserts

Placki, flat cakes

Tortae, high quality desserts made only with high grade bolted flour. Could have been a type of strudel with rich cheese based filling. Also could refer to small, flat cakes. Also could have been similar to cheesecake.

Marzipan (expensive)

Notes: In a contradictory fashion, when you read sweetmeats, that means desserts. It usually refers to a highly sugary confection, such as candied fruits or nuts. Sweetbread on the other had, does refer to meat, and is made from offal. I know. 

Common Dishes Gruel of mixed grains - Side dish, served with meat and a wheat bread Courtier's Pottage - One pot dinner made with millet, peas, bacon, onion, vinegar and parsley. Would have been quite thick due to the millet. Extremely common. Parsnip, Leek, and Alexander Stew - Common in early spring, typical one pot meal for a noble family. Served with cheese dumplings. Pears stewed with Cucumbers and Figs Chicken baked with Prunes - Common in noble establishments. Either cooked in a covered pot, or wrapped in dough to form a kind of giant turnover on festive occasions. Ham stewed with Cucumbers - A rich dish made with butter, onion, beer, and cucumber, raisins, and cranberries. Sour cream was added to the stew to thicken it. Lentils and Skirrets with Bacon - Stew Beer Soup - A classic stew made with leeks, cabbage, flour, beer, eggs, and cheese Fish Aspic - A kind of savory gelatin, usually used as an ornamental component of a larger banquet display Game stewed with Sauerkraut - Bigos, served at royal banquets. Peasants probably had their own versions using pork or beef instead of venison. Crepes - Probably served not as a dessert but during dinner, with beer soup and cheese or fish aspic. Krepel - Flat cake of layered cheese and bread, fried and served with strawberries or fruit Praskury - Wafers Apple flat cake - Essentially like an apple pizza Honey cakes - Kind of flat cake saturated with honey.

If your characters are eating Breakfast, they're probably eating millet porridge, eggs, or bacon. If they are eating Lunch, they are probably eating trencher bread with lard or cheese or soaked in beer, or stew. If they are eating Dinner, they are probably eating some kind of meat, usually pork or beef, with vegetables like cabbage, peas, onions or parsnips, either in some kind of one pot stew or plain. Desserts are almost always sweetened with honey, and include fried breads and wafers.

Roadside meals would probably consist of fresh meat from hunts (mostly poultry and rabbit), either roasted or put in a stew; rusks, eaten plain or soaked in water or ale; wild berries or apples; reconstituted peas; sauerkraut; and root vegetables like parsnips, turnips, radishes and onions that would save well over several days. Wild parsnips could probably be found easily in the Northern Realms.

I hope this was helpful to someone! This is meant to help you generate ideas, not to be used as a strict guide for what to include in your fics. This is fantasy, so you can absolutely do whatever you want, and besides that it will always be hard for us to be accurate about what exactly went on in the medieval kitchen. However I hope this helps give you an idea about what the average tavern might be serving, and you can worry a little less about what to include in those pesky meal scenes. 

Source: Food and Drink of Medieval Poland by Maria Dembinska, English translation by William Woys Weaver

[kingofkingdom-archive]

So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you. 

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father. 

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here? 

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time. 

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee. 

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father. 

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

-

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months. 

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised. 

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived. 

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful. 

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you. 

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of  calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift. 

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud . 

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me.  He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid. 

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth. 

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it. 

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people. 

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

-

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose. 

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm. 

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands. 

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually. 

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling. 

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall. 

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get. 

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities. 

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix. 

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder. 

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur. 

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind. 

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though. 

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

[cimerran-714]

Hello! I hope you're doing well. The purpose of this short "composition" is to closely analyze some of the key H/Hr moments in the books (I haven't watched all the movies, so you won't find anything about the films here).

And I know it should be obvious, but I seriously don't mind the R/Hr or H/G ship. It's none of my business. So please refrain from taking anything out of context/misappropriate the things I say. I mean absolutely no offence to any Canon pairings.

Even if you don't ship them, I'm sure you can't deny that both Harry and Hermione have an incredibly close platonic relationship together. I've heard people narrate some of the "finest" H/Hr moments while explaining why they're fit to be soulmates. There's a high probability that you'd come across them when talking to a H/Hr shipper. However, there are a few scenes in the books (which, in retrospect, are really 'sweet') I haven't heard others talk about often.

In this essay, I'd like to share some of the best scenes in the Potter books, immediately followed by an underrated moment.

Let's dig in.

Best moment:

The hug in Philosopher's/Sorceror's Stone.

Ah, isn't it obvious? This is certainly one of the finest moments that kickstarts the strong dynamic between Harry and Hermione. I really like this scene. It's powerful on a number of levels.

Romione shippers tend to provide a parallel to exemplify the attraction between the remaining members of the Golden Trio (Hermione apologizing about Scabbers and sobbing onto Ron's shoulders). But in my eyes, there's certainly something different about her hugging Harry.

Firstly, we've got to consider the context. When Hermione embraced Ron, it happened on the second page of a different chapter. On the contrary, anything that occurs at the end of any chapter/book sticks in our minds for a long time.

I'm going off on a tangent here, just to make sure you get the point. This trope (though I'm not sure I can it that) happens a lot of times in the Harry Potter books.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"

This scene hits home for a lot of reasons.

Look, most of us can't help feeling sorry for Harry here. His parents are dead, which (as McGonagall claimed) is a horrible thing to have happened. We've also seen at the beginning of the book that the Dursleys hate the Potters.

It's distressing to realize that a one-year-old is about to be raised by a family who doesn't like him at all.

And the fact that the entire wizarding world is celebrating Volde... sorry, You-Know-Who's downfall, while the boy sleeps on innocently (without any knowledge of what's just happened), is even more saddening. No, he simply couldn't know what'd happened to his life, that witches and wizards all over the country are toasting him.

It's bittersweet.

Moving on:

Deciding that he'd worry about the Hogsmeade form when he woke up, Harry got back into bed and reached up to cross off another day on the chart he'd made for himself, counting down the days left until his return to Hogwarts. Then he took off his glasses and lay down; eyes open, facing his three birthday cards.

Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry Potter felt just like everyone else -- glad, for the first time in his life, that it was his birthday.

This is, yet again, another 'Aww' moment at the end of a chapter. How can you not feel sorry for Harry? Most thirteen-year-olds have already enjoyed a lot of birthdays in the past. But for him, it's something new.

He's glad that it's his birthday for the first time. If I didn't know better, JKR wants us to sympathize with Harry.

And here's a final example:

Harry spun around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild: the little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Ron, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach.

"Gerremoffme!" he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Harry thought he heard a sob before it slammed.

I do feel for Ron, getting attacked by a flock of birds was certainly uncalled for. But don't you get the point? The "sob" momentarily diverts our attention towards Hermione.

"Poor Ron, that must have hurt... oh, dear, Hermione's crying."

I think you know what I'm talking about. It's the same thing that happened when Hermione embraced Harry and called him a "Great wizard."

Yes, the H/Hr hug doesn't occur at the last line or anything, but it's certainly just a page before the chapter ends.

"But Harry -- what if You-Know-Who's with him?"

"Well -- I was lucky once, wasn't I?" said Harry, pointing at his scar. "I might get lucky again."

Hermione's lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.

"Hermione!"

"Harry -- you're a great wizard, you know."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him. "Me!" said Hermione. "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things -- friendship and bravery and -- oh Harry -- be careful!"

That's one reason why it's meaningful!

Also, note that Harry's just about to face the 'Big Bad' (at a moment when 'Danger lies ahead of them and safety lies behind'). No one's noticed them hugging, too.

And it wasn't in front of the Portrait Hall or anything, either.

It was deep beneath the ramifications of the castle. It was (probably) around midnight, too.

The situation (arguably, the fate of the wizarding world rests on Harry's shoulders now).

The dialogue ("You're a great wizard, you know" instead of "I'm so sorry about Scabbers")

The atmosphere (It was late at night).

The fact that they were just kids.

All of these make the hug so powerful.

Oh, and it was the first book in the series. 2- Underrated moment:

Harry (and yes, Ron too) saving Hermione from the troll.

What's interesting here is:

1- Harry was the one who immediately thought of Hermione after Dumbledore ordered the Prefects to take everyone to their dormitories (Not Ron).

2- Harry isn't smug about having just saved a stranger's life.

A stranger, moreover, who was considered "interfering".

On the other hand, Ron is a little git.

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Ron's arm.

"I've just thought -- Hermione."

"What about her?"

"She doesn't know about the troll."

Ron bit his lip.

"Oh, all right," he snapped. "But Percy'd better not see us."

It's pretty obvious that, if given the choice, Ron would rather not go after the girl he'd teased in class.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped - it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Harry's saving both of their lives here (while endangering his own).

Remember that he's only eleven.

"We should have gotten more than ten points," Ron grumbled.

"Five, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's."

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry reminded him.

Ron thinks they were doing Hermione a favour. Harry, however, is a tad more level-headed. And sensible.

Also, it's somewhat of a stretch, but I believe it proves the point that Harry's true nature is like his mother's (James Potter had boasted around after he saved Snape's life).

Yes, I know it's such a cliche, but Harry is pure at heart.

3-Best moment:

The "mythical" Hippogriff ride:

Now, I've personally never thought much of it. It's a good chapter, yes, but bringing animals into a Shipping war is just... meh.

It's the trust that Harry had in Hermione (when she pulled out the Time turner) that interests me.

Anyhow, it's a pretty common argument posed by H/Hr fans.

Quoting from Wikipedia:

In some traditions, the hippogriff is said to be the symbol of love, as its parents, the mare and griffin, are natural enemies. In other traditions, the hippogriff represents Christ's dual nature as both human and divine.

It occurred in the wee hours of the morning, so I suppose it does have a slightly "mythological" (I can't think of a better word) feel to it.

Again, I'm not sure I can call it my favourite part of the book, especially as Hermione wasn't enjoying riding on Buckbeak.

Underrated moment:

Having fun talking about Filch and Madam Pince.

Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, they made their way along the deserted lamp-lit corridors back to the common room, arguing whether or not Filch and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.

For Romione shippers who believe that Harry and Hermione are "boring" together, it's a rude awakening.

No, the "arguing" doesn't mean they were actually in a disagreement. It's clear that both of them were having fun.

Enjoying their time, in fact.

It's one of the few 'Harmony' scenes in Half-blood Prince.

I do not believe that either of them was consciously aware of their feelings towards each other, either.

And if it's just a coincidence that they were enjoying talking about being in love, it's certainly a bizarre one.

4-Best moment:

Visiting Godric's Hollow together

"'The last enemy that shall be defeated is death'..." A horrible thought came to him, and with a kind of panic. "Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?"

"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry," said Hermione, her voice gentle. "It means... you know... living beyond death. Living after death."

But they were not living, thought Harry. They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents' moldering remains lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.

Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain control. He should have brought something o give them, and he had not thought of it, and every plant in the graveyard was leafless and frozen. But Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle through the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents' grave.

As soon as he stood up he wanted to leave: He did not think he could stand another moment there. He put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore's mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.

If it was intended to be a totally platonic visit, why a pose that's very romantic? Also, as someone else had mentioned in their blog, Harry rarely (if never) initiates physical contact with anyone.

There's also a kissing gate present in the Church.

It seems as if JKR has got a flair for writing co-incidences that further cement the H/Hr relationship.

Underrated moment:

Ernie Macmillion's change of heart:

This is simply beautiful, and even more so as Macmillion was aware that Harry can speak Parseltongue (an ability commonly associated with Dark Wizards).

What happens when students are mysteriously turning into stone, and you figure out that one of them was "egging on" a snake during a duelling club? A boy, moreover, who dislikes the Muggles he lives with? Someone who managed to defeat Lord Voldemort himself?

Hmm...

The logical conclusion would be that Harry's got a hand in it. Ernie believed that Harry Potter was the one Petrifying everyone, even a few weeks/months after the attacks stopped.

What takes the Hufflepuff to bring him to his senses?

The fact that Harry would never harm his Muggle-born friend.

I know it's a little thing, but it shows that the whole school (indeed, Ernie belonged to a different House) was aware of how close Harry and Hermione were together.

Note that he'd apologized immediately after a double-attack.

"Harry, harm Hermione Granger? Impossible!"

Macmillian was the one being paranoid, and told tales about Harry to Hannah Abbot.

And yet a single thing changed his mind completely.

To wind up, I'mma give you another part from the first book:

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear once more what Hagrid had told him on the night they had met: "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die." "Do you mean," Harry croaked, "that was Vol-" "Harry! Harry, are you all right?" Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her.

What's noteworthy is that Hermione apparently doesn't care about staying close to Hagrid and protecting herself. She's so worried about what's happened to Harry that she's rushing along in front of Hagrid.

Throughout the books, you can see Harry being protective of Hermione.

The feeling's mutual ;)

[mermaidsirennikita]

bridgerton--the good, the bad, the ugly

The short of it: Bridgerton excellently captures the tone of Regency romance novels and offers a lot of escapism and great sex scenes, but could definitely use some serious work in terms of how it depicts race and it should have made some further alterations to the dated and flawed source material.  Definitely loved a lot of it and am hotly anticipating the second season, but I want to see more work done and I HOPE that this encourages the adaptation of better (and less inherently flawed) romance novels.

Now for the longer take.

The Good

Bridgerton depicted sex and romance in a way that is totally different from anything I’ve seen in period dramas, for sure, but possibly different from anything I’ve seen on TV.  The romance of it all was woven into almost every aspect of the show. There is the handsome and seemingly severe but extravagantly wealthy and sexually adept duke sweeping into town.  The (multiple) rakes who just want to have fun while also being hot messes.  The awakening of female sexuality and the copious use of the female gaze.  (Note the pretty modest and minimal focus on female nudity, while we get plenty of lingering shots on Simon.).  People want love!  There is pretty minimal violence and perhaps the most physically violent scene involves Simon beating a man up because HE IMPEACHED DAPHNE’S HONOR~.

The sex scenes themselves focused on Daphne’s pleasure for the most part, and were probably among the best I’ve seen since Outlander in terms of chemistry, in terms of the visuals, in terms of focus on sex as an act of emotional connection and FUN. Yes, there was some Unlikely Vaginal Orgasming, but we also saw Simon tell Daphne about masturbation.  On the wedding night, he was pretty clearly touching her to help her enjoy it.  He ate her out... a good bit.  

And aside from that, we got all of the grand speeches, the stolen glances and touches, an excellent buildup of sexual tension that led to some pretty hilarious moments.  

I also really enjoyed many of the performances on this show.  Rege-Jean and Phoebe had great chemistry and excellent back and forth.  Jonathan was a GREAT Anthony.  I would argue that as lackluster as I found his relationship with Siena (more on that in a minute) it largely existed as a way to set him up for his romance with Kate.  He now has even more of a reason to be down with love, as opposed to solely relying on a kind of flimsy tragic backstory.  Additionally, his overprotectiveness of Daphne added tension to the story and made him a source of comedic relief for me?  I loved it.  Give me disaster Anthony all day; can’t wait until he falls to the enemies to lovers trope just like Simon fell to his FLAW-FREE fake dating plan.

A lot of the changes I found were really good.  Obviously, it was important that the show incorporated greater diversity (though they need way more).  Benedict was INFINITELY more fun and interesting than he was in the novels, and acted as another standout for me.  As much as I hate Portia Featherington, I think that the elevation of her to a proper villainess is probably necessary and Polly Walker excels at those types of roles, though they need to maybe have her be less like, actively racist.  I adored the addition of Queen Charlotte; she was excellent comic relief.  Lady Danbury’s expanded role and relationship to Simon was one of the best moves they made.  It touched my entire soul.

Buuuut....

The Bad

The show needs to work on casting more men that are frankly on Rege-Jean’s level.  It feels a bit awkward to see a guy that is by most people’s standards kind of stunning and then.... Colin looks twelve.  Lord Philip is like... a farm guy.  Get rid of the sideburns, we’re in romance novel territory.

In the same note, the girl who played Siena wasn’t a great actress and wasn’t super stunning, so even though I’m fine with her being a placeholder....  Eh.  Go for better casting.  The woman playing Madame Delacroix would’ve played that role so much better and I really enjoyed her dynamic with Benedict because she was just fun.

Frankly, I don’t know what the fuck they’re going to do to make me want to watch Penelope and Colin fall in love.  Their book was already a bit basic--fun, but far from revolutionary.  I don’t really get why they would receive attention similar to that of Kate and Anthony, basically.  The issue is that Colin, again, looks and sound rather young and twerpy.  It obviously wasn’t great for him to be tricked into raising another man’s child, but.... For fuck’s sake, how much would that have affected his life on a practical level.  He’d never know unless he was told, thanks to the lack of DNA tests.  He was marrying far out of his league in terms of attractiveness.  He’s a rich white guy in England with a supportive family.  

I really disliked the fact that Colin told Marina in his huffy little tantrum that he would have married her anyway--because would you have, buddy?  Really?  The thing is that Marina had no way of knowing that and her entire life (and the reputations of her cousins) was on the line.  She didn’t know if she could trust Colin to keep her secret.  They barely knew each other.  He basically came off as a whiny child and I’m fine with him staying in Greece if that’s the plan.

Penelope was just... psychotic.  And that was really disappointing, because I love Nicola and would love to have loved to see the fat girl get her sexy love story.  But first off, lol, it wouldn’t have been sexy because Colin was miscast.  Second, she basically tried to destroy Marina’s life and that of her sisters?  And herself?  Because Colin?  Because Colin, a guy who hasn’t even shown any amount of attraction to her at this point?  Her tears, her whining, it was all too much.  Penelope was dealing with a crush and Marina was dealing with the real Grown Woman issues of a child out of wedlock and as it turned out a dead lover and they were not on equal footing.

I mean, Penelope could very well make a great villainess at this point, and if done well I’d embrace it.  But I do not know how the fuck they can make me interested in her love story.  And the idea of her basically being launched into villainy because she was this chubby white girl obsessively jealous of a beautiful black woman...... not a great look.

The show definitely needs to explore diversity in terms of sexuality too--I don’t think it’s correct to read Benedict as straight because he still seems to be open to exploring.  Once he has more screentime, I think he could totally end up being bisexual, and it’s possible that the writers were trying to feel the audience out in terms of their receptiveness to taking a straight character who has a big straight love story in the books and making him LGBT+.  Eloise could also easily be a lesbian, and I’d be thrilled to see that happen.  They need to do something to expand the world, and if there are 8 Bridgerton kids, all of them being straight as an arrow seems SO unlikely.

The Ugly

Obviously, the rape scene was bad and should have been written out.  Simon could have gotten caught up in the moment and blown up at Daphne after he accidentally didn’t pull out in time.  Men.... accidentally don’t pull out in time... a lot.  That’s how babies happen.  It would’ve been believable, and due to our sympathies being with Simon largely, I don’t think he would have become irredeemable if he was more at fault than Daphne.  

As it was, I will say that the scene was somewhat better than it played in the books because Simon was conscious and totally sober, and it was a bit?  Confusing?  That he didn’t just roll Daphne over and pull out?  Because she wasn’t really clearly trying as hard as she was in the book to wrap her legs around him and hold him tight.  But it remained a rape scene.  The show also did a better job, I think, of establishing how fucked up it was that Simon took advantage of Daphne’s lack of knowledge.  Whatever he said about thinking she knew what was up--he knew she didn’t even know about masturbation.  He had to know she wouldn’t understand what pulling out meant.  He did very clearly mislead her to think that he was sterile and therefore denied Daphne her ability to give informed consent.  Did that justify what Daphne did?  Nope.  Two wrongs don’t make a right.  But both of them did a fucked up thing and I think that we honestly could’ve stopped at Simon’s misleading.

The issue too is that this leads into a bigger problem the show had.  It wanted to include diversity (yay!) but did not consider the total implications of what was happening (not yay).  Daphne and Simon’s dynamic is inevitably influenced by the fact that she’s a white woman and he’s a black man, regardless of whatever handwaves happened.  This influences the sexual assault and makes it even more messy.

Speaking of mess, I’m not sure what exactly would have fixed the “we don’t want this to be a colorblind casting” issue... but the explanation they came up with wasn’t good.  Never mind that this makes everything SUPER confusing (racism is over like..... maybe 50 years MAX after Queen Charlotte’s marriage if we assume she was a teen when she married and is in her 60s now?) but Lady Danbury’s dialogue explaining this was HORRENDOUS.  “One of them fell in love with one of us”.  The implications are awful.  I don’t know if perhaps setting back the integration of society centuries earlier would have helped?  But this wasn’t it.

Additionally, the writers and casting directors didn’t seem to get that diversity is all well and good, but what about the fact that almost every black character has a light skin tone?  Why are there so few black female characters?  Why is Marina, the most prominent woc on the show, given the “pregnant and desperately trying to trick a man into marrying her until her jealous white cousin fucks her life up and she is humiliated into settling for a loveless match” plot?  I desperately hope we see her next season, falling in love with Sir Phillip or perhaps having experienced a plot twist that gives her someone else...  And she better not die. Eloise can find someone else if Marina really ends up with Sir Philip.

Ultimately, again, I really loved the show.  But it needs to work on some things.  I think that a lot of its issues can be addressed and fixed in a future season, and I HOPE they do that.

[beskarberry]

The Most Dangerous Game

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 7, Book Two Prologue

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

“Above you the black hole where his eyes should be turned down to you, tilting slightly with a questioning roll. You reached up and slid your own armor to the top of your head so that he could see your face. “The bounty pucks can wait, right?” He nodded, and you bared your teeth in a vicious, bloodthirsty grin. “Then let's. Go. Hunting.”

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 9k

Content warnings: Absurd amounts of domestic fluff, Mando and Reader being adorable, killing Imps for fun, sex outdoors, a smidge of voyeurism, dirty talk, praise kink.

A/N: This chapter is the springboard for the rest of book two, though it was mostly just an excuse for me to write them being cute together before I chuck them back into the nuclear disaster that is a hunters life. Enjoy!

<-Previous Next->

You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that you were being watched, but it wasn’t a threat whose eyes you had captured.

 Deep within the empty underbelly of Nevarro you were pretending to be asleep, listening to the breathing of the one that shared your bed. It was fast enough that you knew Din was awake, and the feel of his gaze on you was making it difficult to keep a straight face. You breathed slowly, doing your best impression of unconsciousness while a roving hand moved leisurely over your side. The Mandalorian’s strong body was pressed tightly against your back, his nose buried in your hair, fanning warm puffs of steam against your scalp. In your own arms the foundling was curled in a little ball in his favorite spot against your chest while your hands gently rubbed his ears. An amorous rumble against your spine and a long, deep sigh behind your head told you that the jig was up.

“Do you know you hum in your sleep, cyare?”

“Well good morning to you too, bucket boy.” You arched against his chest, reveling in the way the arms on either side of you tightened and a contented hum vibrated along your back. “What’s for breakfast?”

A sleepy laugh reverberated in your ear before soft kisses made their way to your temples. “It’s always about breakfast with you, isn’t it, riduur’ika?”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, don'tcha know that?” You tilted your head so that his lips could get to your cheeks, the scrape of bristles prickling your skin. “Plus I’m sure Little Beans is hungry.” In your arms the green bundle yawned and stretched before his enormous eyes flickered open, ready to greet the brave new day. A soft purring chirp told you that you were right in your assumption, “See? Baby needs breakfast.”

Your partner sighed behind you and started to pull his arms free of your body so that he could prop himself up, peppering your face with kisses. You rolled from your side onto your back, letting him get to both of your cheeks before he found your lips again. His soft mouth against yours broke into a wide grin, and you let your eyes open to meet him at last. Part of you had believed that you had dreamt the previous evening, that the vicious haunt of hyperspace had left you stark-raving mad; but when you met those warm, honey-dark eyes of his you beamed right back at him. There he was, in all his early morning glory, a mop of bed head sticking to his brow and the red streaks of sleep scars denting his face. Somebody slept damn good.

The foundling clawed gently at your side, and you both turned your attention to the bug-eyed creature you both adored. Din let his weight fall onto you before reaching out to pull the child close to your smushed bodies, giving the green terror a fuzzy-lipped kiss. “Is that right, womp rat? You hungry?” The child gibbered and patted his papa’s bare face. “Alright, if you say so.” Din nuzzled the baby again, then kissed you deeply before tapping his brow to your forehead. He rolled off of you with a groan, making sure to squish you with his weight before sitting up on the edge of the bed, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes were drawn to the vicious scars of his back. He stretched his long arms, and the light patches of healed skin practically danced in the dim light of the dorm, bidding you to touch them. You lazily let your hand drop against him, and the slight flinch from the mighty warrior made you laugh. 

“You’re going to have to get used to being touched, tin man.”

He fixed you with a playful glare, “Not if I want to stay alive.”

“So you’ll wed and bed me but you don’t trust me not to kill you? It was your idea!” You razzed, poking at his kidneys with pretend death blows and making him keel sideways to save himself from your assault. 

“Hey now! You asked me to!” He caught your quizzical expression, recalling that you knew nothing of your accidental proposal. He lugged his helmet up off the ground where it had sat for the night, the opalescent beast teeth still sitting pretty in the indents of its cheeks."Mandalorians decorate the helmets of the ones they...that they want to riduurok." Din said shyly, pointing at one jewel: “Will you,” then the other, “marry me, clear as the fangs on my face. How could I say no?” 

“Are you kidding me!?” You burst into laughter, if only you had known! You could have spared yourself so much heartache with the knowledge that you weren’t getting left behind after all, maybe even have saved yourself the ordeal of space-mares. “You’re telling me that I proposed to you? Why didn’t you tell me so!” You were sitting upright now, the foundling at your side, watching his buir with confusion. 

Din set the helmet on his knees, hunching his shoulders and shaking his head. “I-I didn’t...I didn’t want you t-to… to leave me. Didn’t want to make you frightened...”

“Oh sure, but dropping to your knees and asking me to keep you or kill you is fine and dandy, huh rustbucket?” You chucked a balled-up blanket at him, making him hop up from the bed to run away from you. “You’re lucky that you’re cute and you’ve got a nice ass.”

He cocked a brow at you from the other side of the room, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “Is that the only thing you like about me, cyar’ika?”

You covered the foundling’s super-sized ears, unsure of how much Basic he actually understood. “You got a fat cock, too!”

The glare you got from your unarmored companion had you howling with laughter, and you flopped back on the pile of furs that was masquerading as a bed next to the bewildered foundling. A poor choice, your tender belly was now exposed, and agile hands found your sensitive middle to tickle you with a fury. The other hunter threw his legs over you to keep you from squirming away while he poked at your tummy until tears pricked at your eyes. “You’re too mouthy, cyare!”

“Stop! Stah- Ah! Stoppit! Fuckin’ hell I give, I give!” Your muscles twitched hard in your middle, trying to protect your guts from his roughhousing. Din pinned your arms down at your sides, flashing you a brilliant, boyish smile. 

“So easily? How disappointing.” 

“I’d watch my back if I were you, tinman.” A fierce kiss nipped at your lips before you were released from his torturing grasp. Free of you, Din began pulling his gear on, and you tried to take a mental note of the order that his equipment was donned, but the leather and beskar flew to his body like magnets, and he was fully dressed in short order. “Boooo! Hisss!” He found his helmet again and plucked the radiant jewels from their recesses, tucking the finery into the pocket behind his chest plate. Their disappearance made you a bit sad now that you knew their true meaning, but you knew that there was no way he could keep the bling on his beskar for all to see. 

He saw your frown and shrugged. “They’re still good luck, even if you can’t see them, right?”

“Right!” You hopped up from the bed, stealing one last kiss from his bare face before the helmet sank back into place with a hiss of its latches; and the familiar visor was staring back at you again. You pulled your discarded clothes from the floor, shaking everything out before dressing yourself. Glittering on the floor by your feet was your new mask, and you quickly hooked the electromagnetic ear cuffs on, excited to wear your betrothal gift. In the corner of your eye you could see Mando watching you, relishing in the sight of you adorning yourself with his cultural armor, and you cocked him a sly grin before sliding the cool metal down over your face. The visor flickered to life, and a hot slew of color washed over your eyes. 

“Ok so… night vision, thermal tracking, infrared, ultra violet… Are any of these filters just regular sight, or is this how everything looks to you all the time?” You flipped through the settings of your engagement present, taking in your surroundings through a kaleidoscope of colors. Heat vision cycled again to your eyes, and you saw the hot red bloom in the center of your riduur’s chest, tendrils of heat coursing over to his extremities. You watched as the human fireball sauntered up to you, and the sound of leather brushing against metal scratched loudly in your audio processors as he flipped a secret switch, disabling the extrasensory equipment. “Thanks, that’s better.”

“Takes getting used to.” You wished mandos kept mirrors on hand, you could only see how you looked in the reflection of his visor, and though the image was warped, it was still formidable. A soft leather-clad hand wrapped around the back of your head, pulling you to his helmet in the familiar motion of affection you had grown to love; but the sound of beskar on beskar didn’t donk like it did with a skull, it chimed. Sweet, soft ringing like bells in the wind instead of the hollow thud of meat and bone, and you couldn’t help but gasp. No wonder he liked doing it so often. The low rumble that followed told you that he heard your quiet exclamation, and was laughing at you fondly. “Did you hear it?” You nodded and knocked your forehead against him a second time, chasing the sound of the bells, but the hand behind your head hugged you tightly to stop you from trying a third. “Beskar laar, ironsong. I’ll ring that bell for you every day, cyare, but I think someone is getting impatient.”

You looked behind you to where the foundling was trying to climb off the side of the bed onto his stubby little legs. Mando strode past you to scoop the short green thing up off the ground, holding him so that he faced outwards toward you. You ran your hand over his ears and patted his fuzzy head before hunting for your bag. It was the only thing you had brought with you from the Crest, and you were determined to steal a couple of extra towels and a good chunk of your favorite soap before returning to your Iron Mistress. With a full bag and a full heart, you and your clan made your way up to the surface world.

It was a bright, smokey morning on the surface of Nevarro, and two ragamuffin bounty hunters and their floating baby bucket walked through the decimated streets of the city that bore the same name as its planet in search of supplies, but most of the store fronts were still closed. Construction was happening on all sides, the ash and dust of the Imperial siege being cleared away to be made anew. Takes getting used to was an understatement, and not just because of the flashy detection equipment or the weight of the armor on your face, that was negligible; but what was making you the most uncomfortable was that you were getting stared at. The townsfolk were used to the destructive tendencies of the Mandalorians, stoic hunters that could go from silent to explosive in the blink of an eye, as made obvious by the sad state of the city streets. You, however, weren’t used to being noticed by anyone, but now people were desperately trying to get out of your way; and you weren’t sure if that made you feel powerful, or monstrous. 

“Mando, how much did we make on the other three bounties?” Your hush money was running thin, and if you were going to restock your supplies and get off this lump of charcoal, you would need some extra cash.

“We left before I was able to collect, but I doubt there will be anything for us after Karga pays off the debt of your lost warrant. You were supposed to be brought in alive.”

“Well fuck, I guess we better go see if he’ll pony up some credits for us to get our shit and get out of here.” The cantina was just a few blocks over, and the three of you made your way to the low domed building that served as the town’s central hub. When you reached the saloon, you caught sight of the Guild agent through the window, and you knocked hard enough on it to shake the soot from the dirty transparisteel. “Karga! Hey, Karga!” He could barely see you as it was, the volcanic ash of Nevarro built up thick on the low window sill, but when he turned his attention to the sound of his name, you could see him furrow his brow. The old agent squinted at you and cocked his head, unable to tell who was beckoning him through the grime, and you pointed at your shiny new face and waved. You saw an eyebrow raise, then both fly upwards when he put two and two together, followed by a face so shocked you wished you could snap a holo of it and display it on the wall of the Crest. You made a series of obscene gestures with your hands, pointing at yourself and the Mandalorian that was coming up behind you before finally walking into the cantina. 

The other hunters moved aside quickly, having learned their lesson about the bite of beskar, and slinked off to the far corners of the room. You couldn’t help the swagger with which you walked, taking all the time in the world to approach the usual business booth. Karga only watched as your trio approached, unable to tear his eyes off of the streaking silver that now covered your face. You plopped down heavily on the tattered seat, scooting over so that your partner could squeeze in next to you. Having an armored face gave you an amazing new feeling of concealment, and behind your mask you were grinning like a nexu at the stunned expression of the agent sitting across from you; just waiting for him to find his words. He pointed to you, hovering just a little too long before pointing at Mando, then back at you with more flurried brows. 

“You...”

“Yep.”

“And him…?” 

“Uh huh.”

“So now you’re…?”

“You almost got it, Kargsy.”

He leaned back heavily in his seat before slamming down on the tabletop. “Preposterous! I mean... I was only joking, I didn’t really think…wait a second, you didn’t even invite me?!” You knew your face was hidden, but the way your shoulders jostled gave away your stifled laugh. “How could you?! After all I’ve done for you two! Oh what am I saying! We should be celebrating! Crazy damn hunters...” The agent did nothing to hide his belly shaking laughter, waving at the bartending droid to fetch some drinks, though the only one at the table that would be drinking would certainly be himself. Three glasses and a jug of too-early-in-the-morning spotchka clanked to the table, and you felt your guts flip-flop unhappily at the sight of the vile brew. Greef poured himself a glass, then hesitated to pour a second. “So, are you like Mando now? Can’t show your face? How does that work exactly?” Good question. You turned to Din, who only shrugged and rolled his unadorned helmet. 

“You’re not bound to the creed, you’re only bound to me. Do as you please.” You weren’t exactly planning on imbibing anyway, but the way he spoke so brazenly about your bond made you flush warm under the beskar, and maybe keeping it on for now was a good idea. You shrugged, it was a good enough excuse to turn down the luminous liquor that you couldn’t forget the taste of fast enough. The Guild agent put down the spotchka jug after having only filled one glass, and sipped slowly at the glowing drink. 

“Unbelievable. Couldn’t even send me a card, and after I set you two up!” The snap of both your visors on him made him jump. “Now you’re ganging up on me!” He started to top his glass back up, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. “So, what can I do you two lovebirds for?”

You ignored the sass behind the term of endearment, “How much is left of our credits?”

Karga scoffed. “Left? There’s nothing left! Those three bounties put together barely covered the cost of the damages to that transport unit you blew up. You’re lucky I’m such a smooth talker or I would have gone bankrupt! If you want more credits, you’re going to have to take on new jobs.”

Fantastic, so much for taking time off. You looked at Mando and made an ‘I’m sorry’ grimace at him, forgetting that he couldn’t see you under the beskar. He must have gotten the hint though, because his shoulders went stiff and a long, drawn-out sigh leaked from his modulator. Nothing escaped Karga’s ears at this booth, and he frowned at the two of you before turning his attention to the child that floated at the end of the table. Baby beans was just watching, his eyes darting between everyone in the group, probably remembering the last time the three adults sat together and how poorly it had gone. Greef made silly faces at the baby before turning back to the two hunters. “I’ll tell you what, as my gift to you newlyweds and your adorable magic baby, I’ll pay for your fuel, but nothing else!”

“That’ll work! Alright, Kargsy, whatcha got for us?” You were pleased with yourself that you had negotiated at least part of your travel costs away, but a heavy leather hand found your leg under the table, reminding you that you made decisions as a team now, and you briefly worried that you were getting ahead of your tinman. The warm pads of his fingers squeezed and thumbed at your leg, and you realized he wasn’t trying to stop you from picking bounties, he was getting excited, barely able to contain himself at the prospect of taking out new targets together. It’s what you did, after all.

“Well, first things first, I can’t give you any pucks, you’re supposed to be dead, remember? I can only give jobs to the living, Guild restrictions and all.” Karga fished a chain code reader from his voluminous robes and brought your information up on its holopad, and instead of the usual ghostly blue of the living, your picture was a harsh red haze, the word DECEASED blinking over your eyes. “I can start you a new registration profile, Mrs. Mando, but I’m going to need a name.” You rolled your eyes at the jibe, though the thought of having to rename yourself hadn’t actually crossed your mind. You couldn’t exactly put down Djarin, though that was your surname now, so you would have to come up with an alias. Hmm…

You stared at the keyboard of the reader, running through old nicknames and people you once knew, maybe even the names of racehounds you had once bet on; but the hand that was resting on your leg came up from the table and pulled the device closer. Mando poked something out on the keyboard with his pointer fingers, and in the holopad the word <<TRA’LAAR>> glimmered back at you over top of an image of your masked face.

“What does that mean?” you asked softly, feeling the gloved hand of your husband return to your knee after he pushed the reader back to you. The Mandalorian turned to you with a gentle tilt of his visor, something you had learned was liken to a smile.

“Starsong. Is...is that ok?”

Starsong. You nodded quickly, it was perfect. Across the table the Guild agent looked like he was going to lose his spotchka, disgusted with the two of you being so cute. Karga shook his head with a strained laugh, then dealt out a handful of pucks to the two living hunters. He went through one after the other, explaining their crimes and their credit rewards and last known locations. Most of them weren’t fantastic, plenty of bail jumpers and a handful of assault charges that might prove fun to hunt, but not anything that would prove a real challenge. Next to you Mando nodded along, but under the table his hand inched higher up your thigh with each new option, the handsy warrior making you blush under your own beskar until you reached down to halt his advances. Strong fingers locked between yours, his thumb rolling over the back of your hand and distracting you from the hunt options being laid before you. Here you were trying to do your jobs, but even work couldn't convince him to stay off of you. You jumped when Karga cleared his throat, bringing your attention back to the task at hand.

“Well, whatcha think, Mando? You wanna pick two and I’ll pick two?” He nodded beside you, squeezing and letting go of your hand to absently grab two pucks off the table and pull them towards you without so much as a second glance. You made to follow suit, but the second both your hands were above the countertop, Din’s heavy paw fell right back to your thigh, deviously close to their apex. Heat flushed your face, stinging against the cool of your beskar, and you picked up two random pucks from the pile. Across from you, Karga watched you both make your decisions with tongue in cheek and eyebrows raised, a look that you knew meant you had made some strange choices; but he just shrugged, already having decided that the two of you were crazy. 

“Interesting.” Greef pulled the accompanying blinker fobs to the table, clearing away the disregarded pucks back into his many pockets. “Alright you two, I’ll have your ship filled and you can get on your way.”

“No droids near my ship, have the porters do it.”

Karga laughed, “Of course not, Mando, I don’t have that much of a death wish, especially not after yesterday.” The old Guild agent sighed, “You two behave now, you hear?” 

You nodded enthusiastically, but under the table your armored companion was doing just the opposite, following the inside of your leg until he was groping at your mound, sliding a leather pad over where your slit pushed against the duraweave. Insatiable!

“You got it, thanks for the gas!” You smacked Mando’s pauldron, kicking him off of you as well as the booth. “Beans, say bye-bye to uncle Kargsy.” The child waved as his floating pram turned and ghosted along behind you out the cantina door. Though the bar had food on hand, it left much to be desired, and street vendor delectables were calling your nose. Townspeople skirted out of your way as you followed the smell of much-needed breakfast, but you ignored them to grill your companion. “Mando! You’re lucky he was focused on the bounties and not your wandering hands, or he woulda kicked our asses to the curb.” The metal mountain shrugged, shaking his helmeted head quickly as if he was bemused by the idea of getting caught.

Corellian bloodhound must have run in your veins, because you were able to sniff out an early morning bakery and caf-roaster, and the savory aroma had your mouth watering behind your armor. The whites of the vendor’s eyes were showing as the two of you approached, and even without any of your visual equipment running, you could see him pale at the sight of your mighty trio. You knew by the look on his face that if you wanted to eat, you would need to play nice. “Good morning, could I get-”

“J-just take it! Take whatever you want! P-please don’t hurt me!” The frightened merchant backpedaled from the stand, throwing their hands over their face for protection. Part of you wanted to lift your mask to assure them that you weren’t exactly Mandalorian, but thought better of it and pulled a handful of credits from your pocket, setting down what you thought the price might be for three pastries and a thermos of caf. The vendor stayed huddled away from the stand as your crew continued on its way, and you tried to shrug off the glares you were getting while you wrapped two of the pastries up and stuffed them in your bag for you and Din to eat later. Beans took his breakfast eagerly, being his gross, adorable self as he chowed down in his hovercrib. 

“Damn Mando, is it like that for you all the time?” The hunter nodded, but said nothing. “That fucking blows.” You tilted your mask back just enough to get the thermos to your mouth, wincing at the caf’s heat and lack of sweetness, but powered through it anyway. You stopped at a few more stores, picking up your usual collection of bacta and tools, absently chatting away at your partner while he followed silently along. You had your backpack stuffed full of goodies and were feeling well about your next adventure when you rounded a street corner, and stepped back immediately at what you saw. You’d only caught a glance, but you knew the shape of standard-issue white duraplast anywhere.

“Mando back up. Right now.” You pushed against his chestplate, steering him back down the alley you were in until you were behind a stack of crates. His jetpack made an ugly sound as it scratched against the stucco of the building while you pressed up against him, using your body to shield him and the child’s pram, though he himself would have made a much better barrier. Habitually, his hands went to your waist, still enamored with being allowed in your proximity, not quite getting what you were trying to do. You ignored him, watching the intersection through your visor.

“Cyar’ika...this isn’t-”

“Ksst!” You hissed, catching the tilt of beskar in the corner of your eye, and the click of a blaster’s safety in your ear when he noticed you weren’t playing coy. Motionless, you both watched the entrance to the alleyway, and you heard them before you saw them.

“You there! Have you seen any mandos?”

“Y-yes! Two of them! They went that way!” Shit balls of hell. You recognized the whimpering voice of the baker that was selling you out. Under the chestplate of your armored companion you caught the sound of his quickening heartbeat, the speeding rhythm adding to your own surging adrenaline. The stormtroopers were crossing through the intersection now, and you were able to get a good look at the sad state of the once-terrible soldiers. Their plasticast armor was dingy and dirty, smeared with volcanic ash and rust. Between the busted plates you could see the tears in their duraweave, sloppily patched and mended. They looked like shit, but they were still armed to the teeth in what was left of their equipment. Blindly they made their way past your alley, not even bothering to glance at where you were hidden. Hot breath coasted over your head with the release of your packmate’s breath, and you let yours loose as well. 

“That was close.” He grated through his modulator. “The last thing we need, or these townspeople need, are more fucking Imps.”

“No shit, looks like it’s just a handful though. Still too many for a good day, but not so much that we couldn’t handle them.” Above you the black hole where his eyes should be turned down to you, tilting slightly with a questioning roll. You reached up and slid your own armor to the top of your head so that he could see your face. “The bounty pucks can wait, right?” He nodded, and you bared your teeth in a vicious, bloodthirsty grin. “Then let's. Go. Hunting.” 

A low growl reverberated in the metal of his chest, and the hand that wasn’t brandishing his blaster came up to cup your chin, dragging his rough leather thumb over the edge of your jaw. “Marry me.”

“Day late, dollar short, bucket boy.” You chided, “I’m already spoken for.” You kissed at the edge of his helmet, reveling in the snarl that barked through the modulator before pulling your own beskar back down over your face. “We gotta get them away from the civilians.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I thought you hated my plans.”

“Your plans are terrible, but they work, ner riduur.”  

“Damn right they do. Ok look, I’ll grab their attention and get them to chase me, you take Beans and pick them off as I get them further away from people. Think you can handle that?” 

Beskar chimed when it knocked against your brow, surging fire along with the adrenaline your veins were furiously pumping. “Just be careful, my love.” You returned the gesture of affection with another sweet chime, then pulled back to point down the alleyway. Din nodded and took off, the child’s closed hover crib floating along behind him. Free of your oathsworn, you rolled your shoulders and scuffed your boots in the volcanic soil, revving yourself up for what would be a hell of a run. You stepped out onto the main road, catching sight of where the disgraced Imps were still harassing the townspeople. The thermos of nasty caf exploded on the back of one big white egg, turning their attention to you. 

“Hey fucknuggets! Looking for me?” You barely took a breath to duck back into the alley as blaster fire shot overhead. Assholes, there’s bystanders nearby! Memories of Tatooine flashed in your mind as you hauled ass through the charred streets, chucking supply crates into the way of the worst shots in the galaxy. The stormtroopers weren’t fast, but they were ambitious, plowing through the obstacles that you threw in their way. You rounded a corner, avoiding plasma shots easier than the broad side of a barn. “Eggheads!” You taunted, keeping them chasing after you. At a deserted intersection you stopped, waiting for them to round the corner; and you couldn’t help but grin when one of them was yanked into the air, dangling on the end of a grapple. A single -urk- told you that one was down and out. How many were there? Three? Four?

Two more rounded the corner, and you sped down the next street after another string of searing insults. The Imps shot at you with no regard for human life, pockmarking the already disheveled buildings with more burnt holes. Making sure that they saw you take the next turn, you ducked behind a corner, waiting for them to follow suit. So predictable. The two dirty soldiers plodded past you, and you drew your blaster and fired, catching one in the skull and one in the shoulder. Trooper one fell to the ground, but the second one reeled and tried to aim their gun at you with their fucked up arm. Bad move. Black and silver rained from above, kicking the stormtrooper’s legs out from under it and blasting it full of holes. Mando knocked the dead Imps gun away with his foot, just in case, then turned his gaze to you. “Nice wor-look out!”

You snapped back to look behind you, and for the first time in the entire history of the Empire, a stormtrooper made a bullseye.

“-Twang!-” 

You fell backwards to the ground with the force of the impact to your face. Game over.

“Blam!”

Everything was ringing, and not in a nice way, making the world appear as flickering greys and blacks as your eyeballs tried to pull blood back to their concussed retinas. The sound of Mando’s blaster and the thud of a dead body hitting the dirt made you open your stunned eyes. You laid in the pyroclastic gravel, thinking maybe you were a ghost and you were just hearing and seeing the last of the living world; but your wilted vision was soon eclipsed by a big metal bucket leaning over top of you.

“Are you alright?”

Shockingly, you were able to respond. “I...think so? What the hell I took that right between the eye- oh!” You brought your hands to your face where a bullet hole should be, running your fingers over the smooth beskar that had saved your life. “Beskar! Beskar blocks blast bullets! Try saying that three times fast.” Your helmeted husband hauled you to your feet, roughly brushing the dirt and gravel off of you in his endearingly fussy way. “Yeah, I’m good, tinman. Thanks for the armor.” You were glad he couldn’t see your eyes, you were squinting and blinking fast, trying to usher your sight back, letting loose a sigh of relief as the details of his armor came into view. The protective faceplate chimed its siren song as Din pushed his helmet against you, humming happily with the knowledge of your safety.

“You’re quick, cyare, but maybe next time let me be the bait?” 

“Not a snowflake's chance in hell.” Turning away from your armored companion, you bent down to inspect the fallen trooper. “What the fuck were they doing here anyway?”

“Probably leftovers from the siege, maybe longer by the looks of their armor.” A bandoliered boot kicked at the sullied corpse. “Usually there’s more than this, but these look like they’ve been on-world too long, trying to make a good capture to earn a place back into a larger platoon.”

“Shitstains.” You pushed your mask to the side and spat on the ground, “I’d better not see another one of these skulking around, or I’ll run out of blast cartridges pumping them full’a holes.'' The taste of the hunt was still strong on your tongue, and the hunger for blood was making you aggressive. “Fuckin’ Empire never did me any favors, not to mention all the people who’s lives’ve been ruined by their destruction. What’s left of them needs to be purged like a disease. Expunged.” Through the haze of bloodlust you caught your man staring at you, and realized that you were getting more fired up than what might have been appropriate. You cleared your throat, trying to cough the thrill of the chase out of your lungs. “Yikes, I’m sorry Mando, I don’t know what-”

“Don’t be.” He was close now, having crossed the short distance between you in a single stride. “Tell me more.” 

“Oh? You like that, huh?” He nodded, letting his hands wander up your arms and down your sides until he was squeezing at your waist. “I wanna hunt Imps.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Forget bail jumpers, I wanna go after the Empire’s soggy leftovers, break their dirty duraplast open and spill their rotten guts.” The handsy warrior ran his fingers around the swell of your ass and down the backs of your thighs, lifting up on them so hard you were forced to wrap your arms around his neck while he saddled you around his waist. “Mando! We’re outside!” 

“Don’t care, I wanna hear more.” He waltzed the two of you into the nearest alleyway, barely out of sight of anyone who would walk down the street; though the stormtrooper carcasses would probably dissuade any and all from getting too close. Mando waited for you to toss your backpack off before pushing you against the stucco, grinding hard into your core. 

“Fucksake, where do you get the energy?” You laughed, though it was a serious question that would probably never get an answer. He ignored you, groaning heavily in your ear. 

“More.”

“Alright alright.” It was hard to respond with him getting so fresh. “If I see another one of those fucking eggheads I’ll rattle their dirty plastic buckets with...with...fuck.” His armored hips surged into you, the plates of his sides pinching your inner thighs and making it hard for you to put words together. “Gonna… gonna scramble their yolks with my b-blades.”

“Fuck yeah you are. More, tell me more, ner riduur.” Between your legs the bulge of his stiff cock was rutting into you, trying desperately to meet you through the layers of duraweave. 

“I’m gonna find those dirty Imps, I’m gonna shoot them in their ugly plasticast faces. I’ll take all their guns as my trophies. Blow their whole ratsnest sky....high!” You keened, squished harder against the wall by the breadth of his chestplate so his hands could move without dropping you. Deft digits dug into your belt and yanked, pulling your pants down over the curve of your backside just far enough that your heat was exposed. You were unable to see anything past his broad armored shoulders, and the sound of a zipper being thrown was all the warning you got before he was pushing up into you.

“I think… you should...take...their...heads!” He stuttered between thrusts, leaning back to hook your legs through the crooks of his elbows, jackknifing you against the ashstreaked wall. His cock split you in two, stretching you open almost painfully without any prior slicking. “More! I wanna hear more! Make your husband proud!” His command growled through his modulator, so loaded with need that the hair on the back of your neck stood on end and your pussy flooded with much-needed juice.

“Fu-fuck Man-an-d-do! I’ll- fuckin...stab… an’… sh-shoot… ah~!” Between his filthy cadence and the air being squeezed from your chest you couldn’t get a word in edgewise; and you bunched your fingers into the scruff of his cloak, holding on for dear life while he plowed you into the wall. You clamped your coils around him, making him moan against the side of your mask and earning yourself just enough of a break in his stride to find your voice. “Gonna… gonna get the jump on ‘em. Sneak up behind their stupid fucking Imp asses and gut them like fish.” You winced when he sped up, the friction becoming too much.“Ouch!”

He stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of pain, his heaving chest the only movement from the silver statue. He looked down between your bodies to where he was lost inside you, then let one of your legs back down to his hip so he could free his hand from your thigh. The armored paw was brought up to the bottom of your mask and up under the beskar to your mouth. 

“Bite.” You bit down on the leather, holding the glove in your teeth as he pulled his hand free, stuffing it down between your pressed bellies to where his cock was. He pulled the throbbing member out and slid his calloused fingers in, hunting for your sweet spot. “Let’s see, where’s that spot that makes you squirm? Should be...right...about...here.” His trigger finger dug into the patch of nerves, pumping in and out of you until you were whining around the glove still in your teeth. Another finger joined the first, taking a moment to scissor around inside you to stretch you further before thrusting into you again. “You love my hands, don’t you, cyar’ika? Love when I fuck you with them?” You could barely nod, between his efforts and being squashed against the wall, you were putty in his hands. His long fingers pumped quickly at your core, digging in deeper every time you clenched around them to churn you into a slick mess. A vicious growl in your ears made your insides flutter, and the Mandalorian could feel you starting to come undone for him. “Does that feel better, cyare?” He purred, spinning his thumb over your clit between plunges. “Come on, come for me like a good girl~.”

You bit down hard on the glove with a muffled cry, clawing at his shoulders while he milked every drop from you until it was running down his hand and onto the volcanic soil below. Soft praises whispered out of his modulator, telling you how well you take his hands, how soft and strong you are and all the ways he would pleasure you each and every day. He slid his fingers out of your deliciously wet heat and filled you right back up with his cock. The bare hand glistened in the smoky daylight before disappearing under the edge of his helmet to lick himself clean, humming at the taste of your sweet nectar. With both hands back on your legs, he nearly crushed you against the wall, chasing his own desperate release. Hot steam fogged up your visor, his ragged breath coming hard out of the bottom of his helmet with each merciless thrust. The sound of him losing himself in you was music to your ears, low, rumbling growls between broken words of adoration until he was nearly spooled to completion. 

“That’s my riduur! That’s my wife! F-feirce little t-thing! So b-beautf-ful, wearing my armor! Wearing beskar like a true Mando’ade! I c-can’t wait to...to... get... you more!” He pulled out of your sopping cunt, pressing his throbbing shaft under your asscheeks while he came hard against the wall behind you, groaning the whole way through. His breath came in broken gasps through his modulator, and his arms coiled around your legs as if he was trying to melt your body into his through your many layers. You hugged him back while trying to pull your legs from his arms, and reluctantly he let you drop from him, holding you steady as much as he was trying to hold himself. Tugging your pants back up and taking the wet glove from your mouth, you couldn’t help but turn and glance at the marked wall, flabbergasted at the amount that was dripping through the ash-laden stucco. 

“That’s supposed to be mine!” You pointed at the gooey smear with a laugh that was rewarded with a tilted visor glare. 

“No...fresher…”

“Oh aren’t you thoughtful."

You patted his heaving shoulders and leaned forward to kiss his helmet where his mouth would be, humming sweetly before turning your attention to the corpses that were still strewn about the deserted street. The trooper bodies had started to grow cold, and you made your way over to them to collect your trophies with a skip in your step. Their blasters were grimey, so soiled with plasma residue and fucking dirt that you almost didn’t want to touch them. “Hey, Mando, do you think the scary sewer queen would like these?” He cocked his head at you from over where he was dragging the white plasticast corpses into the alleyway you had just disrespected. “The beefy lady, with the sword?”

“Ruusaan?” You nodded at the somewhat familiar word. “She’d be thrilled. Probably forge you another piece of armor once you collect a few more. Everything after the helmet has to be earned, and...and I’d love to see you...in… in full beskar, cyar’ika.”

“So I’ve been told.”  You glanced around the deserted back alley, getting the feeling that something was missing, something important. “Mando! Where’s our fucking foundling?!” Din straightened up and pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, angling his visor up to the rooftops. The baby’s hoverbucket floated over the edge, gently gliding down from out of harm's way. Inside, the tiny green terror was throwing his arms up in the air, enjoying the ride back down to ground level. His shirt and blankie were covered in muffin crumbs, and though he was a mess, your stomach roared; being made violently aware that you hadn’t gotten to eat your fucking breakfast yet. Both of your boys cocked their heads at the sound of your rabid insides, bidding Din to stride forward, placing a hand on your shoulder while you tried to clear the remnants of the child’s meal away.

“Are you still hungry?”

“I never got to eat, our breakfast is still in my backpack.”

His helmet snapped softly backwards in a motion you had learned meant he was confused. “Why didn’t you eat yet?”

“Because I want to eat with you.” You ignored the quick tilt of his beskar to focus on picking pastry bits out of the child’s ears, fucking stars, how did he get them in his ears?! “It’s not fair that you have to eat by yourself all the damn time, creed or not, you should have someone watching your back when you’re vulnerable. And that’s my job now, right?” You pushed your mask up to the top of your head so he could see your eyes meet his visor. The metal mountain looked so small with his shoulders drooping and his hand resting softly on your arm, the faint twitch of his helmet telling you he was rapidly looking between both of your eyes so your words could sink in. 

“What did I do to deserve you, Tra’laar?” 

“Sprang me from jail.” You turned back to the messy baby to hide your blushing face, unwilling to wax poetic about how much you liked him while your guts demanded an audience. “Where are you more comfortable, in the sewers or in the Crest?”

“We should get back to the ship, Karga’s probably got it fueled up by now.” You nodded, finding your backpack and pulling the slightly-squashed pastries up to the top so you could stuff the icky Imp guns in the bottom for your trophy collection. When you turned back to your crewmates, however, you were greeted with an extended arm, the bent elbow of your new husband offering to escort you back to your waiting chariot. You snickered and gladly accepted the gesture, hooking your arm through his as you had done during your masquerade. The pair of you glided past where the stormtroopers bodies were stashed, scavengers would come for them eventually to strip them of their worthless armor and priceless organs; but the two of you couldn’t care less, lost in the comfort of each other's company. 

The Razor Crest came into view soon enough, and your Mandalorian only pulled away from you then to fuss with his buttons and get the ramp open. As you approached the old ship you felt your heart sink at the sight of your old mask, still half-buried where it had been stomped into the obsidian gravel. You pulled it from its grave, and the remnants of its photoreceptor casings flaked away like dried leaves, confirming what you already knew; there was no saving it. 

“Hey Mando, can you hit a moving target?” He scoffed at you before seeing what was in your hands, making him tilt quizzically at you.

"What happened to it? Did you drop it?"

"No. The IG units broke it."

"Fucking droids. I'm sorry ner cyare'se, I hope your new one makes you happy."

"You make me happy, buckethead."

 You made to heft the mask, making a few slow pretend throws so he got the hint and let his hand hover over his pistol like a gunslinger. “Hup!” You chucked the busted thing high in the air, and his blaster snapped like a viper from his hip with a bang! The wasted durasteel exploded spectacularly in the air, raining back down as chunks of shrapnel that had you running for the Crest and giggling like a fool. Rest in pieces.

You followed Mando and the foundling up the ramp of the ship, taking a moment to run your palm over the entryway. There was a time not too long ago when you thought you would never see her again, the ship that you had made a home for yourself in. The beskar mask hid your smile as your eyes wandered over her messy interior, lingering over the cot that still had your bedroll in it and gazing lovingly at the wall panel where the armory was hidden from view; and you wondered if you would get to add your own trophies to that case. Even the empty carbonite chamber had you feeling a sense of belonging, that this is where your wild hunt would lead, time and time again. The door to the ramp closed, and you took a deep, fulfilling breath of the stuffy atmosphere of the hold. “Hello, Iron Lady, did you miss me?”

“Did you say something?” Din was working to get the child out of his pram so he could stretch his legs in the safety of the ship. 

You rolled your mask up to the top of your head, the shining beskar looking like a crown fit for a queen. “Hmm? Oh, no, just an old sailor phrase. Iron Lady, queen of strife, You're my only home and wife. I know I'm bound to you for life, nor would I have another!” You belted, hearing the acoustics of the durasteel walls thrum to life with the power of your voice. You sighed, long and low as you had heard your partner do so many times, and you turned your eyes back to him; resisting the urge to screw your eyes shut at the sight of his bare face. He would have to get used to being touched, but you would have to get used to seeing the real flesh and blood of the man underneath the armor. Fucking Maker, he’s so pretty! 

Din pressed kisses to your forehead, then both your cheeks, and lastly your smile; humming through his adoration. You closed your eyes and let yourself get caught up in his affections, but the tug on your shoulder gave away his sneaky thievery, and you shot one eye open to watch him pull your backpack off of you. He laughed and started digging through the ratty old bag, pulling the baked goods out for you to finally eat. You took yours greedily, stuffing the now cold loaf of goodness into your piehole, waiting for Din to do the same. He watched you with a strange look in his eye, as if he was trying to imagine himself eating vicariously through you, though he had his own meal right there in his hands. 

You raised a brow at him. “What’s wrong? Did I get the wrong flavor?”

He shook his head, his chocolate pudding eyes shining up to you in a bashful, puppy-like way. “I...um… I’ve never eaten around anyone before.” 

Stop being so fucking cute all the time! “Oh, ok well here let’s do this.” You plopped down on one of the many crates that littered the cabin with your back to him. “Take your rockets off and come sit behind me.” You turned away from him and waited until you heard the dull thunk of metal hit the ground and felt the crate shift with his weight. “Now lean back.” He did as he was instructed, leaning his back up against your own, and the happy sigh that rumbled out of him made your heart swell. Then the sound of loud, fast eating made you chuckle, and he froze behind you. “Oh for fucks sake the baby eats way grosser than you do. Fuckin’ go for it.” You felt his shoulders jostle with a secretive laugh, and the onslaught began anew. His breakfast disappeared in seconds, and you wondered if he even tasted it before he sucked it down. “Is that how you always eat?”

“Mmhmm.” He said with his mouth still partially full. “Nev’r know what’s coming.” You turned to watch him throw his legs around the other side of the crate, sitting perpendicular to you now so he could wrap an arm around your waist while you ate your well deserved meal. “You take your time.”

“Ah plan to.” And you did, actually chewing your food, only stopping to accept a canteen that was handed to you in lieu of your launched projectile thermos. With a happy belly you turned to your riduur, grinning right back at his sheepish little smile. “So, captain, what’s next for us?”

“Do you remember what I said last night? I want you to pick a star for me to bring you.”

The sweet sentiment made your heart swell, then promptly drop. “What about our Guild contracts?” You were expecting a groan, a sigh, or even a curse at the reminder that you had put your crew right back on the trail instead of bound for rest and relaxation; but instead you were gifted with petal-soft kisses on your cheek. 

“Anywhere with you is a pleasure, riduur’ika, especially if I get to see you hunt.” He scooted closer to you on the crate, wrapping both his arms around your waist while you were still trying to eat, resting his scruffy chin in the crook of your shoulder, breathing right in your ear. “And if we see any Imps, we can hunt them down for sport.” He growled the last words with enough malice that a chill ran up your spine and broke into the light as an icy smile. 

“Stars above, you do not like those fuckin’ Imps, do you?” Din nodded, making sure to rub against your cheek like a big, happy massiff. “Alright then, gimme your pucks.” One armored hand disappeared from you to dig through his belt pouches, bringing his half of the bounties into view. You scarfed down the last of your breakfast and found your own pucks to add to the pile in his grasp. Between his hand and yours, you shook your collection of captured stars, shuffling the bounties in your palms and pulling one from the stack as your choice. You held it up high in front of you like you were inspecting a jewel instead of a chunk of duraplast and wiring. “This one. Bring this one to me.” The leftover pucks were returned to his pouch, freeing himself up to run his insatiable paws over your shoulder to tug at your outstretched arm. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing fuzzy kisses to your knuckles, humming at the goosebumps that readily prickled your skin.

“As you wish.”

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[honestsycrets]

Forgotten Favourite | [ Lagertha x Reader, Ubbe x Reader ABO ]

❛ pairing | ubbe x reader, referenced!lagertha x reader and ragnar x reader and ragnar x lagertha x reader, lagertha x astrid

❛ type | triple shot [SFW this chp]

❛ summary | once upon a time, when things were simple, it wasn’t so difficult to keep Lagertha’s attention. Now that she has Astrid, that’s something else entirely. Maybe Ubbe can help.

❛  tags | ABO, Alpha!Ubbe, Alpha!Lagertha, Omega!Reader, Older Reader, Polygyny, some hallucinations but very minor, angst heavy, much sads reader, but maybe she can get back her voice, dub!con (this chapter has nothing too graphic), chasing, non-canon compliant.

❛ sy’s notes | “Shithead Ubbe” in action.

“Are you well?”

You looked into her eyes, steely and calm, and nodded. Your gaze fell back to the pool of mead between your clean fingertips, chewing on your lower lip. Her hand ran by the neatly woven braid that tumbled down your chest, imbued with gems she brought you from England, and they’re all pointless. If they no longer caught her attention, that was.

“Are you sure?”

“I must be tired, Astrid. I’ll go rest.”

“Should I come with you?” Astrid asked. “It’s…” her hand drops, hovering then at your stomach. “Unsafe.”

“No, no. Don’t strain yourself.” You quipped quickly. “She’ll be looking for you. It is only Kattegat, after all.”

You slipped outside of the Great Hall where a ravenous feast waged the night away on the back of barrels of ale and heaps of bread and fish. She was only a few crowds away discussing alliances with men that she’s earned the respect of being the single most important valkyrie with women like Torvi and Gunnhild. Women of the shield and sword; strong, sexy women like them.

Perhaps that was why she lost interest.

You were regretfully pathetic with a sword. In the world of the House of Lothbrok, you know that outside is not a place you can stay for long being so bad with sword, shield, and even your own fangs. Perhaps its curiosity that led you outside that night. Would she come find you after all these years? After moments turned to minutes, you exhale a cool breath of air.

The answer was plain.

You stepped away from the Great Hall and looked toward the pins with quiet fat piglets, illuminated by the forgiving full moon in the sky. The red hue indicates the start of the festival. Time for sex, drinks, and bond gifting. The mother squeals sound painful as they rutted against their mother for milk before their night’s end.

Your fingers ran across the mark upon your neck. There’s no fancy sigil there, no glowing golden marks, nor claims. Just… the knowledge and reminder of her scent, hurtling you toward a better time. The vastness of the memory is both wide and deep. It would consume you if you let it. It feels less of a bond and more of a distant memory.

“Is something on your mind?” you lifted your eyes from your prison of self-pity to look behind your shoulder. It’s as if the world comes into focus when you recognize him standing there-- Ragnar, his rugged face fading, smoothing-- and no, it’s not Ragnar. Not the man that would steal away in a moment to find you. That face is too smooth, too princely, entitled. It’s Ubbe. He stands a reminder of his father before him when things were easy and good-- and you mattered. He speaks. “You weren’t inside with Lagertha.”

“I didn’t take it anyone would notice.”

He gazes out toward the empty wooden homes, then back, training his eye upon your mutual bonded neck. Your fingers fall away from your neck. “Everyone notices when an omega goes missing.”

It gives you a moment of pause. In the bright moonlight, his long rolls of hair mimic Ragnar’s. Though they weren’t thick and there were no searing tattoos across the expanse of his pale skin. Not like Ragnar’s. How chiseled his body was, cut by scars his younger doppelganger lacked, the likes of the fishhook that dragged from his chest to his bicep. It pangs, strangely, and the memories with it.

And yes, in the heat of the night, under Lagertha’s comforting touch, how he used to sink into you thrust by thrust. You scanned Ubbe over, dragging the soft fur over your shoulders, and stand upright. “Your father told me that once.”

Ubbe’s slender lips pressed together-- firm on thoughts that you could never touch. He ignores the comment. “Come back inside.”  

It’s not a request. It’s an order. He must think that he has something over you to speak to you in such a way, flat and dry, but level in as many parts with commanding. He’s speaking to the wrong woman. Your eyebrows knit together.

“I am not going inside, Ubbe. I am tired of being a wallflower for one night.”

As dramatic as that knowledge was, it was a fact. You had put effort into looking like this, weaving the pearls, fluttering your lashes at her, the only beg for a night. You knew as well as she did that you wouldn’t beg. You were too proud. As was she.

“She’ll miss you.”

Your lip twitches. You look up to hold his gaze, when you can’t anymore because it’s too painful to tell him. Inevitably, you scoff and look at the band around your finger. “We are old enough to be without one another. She has Astrid.”

He grunts. Bent his head down with a small kick out of the rock under his leather boots. Then turning one way before another, he steps forward into your space. As a bonded omega, you instinctually lean away from him, though his arms are unoffending turned one over another, rather than raised against you. His breath is warm against the cool air of the night. “Then let me walk you to your cabin.”

You couldn’t shake him if you tried. You took the first step toward the dusty street that would lead you to your cabin when things had gotten too loud. Bjorn, Astrid, and Lagertha would undoubtedly drink and talk. Bjorn might venture off for sex. Astrid and Lagertha would go to bed together and-- you shook your head to the thought. Your earrings jangle with it.

“Is it an offer or a demand?”

“Maybe both,” Ubbe follows your quick steps with wide strokes. He’s a big man, perhaps bigger than Ragnar, reflecting his mother’s size. He’s like his father, and yet, nothing like him. His eyes share that same heavy shadow after you, but they lack Ragnar’s curiosity. Not in the absence of it, but the purity in which Ragnar was willing to learn.

“You’re approaching a heat. That is why you wanted to leave.”

You stop.

“Is this what--”

“Another strong scent. I thought you were barren. That’s what I’ve been told, after all.”

This then is the part where your lips part, unable to speak your truth. There’s something off-putting about the way he puts it. It isn’t that he’s necessarily off. In recent years, your heats had been coming with less frequency. Your hand feels itchy, fingers twitching, your words were growing in your mind, and failing to come off your tongue.

There’s nowhere to run.

“Ubbe--” you took a step back, then another, and Ubbe doesn’t mind. It excites him. His eyes are wide blown, rimmed with a blue that was clearer than the sea. He is strange. Most men would turn away from older women and yet-- he comes closer. “When was your last rut?”

“Why does that matter?”

He knows why it matters. You know why it matters. It was pure instinct for Ubbe to mate. It did not matter what Torvi or Margrethe said of the matter. You had only thought you were exempt-- given who your woman was. He feels huge compared to your body, illuminated only by the soft glint of the moonlight-- moonlight. It shone in the sky in brilliant disarray. It was a full traitorous moon.

Words fold on one another in your chest, rising and falling with renewed effort, as if to know what he was about to do. Your eyes make the mistake of latching upon his, delving into deep eye contact, one where his eyes look infinitely darker, and where you’re petrified to break it as if to know that the first one who released it would be the first one to act.

There’s something to be said for an old omega-- they know how to run, how to escape the advances of a drunk alpha, who caught a little bit too strong of a whiff of something he was never entitled to have. But, as alphas go-- once the scent was imprinted in their memory, they would never let it go. You know you don’t stand a chance at outrunning him. He’s too young, too spry, too ready. And you had just fallen headfirst into his trap of the perfectly calm carer.

You pivot your heels and run an omega’s run.

Her name is on your tongue like a chant, sobbing past the frustration of your woven sandals snatching sand through the alleyway. He’s not at all like Bjorn. Bjorn you can outrun, his shape isn’t made for long-distance runs. He’s heavy muscle and bad decisions. When you’re faced with someone like Ubbe, limber and quick, you know there is an issue.

It’s too easy for him to slam into longhouses. You scramble over the empty barrels of ale, scratching with desperate squeaks crying out to the stragglers on the streets for someone to hold him back. You fall on the other side of the barrels, catching your long skirts in bundles, and rush out the alleyway.

And it’s quiet.

Your head snaps down the alley where one sole barrel rolls on its side onto the ground. On the other side, it’s eerily still. The only noise is that of your chest rising and dropping to the tune of Kattegat’s rich ocean some great distance away. His scent is there, foggy and strong, seeping into your lungs in suffocating realization. It hits you all at once, connecting your back to an abandoned barn, where only slaves and pigs lived.

“Don’t move.” He’s so strong, pinning your hips to the barn, that you don’t realize how strongly he’s crushing you, ensuring you couldn’t run. Or think. Or cry out with his mouth fitted clasped over your neck. His gnashing fangs bite the fight out of your lungs, snapping time and again, and it hurts, but what can you do?

You sought something out— anything that is a bridge between reality and the teeth sinking into your neck. That encouraged the flow of your juices over your thighs and an undoubted excitement of the hunt. Instead, you’re so full of the rich, syrupy scent of a lover that reality melts like a pat of butter under summer day. It’s all Ubbe, flooding your nose, infesting your senses.

It hurts. And yet, it soothes the distant ache of your loneliness.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor

[seasonsofeverlark]

Family Prayer

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: Buttercup and Diwali are not things that go together. So even though Katniss dosen't like him much, she and Peeta try to make things easier for Buttercup on that day. [submitted by @everlurked​]

Rating: Fluffy G

Author’s Note: This is a story about Diwali and wouldn’t have been possible without @cadsingh77​ who spent weeks allowing me to ask all sorts of questions about Diwali and what it means to her. I patterned it on her descriptions. She read it, as well, to make sure there were no cultural faux pas. I apologize if there is anything amiss. Also, I’m remiss if I do not mention @norbertsmom​ who at the eleventh hour betaed this story. She’s my rock my bestie, and I would be nothing without her.

__________

Peeta glanced at his suit in the closet. His hands shook. 

In a few hours he was going to meet the family of the love of his life. 

He looked at the phone in his hands. He was lying in bed researching everything Diwali. His girlfriend Katniss had gone over the topic. She explained that just as sunset happens an elaborate puja, a prayer ceremony is done in a temple to begin the holiday. But to most Trinidadians or Trinis, as she called herself, like her family, they said little personal prayers in front of Laxmi, Saraswati and Ganesh and then they would light the diyas, little clay lamps, that they were going to placed in all of the rooms of the house. 

Katniss made it all sound so simple. Diwali was a celebration of light. A victory over darkness. A day to wear new clothing, beautiful jewelry, sing, dance, pray, and light diyas. Katniss said any other guests would arrive after the prayers and they would have a ton of food and everyone would eat and hang out, kids would light sparklers, and there would be singing and dancing too. 

Curious, Peeta watched every Bollywood movie on Netflix. Movies, however, never really explained everything. He put the phone down. He had to  be honest with himself; Katniss’ assurances aside, he was a fish out of water no matter what he did. He was going to meet the most important people in Katniss’s life, her family.

In contrast, his parents were Dan and Cindy from Port Jefferson, Long Island. They owned a bakery near the ferry. They were dull people, they were like the parents of Ian Miller from My Big Fat Greek Wedding. But a lot colder and more dysfunctional, dressed in tans and beiges. Peeta constantly questioned why they would own a bakery that matched the color of bland. They never veered from the menu. Never introduced a new seasonal baked good. Peeta was stuck in that rut until he met Katniss and his entire world changed and color was introduced into his life.

Katniss was the electric jolt that kickstarted his dull heart to life. 

The first time he tasted roti, the buttery tasting flat bread he literally cried. 

From the pictures that Katniss shared of her family, he could tell they were a riot of awesomeness. 

Katniss and her parents hailed from Trinidad and Tobago. Her family moved to Long Island from Germany. Her father was an engineer and physicist. He worked at the superconductor in Germany and then came to Long Island so that he could work on a project at Brookhaven National Laboratory. Her mother worked at Stony Brook University. She ran the nursing department. 

Peeta and Katniss both attended Stony Brook University. He was on his way to a yoga class and she was in her Pink boxing class. From the glass covered room Peeta watched her hit the punching bag like Joe Fraser, and he was a goner. Peeta had a thing for strong women. His first middle school girlfriend bossed him and made him carry her books to and from class and he was a sucker for her, but she broke his heart. She told him she was only using him to get to his older brother Ryan. Peeta battled so much darkness in his life and what he needed was to chase the darkness away and to let the light into his heart. But he couldn’t deny he liked strong women. 

There was something about a strong alpha woman who knew how to get things done, unlike his mother who was passive aggressive, and banged the pots in the kitchen and slammed refrigerator doors. 

He sighed as he worried about tomorrow. He googled Diwali’s greetings and butchered the language as he tried to speak in Hindi. 

Peeta sighed heavily.

Katniss’s mother invited him over the phone. She wanted him to come over before the prayers began. It was an honor because he was Katniss’ boyfriend, someone she chose despite her father trying to get her to date the son of a friend of his. Katniss put her figurative foot down and claimed she was dating Peeta. Her father didn’t want to meet him, but he knew of him. 

So the pressure was on to be perfect. He didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing, especially in front of her family. His hands shook, this was important. He wanted to make a good impression on Katniss’ family, even if her father didn’t like him or the idea of him. Peeta wanted them to like him because, truth be told, his own family didn’t like him. 

Peeta loved his family, but ever since he was little, he knew he didn’t fit into the landscape of his family. He was labeled as the emotional one. He was too irreverent for them. Peeta liked color. He loved to paint. He enjoyed the change in seasons where his family loved one season, summer, because they generated the most money then. 

His family liked one or two flavors. Peeta loved all flavors, spicy ones, bold ones, subtle ones. They hated that he was always pushing to change the menu at the bakery. His childhood room was always the one his parents never showed off, because as a teen he painted the walls of his room every shade of orange. Peeta knew they sighed in relief when he decided to stay in the dorms at Stony Brook. His football scholarship allowed him to have that opportunity. He trained hard, studied hard, and loved hard. 

“Katniss,” her name escaped his lips like fervent prayer and a wish. He loved her, was consumed by her, and he was so overly happy that she invited him to meet her family for Diwali. And now he had so much pent up energy he couldn’t sleep. 

His teammates made fun of him, because he got a goofy lopsided I-got-my-hippopotamus-at-Christmas type grin, whenever Peeta thought of Katniss. He closed his eyes picturing her olive skin, thick straight dark hair braided into a rope, small pert nose, and silvery eyes that were breathtaking. Though it wasn’t her physical parts that made him fall in love. It was the woman who lay beneath the surface.

What made him sit up and take notice of Katniss after he saw her box, and he was out of the yoga room, was that there was a blonde girl at the gym working out. There were these idiots guys making fun of her, calling that poor girl fat, just because she was full figured. Katniss walked straight up to the guys and gave them a scowl full of fire and brimstone, called the girl hot and told her that if she were gay she’d do her in an instant. Then she told the guys that they could jackknife themselves off the roof of the building. Peeta had never seen anything sexier in his life. Katniss was full of fire and she was resplendent more so than the sun. 

His phone buzzed drawing him away from his memories as the message came in.

KATNISS: Why are you still up?

Peeta grinned, his phone betrayed him. In some phones a little dot showed up next to the person when they were on their phone. Katniss must have noticed. 

PEETA: Stalk much.

KATNISS: LOL

Peeta could see those three little dots moving as she wrote a reply. 

For the most part Katniss wasn’t a talker. Unless she was passionate about the topic and then she was a chatterbox.

KATNISS: FUNNY. Seriously, tomorrow is going to be a long day. You need to sleep.

PEETA: Because tomorrow I am going to meet your family.

Peeta could see her rolling her eyes even through the phone.

KATNISS: You don’t have to be nervous. 

PEETA: If you tell me all I have to do is be myself, I swear I am going to come dressed as Buddy the Elf.

KATNISS: Dork.

PEETA: Yes, but I’m your dork.

KATNISS: They’re going to love you.

Peeta sighed. 

PEETA: This is important. I want to make a good impression. Your family is important to you and given that my family…

Peeta sighed. He’d brought Katniss to the bakery to meet his family because they didn’t have time for him. His father was pleasant. His mother, however, spoke loudly and slowly as if Katniss didn’t speak English. Katniss spoke various languages and was extremely intelligent. Her mother wanted her to be a doctor, but Katniss had a passion for the environment. Her major was environmental studies, with a minor in geology. She was brilliant and he felt like the dumb jock.

KATNISS: Your family is fine, well except for Ryan. Someone needs to examine him.

Peeta chuckled. His brother Rye stared at Katniss as if she was Christmas, Easter, and summer vacation all rolled up into one. He then proceeded to flirt with Katniss, by using every campy movie line known to mankind. In typical Rye fashion because he’d done it before to their other brother Lyle. Unfortunately in that instance the girl in question dumped Lyle to go out with Rye. 

He sighed. That was his dysfunctional family. Family gatherings were uncomfortable events. They weren’t exactly nice to one another.

PEETA: I have no excuse for my brother.

Peeta decided to follow his text with a self deprecating joke. A truth, his family thought him the odd one in the family. 

PEETA: But Ryan isn’t the bad apple. I’m not sure you know this, but I am the black sheep of the family.

KATNISS: You mean the sexy one.

A grin spread on his face at her compliment. 

Katniss’ family was conservative, and by extent, so was Katniss. He respected her boundaries and her values.  Family was everything to her and he loved her because of it, Katniss would lay her life on the line for her family. 

PEETA: Have I told you today how much I love you.

KATNISS: No, but I do love to hear you say it.

Peeta pressed the little microphone and recorded his voice, which sounded rougher to his ears than normal.

PEETA: (a voice email) I love you Katniss. I love your mind. I love your kindness. I love how you always talk about your sister Prim. I love the way you adore your dad. I love the way you look up to your mother. I think you are the most beautiful soul. And I am nervous because if you are wonderful, then your family has to be just as great.

He meant every word. 

They’d been dating for the last few months, but they’d been friends for two years. They weren’t easy years because of their schedules in school and the fact that her father had a mild heart attack right after they met. Peeta put himself in the friend zone because that’s what Katniss needed. He didn’t want her to feel pressure to feel romantic toward him when her dad, the most important man in her life, was ill. 

In the end, the bonds of friendship grew to a love so sweet and pure, that it shined out of her silver eyes. The first time she realized the love she held for him was more than friendship left him breathless, like stepping into a world filled with brilliant colors, light and joy. 

KATNISS: (a voice email) I love you too.

Her voice was breathy and filled with her heartfelt emotion.

Peeta couldn’t help but sigh contentedly.

KATNISS: Now as for tomorrow, don’t worry. When they see what a great guy you are, they will love you.

Peeta sighed.

KATNISS: NOW GO TO SLEEP, MELLARK!

PEETA:  Yes ma’am.

He grinned and would have followed her directions, but instead he stood from his bed and went into his suite kitchen. He needed to bake. It was the only thing he knew that would calm him down. He decided to make chocolate using the vegetarian items he purchased in the store. Come the morning he would make the Laddoos he planned to bring with him. In Hindi they were called Laddu but in Trinidad they were known as Laddoo.

Making the chocolate eased his nerves, so he actually got some sleep. In the morning, he showered and set to work on making the Laddoos. By three o’clock he was done, and all he had to do was wrap up the presents. Taking a red ribbon, he tied each box the way he’d done so many times at the bakery. 

His suitemates were gone. No doubt causing trouble somewhere on campus, which gave Peeta the time he needed to get ready. He took out his new suit. Even though Katniss told him he could wear a nice pair of slacks and shirt, Peeta bought a suit that was on sale for the special occasion. 

Taking a deep breath he took the small presents he had for her family. They weren’t necessary, but he wanted to make a good impression. He gathered up the Laddoos, the chocolate, the flowers - marigolds he sourced at the local home depot, and the paintings he made of her family made from the memory of the pictures she’d shown him. 

He drove, heading to the Everdeen home in Mount Sinai. The cottage-like house looked like something out of a movie or TV show: warm, inviting, like a real home, one filled with love, and not pretend.

As he walked up, he could hear laughter, genuine laughter, followed by singing and joy. Running a hand through his blond wavy locks he took a deep breath. “Okay Mellark, just be yourself,” he whispered, as he stood in front of the door.  

He raised his hand to knock on the door and his breath caught at the man standing there looking more like a navy seal instead of a physicist. This was Katniss’ dad. His chrome eyes were hard and they took him apart, much the way a defensive end could read a play and pick it apart while holding their defense line.  

“Happy Diwali.” Peeta tried to say confidently but his voice cracked. He could feel himself sweating.

Her father raised an eyebrow. “You are Peeta Mellark.”

Peeta nodded.

“Rahul!” A statuesque woman with blonde hair and pale blue eyes swatted Katniss’ father’s arm. He watched her sneak around him, dressed in a traditional red sari with gold thread. “Please behave.” Mrs. Everdeen quietly gave her husband a look. Her golden bangles clinked as she placed her hand dramatically on her hip. Peeta was glad Katniss had gone over the different fashions. He studied each one because he would do anything for Katniss. 

Peeta watched as her father’s hard analytical eyes softened the moment he beheld Katniss’ mother. Peeta could see how Katniss’ parents were a unit of one. They were in love and either one would fight the shadows and all of the evil in the world for their other half.  “Anjali.”

“I am Katniss’ mother, this is her father,” her pale eyes sparkled. “Please come in, we were waiting for your arrival. Come in,” she ushered him.

The home was two stories, to the left a halfway with rooms, to the right a living room, dining area, and a den to the far back. The house was decorated with warm rich colors, but everything was tied around the family, as pictures dotted the walls. There were lights everywhere hanging from the walls, the clay diya’s sat on the mantel.  Peeta stood in front of a picture of Katniss on her father’s shoulders, her twin braids flowing, her eyes crinkled in pure happiness. 

“Ohhhh you’re cute,” a younger, but deeper voice than Katniss’ said with impish mischief. 

Primrose took after Katniss’ mother, with the flaxen hair and the pale blue eyes.  Katniss explained that her mother was of British descent, while her father’s family, although sporting a European name, was from India. His great-grandparents came to Trinidad, fell in love with the island and stayed. 

Her mother walked away from her very wealthy family back in Trinidad to marry Katniss’ father. It was a little like they were the original Romeo and Julliet. 

His parents got together because his dad knocked up his mom.

“Primrose!” Mrs. Everdeen admonished. 

“What,” Prim said. Her pale blue eyes were inquisitive as she walked around him. The way Katniss talked about her sister, Peeta had expected a little kid, but Prim was as tall as he was. Her loose  pajama-like trousers that narrowed at her ankles, called shalwar, swooshed around as she made her round. Her red kameez, a flowing tunic with intricate gold patterns reminded Peeta of the pattern Mrs. Everdeen wore on her sari.

Prim was everything Katniss was not. She was a bold bright bubbly girl, who at this moment was making sure he was the real deal and not some mindless jerk. He stood, letting her because it was important that her family liked him. He wanted to be accepted. He felt his face flame up under the scrutiny. 

“I understand why my boring sister is constantly sighing.”

Peeta grinned, then he said, “Oh these are for you.” He gave them the presents. The flowers, the chocolate, and the sweetened chickpea Laddoos he made by hand for them.

“Oh these are fragrant, where did you purchase them?”

“He made them.” The soft voice that came behind him made his heart rate triple.

Peeta turned around and there stood Katniss wearing an emerald green lenghas. She had explained what it looked like, but at this moment, his brain that was always filled with words was momentarily empty, vanquished by her beauty. He swallowed, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes darted from the perfection of her face with those silvery eyes that captivated him, and the peek of dark hair that was hidden by the sari. 

Katniss held a shiny brass plate, she called a Tarrier, but in Hindi it was known as a Thali, containing coconut, almonds, and other sweets. Katniss told him the plate belonged to her great-grandmother Veronica. When her mother married her father, her great-grandmother gave it to her insisting it should go to her first born. He swore for a second he could see a miniature Katniss with his eyes staring up at him and holding the Tarrier. 

“He made them?” Primrose asked, Peeta could hear the intense curiosity in her sister’s voice. 

“His family are bakers, and Peeta is an amazing cook.”

“Really,” her father said, and his voice, the way he said that one word snapped Peeta out of his hazy fog. 

“Ah,” he nervously said. “I made her cheese buns,” Peeta felt the heat rising from his neck and caused those red splotches that his brothers made fun of. 

“Cheese buns,” her father repeated. 

“When you were in the hospital, daddy,” her eyes did not hide the pain of recalling those days. “Peeta noticed I wasn’t eating and cajoled me into eating cheese buns,” Katniss words were so soft. “He was the friend I leaned on for support when…” her voice trailed.

Peeta watched her father’s face take a look of adoring tenderness at his eldest, and when his eyes turned to Peeta they weren’t as frosty as they had been. 

“He even took me to temple to pray,” Katniss whispered.

“In Selden?” 

“Yes, daddy,” Katniss quietly said.

“Rahul,” Katniss’ mother chided. She cupped his cheeks, “Such a nice young man. Did you make the chocolate as well?” 

Peeta nodded, his eyes went back to her father. He couldn’t mess this up. 

Her mother smiled serenely, then her eyes lit with happiness as if she made a startling connection. “Oh! Pundit Sharma was right; they were destined in the stars.”

“Star crossed lovers just like you and mom,” Prim said. 

Her father cut his eyes away. 

“Oh my, these chocolates….” Prim moaned. 

“Primrose!” Her mother admonished. 

“What, he said they were for us,” Prim shrugged, plopping a chocolate in her mouth. “I’d say he’s golden. So what does a cheese bun taste like?” 

“Primrose, really, must you think only of your stomach?” Katniss shook her head. 

“Girls,” their father said in a stern tone of voice. “It’s near sunset. Upstairs with the lot of you. I swear corralling a dozen baby ducks would be easier.” 

The women headed upstairs. Peeta wasn’t sure, but her father swept a hand for him to follow him upstairs.

Peeta wasn’t sure what he was expecting, hopefully like something out of Khabi Kushi Khabi Gham. They had a small altar where he watched all of the women present the offerings and began to bow their heads. He stood behind quietly observing, but when Katniss began to pray it was like a song and her words that he didn’t understand wrapped around his heart and his lashes fluttered closed and a single tear fell down his face. Song after song her voice combined with that of her father, her mother and sister caused him to realize just how much he wanted to be part of this family, to be loved and accepted. 

He too prayed for a family to want him, to be needed. 

Peeta was so wrapped up in the moment when it was over he opened his eyes to find her mother standing before him with trembling lips, and watery blue eyes.

“Bend down son,” her father said with warmth in his voice. “She’s going to honor you by putting the sindoor on your forehead.” He pointed to his forehead, though his eyes had completely lost the frost. They were filled with admiration and the same warmth he had in his voice. Her father looked at Katniss and nodded as if giving her his blessings. 

Unsure if what he had just seen was real, his eyes went to Katniss,  but Prim said, “Go ahead Peeta, my father has just fallen for you too.” Her voice squeaked with that enthusiasm only a teenager could have. She wiped the tears from her face as well. 

Peeta bent down slightly. Mrs. Everdeen’s hand slipped to the Tarrier and with her ring finger she pressed it into the red dust Katniss’ father called sindoor.

The press of her finger was light. “When my daughter marries you. You will sprinkle this sindor over the part in her hair to symbolize her marriage to you.”

Peeta’s eyes flew to her father who nodded. “Welcome to the family son.” He clasped his back and said. “Now let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

Peeta couldn’t help but grin. He gazed at Katniss who came to him, her smile shy. He was going to follow them, but katniss put her hand on his, then stepped up and placed a small peck on his cheek. Then winked sassily. “I told you they would love you.” 

And like that, his prayers were answered; he now had a family. 

Years later, when he stood in the same position watching his little girl singing the puja, holding the brass tarrier, alongside Katniss. Just as in that memory from years ago he listened to Katniss voice blend with their daughter. Their voices blended in with his father-in-law Rahul, Primrose and her soon to be fiancé. Peeta was grateful that his prayers were answered, the darkness was swept away and light filled his soul.  And he was granted the family he always wanted.

[lisinfleur]

FTM - Chapter 2: What separates boys from men

Author’s Notes | Second part of this small series! Hope you guys are enjoying! Words | 4353 ⁑ Warnings: Cursing. Mentions to betrayal and fat-shaming.

It was there.

Nevertheless, as he imagined, it wasn't easy.

To be a better man for you was a challenge he had to face with all his heart and Hvitserk wasn't really finding obstacles when he was with you. The moments by your side were just proving he took the best decision he could've ever taken: you were indeed an amazing wife, sweet company, gentle, always up to make his days better and prone to satisfy his needs even more and better than any other lover he ever had.

It was true he didn't have sex with you again yet, but the truth was that it didn't happen yet because of his lack of invests: Hvitserk was still thinking it was too soon to go for something so intimate when the two of you were building something he could see would grow into this level. It wasn't time to search for you yet and waiting to have his sexual desire satisfied was also proof of his change he was giving to himself.

He could find sex wherever he wanted. But he would wait for your time to give it to him once again.

However, he couldn't say it wasn't hard to avoid the "chances" he had everywhere. Getting rid of his ex-lovers was something worse than taking a bath after one huge combat: they were stuck to him like blood between his braids, finding ways to pop out of street corners or cornering him around, trying to get him by the dick as they’d always done.

The fight against his body was the hardest part, but the way his mind was focused helped him not only to fight his own need but also to see things he had never seen...

Many of those women he had in his bed really knew he was married. They not only knew, but they liked to know they were able to take him from his wife's bed! Some of them reached levels of cruelty in their words post being rejected that Hvitserk started feeling disgusted by the memories of every moment he shared with them against his skin.

"Do you think she doesn't know, Hvitserk? What woman wouldn't want to lay with a prince? What pig like her wouldn't know a man like you would want beautiful women by his side?"

"She's not even a woman!"

"By the gods! You'll exchange me for that bunch of meat?"

"Don't come back when you're tired of searching for her cunt in the middle of all that fat, prince Hvitserk!"

Their cruelty was... Despicable. To start for the smaller of the adjectives he could think about those women now.

Every time he would hear such a terrible thing about you from the former lovers he had just shoved away, Hvitserk would come back home and find you there, showing more of those sweet smiles, preparing different recipes for his meals, new clothes you started making for him or even simply being there to kiss his lips and welcome his tired self into the cottage you were turning into his favorite place in Miðgarð.

And it would fill him with the strength to continue changing more and more, facing more and more his own mistakes and changing himself into a better husband for you.

"So... I can see you're growing better."

Words from Ubbe that caught Hvitserk's thoughts from his moment at the Hall's table. He had gone there to drink with his brothers - this time for real, not as a disguise to leave you home for some whore around.

"What?" he asked, taking a sip from his cup and Ubbe smiled.

"You see, some women around have no shame to spit to me their anger about your... Madness," he mocked his lovers' words, smiling at Hvitserk. "I supposed they're becoming angry after being rejected since you seem to have chosen to settle down with your wife. Am I right?"

Hvitserk smiled, but before he could speak, Ivar intromitted himself on the conversation intrusive, as always.

"Our brother was always gluttony, Ubbe. It's not a surprise to see him choosing the bigger dish to devour."

In a different situation, he would've rolled his eyes. Ubbe was ready to reprehend his little brother for the mean comment as the reasonable voice he was always among them but it was Hvitserk's voice to be heard, surprising them all.

"Stop," he grunted, looking at Ivar. "It's not the first time you have mean words to speak about Y/N and I may have been quiet until now, but Ubbe is right. Things have changed and I decided to honor my trousers and stop being a boy which includes protecting my wife from mean words like these."

Ivar rolled his eyes, sipping from his cup as Sigurd and Ubbe were observing that scene with different tones of surprise in their faces: Ubbe, mostly taken by Hvitserk's rampant of maturity; and Sigurd, by the idea he wouldn't be the only one in that table facing Ivar's mean words anymore.

"You have to admit she's quite different from your usual taste, Hvitserk. And now that Ubbe is growing fond of Torvi, I was expecting you to do everything but embracing the female grizzly bear you were forced to marry and accepting your fate. Especially when Margrethe is free to..."

"I said stop!"

This time Hvitserk's voice was angry, followed by a punch of his heavy fist against the wooden table.

"My wife has a name, and her name is Y/N. And you will call her by her name and stop these mean comparisons right now, Ivar! Enough of your poisonous words! She's bigger and curvy, so what? Won't every woman grow bigger and curvy when bearing our children? Won't thin silhouettes grow round when their bellies are full of our seed? Y/N's curves are gorgeous. She fills her dresses, my bed, in a way no other woman ever did. And I may have taken longer to understand how precious she is, but now that I'm aware of my treasures, I won't admit your mocking anymore!"

Ivar had an expression twisted into irony while Ubbe's lips curved in a smile. His little brother was finally growing into the man he always thought was there, hidden behind that hedonist little boy and so, he straightened himself, resting against the chair, letting Hvitserk take care of that situation for his delight.

"It seems little Hvitserk found something hidden into his wife's folds..." Ivar mocked once again.

To what Hvitserk answered with a proud expression no one could really doubt was real in his heart.

"I found love, Ivar. Something I don't think you'll ever find with this bitter tongue and stone heart you insist on keeping inside of your chest. Speak as much as you want, brother. I have a wife, she's gold and soon she'll be full with my child..."

"Even rounder than before!" Ivar insisted, bittered by Hvitserk's words.

"Even rounder than before, Ivar, you're right," Hvitserk completed, not affected by his brother's anger. "Even more beautiful than she already is. And I can't wait to see her like this, waiting for the dreams I have already coming into my life. Now tell me, little brother... Ubbe is to get married for the second time. As long as I know, Sigurd grew fond of that farmer girl he was seeing around. What about you? Bittered by your loneliness, Ivar, the Boneless?"

Sigurd, who was silent since the beginning of that conversation, scoffed a giggle behind his cup causing Ivar to grunt infuriated, hitting the table three times, but having no answer against his older brother who just got up under the smile stamped on Ubbe's lips.

"Going home, brother?" Ubbe asked.

"Y/N will fry pork ribs for me today with lemon and a bittersweet salad she said she's created. I can't lose it, brother," Hvitserk smiled.

"When he comes back, our father will be satisfied, Hvitserk. You bet he will," Ubbe said, smiling at his younger brother who smiled back.

Ragnar was spending some time at the settlement in England and it would surely be a good surprise for him to come back and see that his son had finally settled up with his fate alongside the woman he knew was good for Hvitserk since the beginning.

Hvitserk just nodded, smiling before leaving the table towards the square. This time, he decided to walk himself home since Vakker - his horse - was left home to take a time to rest. Hvitserk smiled, thinking about the beautiful mantle Y/N had done for the horse as a gift since she saw him complaining to Ubbe his horse was slowed by the cold in the last Winter. She had used the pieces of cloth she had from the clothes she made for him and sewed a beautiful cloak that would cover the horse during the cold nights keeping his legs from being affected by the cold and weakened by the harsh time.

His smile became bigger. How was it possible not to love someone who cared even for the littlest things in his life that were important for him?

"I miss this smile in your face," Hvitserk's thoughts were cut by a familiar sweetened voice he wasn't hearing in a while, and raising his eyes from the desert road he noticed what would be his harsher challenge of all: Margrethe was standing near a tree in the middle of his way, close to his house.

Sweet Margrethe...

His first love, the burning desire of his youth. His heart ached once again remembering the sadness of the day Ubbe chose to make her his wife and she accepted. The pain of not being able to question or ask for her since he was already betrothed to Y/N and how he hated that compromise that was now his most precious treasure.

She came closer. Her clothes weren't that bright now, denouncing the effects of divorcing his older brother were already coming down on her life. Yet, she had the same slow way to walk closer. Those eyes he once loved so bad were still sweet, yet full of sadness.

"You should be home, Margrethe," Hvitserk said, keeping his position.

Keeping himself from walking forward to cover the distance she didn't have walked towards him.

"It's late and people know already you're not my brother's wife anymore..."

"I chose wrong, didn't I?" she spoke with a doughy voice he knew so well.

Hvitserk's heart ached inside his chest.

It was easier when they were cruel towards you... It was easier when they weren't into his heart. But she... She was something more in his life and maybe the gods were testing him one last time. One more time...

Was he strong enough?

"I should've married you," she continued, lowering her head.

And Hvitserk felt the impulse to touch her chin and lift her face tickling his fist he clenched, holding back the tense arm. She wasn't his wife.

You were home waiting for him.

"I can see how you treat her... And I envy her. I chose wrong and now I can see my mistakes," she continued.

"I don't blame you, Margrethe. You made a choice with your heart, I believe. Things were what they had to be and I was fated anyway. Y/N and I were betrothed and nothing would've changed my father's decision. After all, she's a good woman and I'm happy now..." Hvitserk tried.

Seeing when she lifted her eyes full of tears to look at him.

"And I'm doomed," she meowed.

Crossing Hvitserk's heart with a thousand blades.

Ubbe never told them why he just gave up on the woman they loved when younger like that. He was a prince and could've taken Torvi as his second wife. Instead, he took distance from her, and within a month, he just said he wanted to divorce and leave Margrethe who had no say in his decision spoke with stone-cold words.

It was like all the love they've once shared for her had gone from Ubbe's heart at once and he didn't know why.

"I'm fated to loneliness and this despicable life... This is not fair!" she cried.

And for a second, Hvitserk thought he could hug her. He could take her as his second wife maybe. You...

But you had suffered so much...

"It was supposed to be me! Now Torvi stands by his side as if she didn't have sat beside a prince before, walking around as the future queen Ubbe will make of her as if I didn't have worked my whole life for the chance she stole from me!"

Margrethe's words cracked the glass of that scene for a moment and Hvitserk blinked twice, looking at her. He couldn't believe what he was hearing so, he let her speak, keeping the attention, giving her enough rope so she could feel safe to keep pouring her heart out.

"All because of her children... All men want her because she produces children like the soil produces trees! It's not my fault the gods kept me dry! I tried... I tried so hard! But Ubbe gave up on me like trash... And you're now with her as if you didn't hate the idea of getting married to that unknown foreigner and cursed this fate so many times between my arms. Come back, Hvitserk... Leave her and stay with me. I... I know my mistakes now. We can be happy again!" she said, walking towards him.

To what Hvitserk stepped back, covering the same distance she had walked but away from her.

"I have no reason to divorce Y/N like this..."

"Björn didn't have any reasons to divorce Torvi as he did. Yet, he did. You can do it too... Isn't Ubbe taking his brother's ex-wife to himself? You can stick your claim over me. I'll gladly accept you, Hvitserk! I know you're fated to great things too... We... We could be so happy together!"

Fated to great things...

Hvitserk blinked twice once again, seeing more and more cracks on Margrethe's mask. How many times did he saw her smiling beside Ubbe after saying he would one day become a great king and she would be queen by his side?

And before his brother had taken her for granted, how many times he had listened to her speaking about the great things all sons of his father were fated to? How lucky the women by their side would be?

"Or maybe you don't love me as you said before..." she said, looking at him with a glow of anger inside her eyes. "Did you lie to me too, Hvitserk? Is Sigurd like the three of you, Björn, Ubbe, and you?"

She would go for his little brother in case of his denial.

Hvitserk stood straight, chest stuffed by the deep breath he took, face frowned to speak with a harsh glare towards the woman he once thought it was the half of his soul.

"Fated to great things, Margrethe? All of us are. But if you want to know which one of us is the fool that will fall for your lies at this point in our lives, the answer is none. Cause not even Ivar with all the sadness of his lonely soul would fall for lovely words poisoned with greed like yours. You're not after love as I thought you were... You tried for our seeds to fill you with child and grant you the life of a queen you thought you would be when you accepted my brother's proposal," he spat.

And almost as if the gods were confirming his thoughts, Margrethe's lovely expression turned into anger and the mask fell once and for all, shattering the loving memories he had kept from her in a million of pieces: she was nothing but an opportunist and somehow, the gods had saved his older brother from that viper he was seeing changing form in front of his bare eyes as if she was Loki himself and his shapeshifting trickery.

"And is it such a bad thing for a woman who lived like me, prince of Kattegat?" she spoke harshly, no sign of the sweet woman Hvitserk had once fallen in love with. "I was a slave! You know nothing of slavery, son of Ragnar! You know nothing about how it is to be used as a dumpster by your masters, passed from hand to hand as if you were nothing but a doll to be used! Even after you got married to one of them, to keep being shared with his brothers like a toy for their entertainment, keeping these stupid games for your husband just to be thrown away by a better whore who can give him the little ones you weren't able to produce! Discharged by all the brothers who liked to fuck you just because they found themselves some cunts they now think are warmer than yours once were for them! What do you know about the life of a woman, Hvitserk? You can't judge me!"

The sound of the door of the cottage being opened froze Hvitserk on his place: Margrethe's altered voice called your attention and you came out through the door to watch that scene, instantly causing her to turn against you as if you were a moving target to her fury.

As soon as you stepped outside, she pointed her finger towards you, infuriated. Her face defaced in an expression of pure anger Hvitserk had never seen on the woman he used to see as the sweetest of his lovers.

"And for her... You're exchanging me and all these years we spent together for her! A woman you barely knew before you got married to! A creature you didn't even want or chose to get married to!"

"Stop it, Margrethe!" Hvitserk tried, standing between the two of you, trying to get Margrethe to shut up, fearing her words would destroy his whole progress as you walked closer to that sad scene.

"No! I won't shut up, you despicable prince! It's true! And if you lied to her then I'll save her from your lying fairytales! This is what your prince is, dear Y/N! A despicable man just like his brothers! Who fell tired of fucking me while you were home waiting for him! Who told you dozens of times he was drinking with his brother when he was indeed drinking from me in his brother's bed! Like his brother, he got tired of the pussy he fucked when younger and now he may be playing the good husband for you, but the truth is that I wasn't the only one he had in his bed before and after you were laid by his side with this ring on your finger that means nothing but a collar his father forced him to wear! They left me to the gods but I won't keep my mouth shut any longer! Cheater, that's what your prince is. A scoundrel, that's what Ubbe is! A liar, what Sigurd is, and his useless cripple brother after him! The great, great sons of Ragnar Loðbrók! Nothing but bastards, that's what they are!"

It was enough for him. Nervous, Hvitserk rose his hand to slap Margrethe's face and she shrunk waiting to experiment what she used to have long ago when she wasn't their slave.

But that slap never came.

In awe, she looked up to see your hand calmly holding Hvitserk's arm. Your touch soothing his angry frown as you stood in front of him, your back turned to her.

"No," you said and Hvitserk's heart sunk into his chest.

He couldn't exactly define if it was the shame of losing control like that or fear that you were defending Margrethe's words, but for a moment, he thought his whole efforts to walk that way towards your heart since the beginning were lost in her words.

Your fingers touched his face. A gentle caress he was getting used to receiving from your tender hands. And his heart ached more, imagining it was the last time he could be tasting that touch.

But your voice sounded calm, almost resigned.

"I know," you said, finally looking at her. "I know he got laid with you. And others. Many others. I know Hvitserk is a cheater and I know he gave around what was supposed to be mine only. I know of his treasons and all the many lies his mouth gave me."

Heavy words that enlarged Margrethe's eyes and shrunk Hvitserk's throat making it hard for him to swallow as you kept speaking.

"But I also know he's changed. And I know it not from his actions nor from the sweet words he started speaking into my ears, but from the stones you and the others started having into your hands whenever I'm around."

Hvitserk looked at you, surprised. Were they coming to you?

Why didn't you talk to him?

But you continued, eyes into Margrethe's full of a kind of security you'd never felt in front of her before.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, Margrethe, but the anger in your eyes just tell me you're not my husband's ways out anymore. The fury of the words you all have been driving to me just vouch for his honesty and prove to me he has been denying what before would put that air of superiority I don't see in your eyes any longer. I have no reason to hate you, Margrethe, because I know Hvitserk was the one who chose to hurt our compromise by keeping his side relationships, living a life that wasn't his anymore. But I won't take from him what he has been doing to fix his mistakes nor how he has grown into a better man in my eyes. So, like the others, keep your words to yourself and leave. I chose to leave the past where it belongs along with all of you in my husband's life: in the past. Please, do not come back to my house anymore. I thank you for the honesty about my husband's crimes but I also expect you shall respect my decisions about it and leave."

If there wasn't a reason for Hvitserk to fall in love with you before, he would've fallen helplessly with you now.

The sweet princess with tender hands and beautiful smiles was also a strong woman, decided, who had just shown him she could have kicked his butt before, and if he had a chance to change and show himself a better man it was entirely her decision to offer this chance for him.

"I hope he cheats on you again... And one day you'll be like I am now! Exchanged and discharged as he lays with a thinner bitch in your bed!" Margrethe cursed.

But Hvitserk watched as his wife spoke calmly, dressed in the mantle of sureness and certain of her own place in his life - an assurance his actions had given to her and he knew it.

"Instead of cursing the other's lives, you should care about your own. It's late, it will be night soon. Find yourself a shelter instead of trying to invade mine. In other words, Margrethe, try to find your own fate instead of trying to insert yourself into mine. And may the gods bless your life, woman, as much as they've been blessing mine."

"I hate you!" Margrethe yelled, angrily out of herself. "I hate you for taking him from me! I hate you, and Torvi! And that bitch of Sigurd's girl as well! All of you! I hate you! I hate you!!" she kept yelling, walking away into the forest like a witch with all her curses.

Hvitserk then felt the heavy weight in his shoulders again. His eyes landed on Y/N as she sighed turning herself to start walking back into their house.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, causing her to stop and look at him. "I'm sorry for all the things you've been hearing, all the stones they've thrown on you, all the time they've looked at you from upon your head as if they were better than you are. I granted them this right and I gave them reasons to do what they do and for this, I'm truly sorry," he said, with all his heart.

But instead of looking at him with disappointment or anger, Hvitserk saw a smile in Y/N's face. one of those smiles he loved so bad and thought he would never see in her face once again.

"I know you are sorry, husband. You have been changing it every day and I know your feelings are real. Don't worry... As I say, I can handle their anger and their stones don't hurt me. They make me happy. Cause if they're frustrated and angry it means you're keeping yourself faithful. And I have nothing to fear anymore."

Hvitserk came closer, caressing her face gently. And her chubby cheeks became red that way he learned he liked the most. She smiled, touching his face that way he thought he would never feel again and his lips turned into a smile as well.

"You have nothing to fear, wife," he mumbled, touching their foreheads. "Cause I love you. I may have failed to notice how possible it was before. But now I know what my heart wants and it's you."

His words preceded his lips touching hers gently, getting her into a warm kiss that lasted as long as their breath could take.

And then, Hvitserk giggled noticing he had managed to get her whole face red and she was now looking like a beautiful ripe cherry, fully shy in front of him.

"The... Ribs... They're ready and..." she babbled and Hvitserk giggled, embracing her tighter, happy to have his arms full of her.

"I can barely wait!" he smiled.

And as she smiled back, Hvitserk felt maybe the gods were satisfied with his actions, because she was there, with him. The smiley girl he married to was back and he couldn't be happier to be blessed like that.

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[possiamo-andare]

Midsummer pt.3: JJ Maybank

JJ x Reader

MASTERLIST

Words: around 6.4 k

a/n: so part one of Midsummer just passed 1,000 notes and to celebrate I'm posting part 3. Thanks to everyone who was telling me to make this a series, I guess it officially is. I kinda wanted a little more angst in this chapter but I'm a hopeless romantic and wanted to end it on a good note. Happy reading!

~

You had gotten up considerably late according to your father. It was 10am, early for you on a summer morning but late for your father who never slept past 6am. It wasn't entirely your fault though. JJ had kept you up all night on the phone. You hadn't seen each other in two days and it had been torture. He was apparently busy with John B., Kiara, and Pope, doing some type of "research" (whatever that meant), that he couldn't make time to meet up. So, you were forced to talk over the phone. You tried to reach out to Sarah but she too was extremely busy. You wondered what the hell was going on. The two most important people in your life were busy. You asked yourself, what were the odds?

So, with nothing to do on a beautiful morning, you went down to the beach, where you thought you could relax. You had just purchased a new book and decided what better way to get started than to read it while you soaked up some sun. 

As you walked out your door, your backpack on your shoulders, you called to your parents, telling them that you were off. They both gave you an uninterested bye and with that, you started towards the beach. It would definitely be desolate at this time, which worked out in your favour. You were only wearing a bikini top and small blue jean shorts. You, of course, had a shirt in your bag but you had planned on getting some sun. The only problem was you were self conscious. You had hoped that if there weren't as many people around, maybe you would feel comfortable enough to close your eyes. Maybe.

You knew that it was completely irrational to think this way. To think that maybe if there were less people around to look at you, you'd be more confident but you couldn't help it. Ever since you could remember there was this unconscious voice in your head, turning anything positive into a negative thing. If you had gotten a new dress, there would be some part of you pointing out that your arms were fat. You didn't bother voicing your opinions to your parents because you were their daughter, and they would love you no matter what. 

You did voice your troubles to Sarah and she insisted that there was nothing wrong with you. She told you that everyone is beautiful in their own way. And although that might be true, it was hard for you to believe her. You felt like she didn't understand. You didn't know if anyone did. So many celebrities preach about self esteem and self love, but they're celebrities with thousands of people cheering them on while you were just a teenager that had maybe two close friends at the most. 

You did see the good in yourself, but you sometimes could only focus on the bad.

As you got closer and closer to the pier, you pulled out your phone to shut it off. You just wanted some peace and quiet to yourself. You had been thinking way too much about JJ the past few days. He was literally taking up your entire life. Constantly, you wondered what he was doing and if he was thinking about you. You were getting scared. You were liking JJ way too fast. You weren't even official yet and you already thought about what your lives would be like five years from now. You had to get a grip. JJ was a boy. A teenage boy, to be more specific. And you doubted if he even thought about you twice. Teenage boys, from your limited experience of Rafe, rarely thought about their future with a girl and mostly cared about when they would get laid. 

Although you desperately believed JJ was different, and in some ways he was, you didn't want to get ahead of yourself. 

Just as you were deciding to forget about JJ, you see him. He had just exited out of a wagon, that looked like John B.'s car, and was carrying his backpack, seemingly unaware that you're 10 feet away from him. 

You're confused, to say the least. He had said he was very busy "researching" something. And now, he was at the beach.

"JJ?" You call out to him, literally almost right behind him now.

He whips his head around and watches you approach him, eyes wide. Now you know he's been lying to you. He's so surprised to see you hear, you can hear him gasp. "Y/N?"

You furrow your brows. "Uh, yeah. What are you doing here?"

JJ acts cool, trying to play off the fact that he is not only surprised to see you, but also that he has lied to you as well. "Nothing much. You?"

You put. "I'm just going to the beach. I thought you said you were doing research with John B., Pope and Kiara?"

JJ shrugs, giving off his pompous smirk. This time, you notice a little bit of worry though. "We stopped. I wanted to take a break." JJ looks to the wagon again, almost as if he's checking to make sure no one is coming out.

Then it clicks. He doesn't want you here. He's scared to be seen with you. He doesn't want his friends to know he's with a Kook. Why else would he lie to you and check to make sure no one sees you together. You wanna cry. He's ashamed to be with you.

"Are you -" you choke up, tears welling in your eyes. You promise you won't let him see you cry. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?"

JJ looks back to you, frowning. "What? No."

You roll your eyes. "You clearly are lying to me about research, and now you're obviously checking to see if John B., Pope or Kiara can see you talking to me. What's going on?"

JJ grabs for your hand but you pull away. You're not gonna fall for it a second time. He was so pervasive in the janitors closet, you had been a fool to believe him. But now, you would know longer be a fool. 

"You gotta leave." He said, nodding to the direction opposite of the beach. "I'll explain everything later."

You scoff. He can't be serious. "Are you fuckin' with me?" You shake your head, rubbing your temples. How could you be so stupid? Of course he fools you. It'sJJ Maybank. The guy who has broken so many hearts. You were probably just gonna be another notch under his belt. 

"You're that embarrassed? God, I should be embarrassed. I'm the one who likes you." You spit back, trying to hurt him as much as he is hurting you.

You can tell you have hurt him. Just by the way he steps back, almost as if you've actually hit him. He looks to the ground, sighs, and then looks to you. "I'll explain everything later. You have to leave."

You shake your head. Unbelievable. You're too stubborn. So, instead, you push past him and race to the wagon, where you know everyone is. JJ tries to catch up to you but you're faster than him. You're not wearing heels anymore. 

In one swift motion, you slide open one side of the door, revealing four bodies huddled in one area instead of the three you thought there would be. Sarah is the extra person. You want to act surprised but deep down you knew she was blowing you off to hang out with her new friends. It was more than a coincidence that Sarah and JJ were busy on the same day.

They all had their backs turned towards you until you spoke. "Sarah?" Although you wanted your voice to come out strong, you could hear the hurt in it. 

You didn't care if Sarah wanted to hang out with John B. and his friends but she didn't have to lie to you. Now you suspected something even worse. You thought that maybe it wasn't because you were a Kook that JJ was embarrassed of you, maybe it was just you. JJ hung out with Sarah and she was a Kook and he seemed to have no problem. Maybe him and Sarah were just both too embarrassed to be seen with you in front of their Pogue friends. This realization made you want to cry. But you held it together. If this was the truth, then you would only cry in the comfort of your own home. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction to see you cry.

That little voice in your head was laughing at you.

Once they hear you, they all jump and cover whatever they are doing and turn to see you. They are all acting super suspicious and you're wondering what the hell is under the thing they just covered. It looked like a pot to you but what could they be melting?

Sarah is the first one to speak. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

You decide to lie. If JJ was too embarrassed to be seen with you, then you wouldn't want to embarrass him further by telling everyone about you two. "I was looking for you."

You feel JJ behind you, out of breath. Before Sarah speaks, he does. "Sorry guys, she's faster than she looks."

You pretend he hasn't spoken and instead continue to look to Sarah. "If you didn't want to hang out with me, you could've just said so."

Sarah frowns, clearly confused. "What? No, that's not it."

Before Sarah can continue to speak, Kiara steps in. "Sarah don't."

You glare at Kiara. You honestly thought she liked you and now, she seemed like she could care less. "Stop what?"

Sarah looked to John B. and he sighed before looking at you. "We should tell her now."

You were beyond confused. Tell you what?

Sarah nodded. "She won't tell a soul. Right Y/N?"

You nodded, still frowning. What the hell was going on. Tell you what? Trust you with what? None of them were making sense.

JJ spoke up this time. "No, if she knows, she's a target too."

You look at JJ, glaring at him. No one is speaking and you know it's because they can't believe JJ cares about something that doesn't involve him. You're a little surprised too but you're still upset so you don't show how surprised you are. "Don't look out for me. I wanna know."

JJ glares at you, almost upset that you want to make a decision for yourself. You glare right back and move farther away from him. You can't stand to be beside him. You still feel like such an idiot. 

John B. nods to Sarah and then Sarah looks at you. She's giving you a polite smile, as if she's about to give you some life changing news. Finally, when she speaks, it's barely over a whisper. "We found the Royal Merchant."

You furrow your brow. You have obviously heard of the Royal Merchant and the 400 million dollars in gold that was hidden somewhere in OBX, but it had been almost 2 centuries and still, it had never been found. Historians spent their entire professional careers trying to locate the Royal Merchant while five teenagers found it themselves. This didn't make any sense to you and you could tell that everyone knew you would never more convincing. So, Kiara steps forward and takes the cover off of the pot, where numerous bars of gold are being melted; unsuccessfully may you add. 

You're in complete shock. "What the hell?"

John B. finds your reaction humorous. "Yeah right?"

You looked to John B. "How the hell did you find it?"

John B. chuckled. "Long story. I'll tell you later."

Finally, for the first time since you arrived, Pope spoke up. "But right now, we need to find a way to melt the gold."

He seemed to be very shy around you and you knew why. Rafe had beaten the shit out of him recently and you were the person to break it up. You told Rafe to basically fuck off and you tried to help Pope by getting him an ice pack, but he left before you got the chance. These were just one of the many arguments you had with Rafe before eventually breaking things off. Although you knew Pope was grateful, you had a connection to that day. Although you would never do this, Pope was embarrassed you might tell someone what had happened. Only JJ and you really knew what had gone down that day and it was better, for the sake of Pope's pride, that no one else knew. You weren't surprised that Topper's boat had sunk only hours after the attack. You knew Pope had something to do with it and you were happy he fought back. Then, JJ had gotten arrested for it and you knew he covered for Pope. It didn't seem right only JJ was the one getting in trouble and not Rafe and Topper as well but you knew that it was because they're Kooks.

You smiled at Pope, trying to let him know that he didn't have to tread so lightly around you. He instantly looked away though, not getting the point you were trying to make. Then, you had an epiphany.

"My dad has a torch you could use."

They all look at you, smiling softly. You smile back, ignoring the stupid smirk JJ has on his lips. 

Kiara is the first one to speak. "You're just about the smartest person here."

You laugh, your insecurities quieting down for a moment. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Sarah wasn't embarrassed by you but genuinely couldn't tell you what was going on. You believed that but wasn't so ready to forgive JJ who had, for the second time, made it clear he was embarrassed by you.

John B. spoke then, looking at Sarah. "Well, I think we should listen to Y/N. Let's go get that torch."

~

Your dad wasn't much of a handyman. A few summers ago, he had bought over a hundred dollars worth of tools and equipment just in case there was something broken, he could help fix it. He was proven to be no help though because the man could barely hold a wrench properly, let alone fix the air conditioning in your house. Most of the tools went to waste or were stored in his garage, where you had actually used a couple in the years since he bought it. 

Your dad was always trying to find new hobbies and things to do to keep himself busy, especially in the summer time where he wasn't working as much. That summer, he had bought tools but this summer, he was working on his garden. That's why he had hired JJ to mow his lawn. He couldn't figure out how to work the lawn mower and hired someone to do it for him. Most days this summer he spent outside in the backyard, planting flowers and vegetables. Your mom was there with him. She was either reading a book or bossing him around and you kinda found it funny that a woman who would never be caught dead in the dirt, was bossing someone around like that.

Today was no exception. As John B. parked in front of your house, you could already see from your backyard that your dad was digging up new soil to plant something else while your mom was telling him how to do it. 

Unfortunately this wasn't going to be an easy situation. You had to get a large torch from the garage and past your parents. You wondered if it could fit in your backpack but you didn't have time to worry about that. You needed to think of an excuse as to why you were home so early and why you needed to go into the garage.

JJ got out of the car and slid the door open for you. JJ was staring at you but you made no effort to look at him. The drive to your house was torture. You tried to ignore him as you talked to everyone about the torch and how to melt the gold but you could feel JJ's eyes burn into the back of your head. You refused to be the first one to speak to him though. 

You got out of the car, not bothering to say anything to JJ as you did. You looked to John B., who had his window on the drivers side rolled down. 

He was smiling at you. "You got this?"

You shrugged. "Can't be too hard."

John B. nodded, glancing at JJ who was still looking at you before looking at Sarah. He had a bemused smile on your face and so did Sarah, telling you that they were catching on pretty quick. You knew if JJ didn't cut out the stares soon, everyone would know. For a guy who didn't want anyone to know you had a thing, he was making it pretty obvious.

You were about to walk away but were stopped by JJ speaking up. "I'll go with you."

You glared at him, a scowl on your lips. "What?"

Everyone was quiet, even you. Except JJ. He couldn't keep his mouth shut

"You might need help." What the hell was he doing?

You shook your head quickly, the scowl still on your lips. "I'm getting a torch from a garage, not smuggling drugs. Besides, what are you gonna do? Point your gun at my parents?" 

You could hear Pope snickering. You glanced at him and he was the only one out of everyone that had a smile one his face. This was so out of character for JJ, everyone except Pope seemed surprised.

JJ frowned at you, clearly offended you brought the gun thing up. "Whatever. Just go."

You gave him a fake smile. "Yeah, thanks." Sarcasm was coursing through every word you spoke.

Finally, you walked away, pushing the thought of JJ's behaviour from your mind. The closer you got to your house, the more you wracked your brain with a sufficient lie to tell your parents. You couldn't think of anything. You hope that in the moment, your brain would think of something.

When you entered your backyard, your mom was the first to see you enter. She immediately stopped bossing your father around and instead smiled at you. 

"Hey honey. I thought you were at the beach?"

You smiled at her, your nerves making you feel nauseous. "Yeah, I had to grab something."

Your dad looked up at you as you approached him. You stopped to save at him and he waved back. "What is it?"

You had to come up with something and now. Finally, your mind clicked. "They're doing a sandcastle contest on the beach today and I don't have a small shovel to use. Thought I'd go to the garage and get one."

You braced yourself for all of the questions and interrogation but you didn't get that. Your parents just smiled at you and nodded, clearly not being able to care less. You then quickly made your way to the garage past your dad before they had the chance to process your lie anymore. You feared if they thought too much about it, they would ask questions you couldn't answer. 

When you entered the garage, you finally realized how much time had passed since anyone had used anything inside. There was dust covering just about every tool inside this room, making your chest feel heavy. You wasted no time, ignoring the heavy feeling in your chest because of all the dust. You remembered JJ's allergy to dust and smiled at the thought of him having to clean the lawn mower before using it. 

You frowned. Again, you were thinking of him. You had to stop. He was most definitely not doing this. Why did your brain want to relate everything you were doing to JJ? You knew the answer but refused to acknowledge it. It wasn't a place nor time to.

As you looked through the third shelf, you finally found the torch. It was dusty and dirty but with one flick of the switch, you could tell it still worked. It was pretty huge but you opened your backpack and were glad to realize it fit in there perfectly. You praised whatever type of creator there was looking out for you and discreetly exited the garage, pretending like nothing happened.

You seriously underestimated your parents ability to care. They were again, back to their antics when you exited the garage. They didn't even bother saying goodbye, too busy with the garden. You quietly said bye though, hoping that they at least heard you. It was so hard sometimes. You felt like they could care less. 

Once you approached the wagon, John B. was the first person to see you. JJ was sitting in the car, his back turned to you as he spoke to Pope. You could tell he was purposely ignoring you. You admitted that it hurt but you were doing the same to him so you couldn't exactly be mad. Besides, he deserved it.

"You got it?" John B. asked, watching as you unzipped your bag and showed him the torch. 

You smiled. "Yep."

Everyone cheered, except JJ. He just stared at you, softly smiling as you handed the torch to Kiara. You closed the door behind you and sat down next to Kiara and she flipped the switch on and held it underneath the pot. Everyone surrounded you guys and watched the gold melted this time, way faster than before. When you all noticed it was working, you cheered. This time JJ joined in and hugged Pope.

"We're gonna be rich!" He yelled with joy as he hugged John B. 

You tried to smile but you couldn't help it. You wanted to go to him and embrace him. You were missing him so much and he was only two feet away. You knew you couldn't though. You were supposed to be mad at him. He was embarrassed to be with you. You should be offended. And you were. But that didn't mean everything you felt for him was forgotten. You didn't think it ever would be.

"What do we do now?" You asked, smiling at Sarah who reached for your hand. 

Kiara leaned on your shoulder, wrapping her arm around your body. She glanced at Sarah and smiled. You knew that had made up. Finally, you guys could all be friends again. 

Then, Kiara spoke. "We have to sell it."

~

The cash for gold shop hadn't exactly been your first choice when Kiara said you would have to sell it. You didn't know much about selling gold (actually you knew nothing) but selling it at a sketchy cash for gold shop was definitely not the best idea. But it was the only one you guys had. Besides, in the worst case scenario, they wouldn't buy the gold from you. Then, you'd just have to be more creative. Seemed simple enough.

"Great work by the way Kie," JJ sarcastically said as you all exited John B.'s wagon. "I could've done better."

You scoffed and were about to tell him off but Kiara did it first. "Really? How?"

"I took a woodshop class." JJ said proudly, glancing at you. You showed no emotion.

Kiara scoffed, an annoyed look on his face. "Oh really? When? When?"

Before JJ could respond, John B. told them to shut up and handed JJ the gold. It was now melted into a ridged circle and although it wasn't the ideal shape, it was the best Kiara could do.

"Why do I get chosen for this?" JJ asked, playing with the gold in his hands.

You were quick to reply. "Because you're the best at lying."

Everyone looked at you, surprised. JJ was surprised the most, widening his eyes at you before looking away and storming off to the entrance of the cash for gold shop. You all followed behind him but you were the last to enter. You had never been in a place like this and wasn't exactly sure how to act. Kiara helped you though. He grabbed a hold of your arm and dragged you away from the register where JJ was and instead pulled you to a section where gold jewelry was being sold. You could hear JJ speak to the lady at the register but you pretended you didn't and even looked away from them.

As you browsed the jewelry section with Kiara, you looked to Sarah, who was flipping through some clothing with John B. She was smiling and snickering at something he was saying and you couldn't help but smile. No boy ever made Sarah act like that and you were beyond happy for her. At least John B. wasn't afraid to be with her.

Kiara spoke as she shifted through the jewelry, focusing your attention back on her. "What's up with JJ?"

You pretended to act dumb. "I don't know."

Kiara glanced at JJ, then looked back to you. "He's not been himself since the Midsummer party. You were there, right?"

You nonchalantly nodded at her, praying to god you didn't seem suspicious. "Uh, yeah. But I never really spoke to him."

"Really?" Kiara said, surprised. "I saw you dance with him."

You panicked. You did not want to tell Kiara something that obviously meant nothing to JJ. He didn't want to tell everyone for a reason. "Yeah, but it was like for two seconds."

Kiara nodded, clearly smirking at you. "Ah, okay. I just thought that maybe you two had a thing going on."

You looked at Kiara, eyes wide. "What? Why?"

Kiara shrugged, looking at you now. "I don't know. JJ rarely treads lightly around girls and that's exactly what he's doing. Just thought that maybe you had a thing and he messed it up."

You frowned, almost embarrassed about how transparent you both have been about the situation. "Why do you think he would mess it up?"

Kiara shrugged. "Sometimes JJ is an idiot."

You nod, looking down at the jewelry for a second before looking back at Kiara who's smirking at you. She knows the truth and you know there's no more hiding it. "He is."

Kiara chuckled. "So you guys are a thing?"

You shrugged. "I have no idea. One second he wants me and the next second I feel like he's embarrassed to be seen with me."

Kiara nods as you speak, smiling sweetly at you. Then, when you're done, she offers you some advice. "I don't wanna take any sides but have you ever thought of it the other way around?"

You furrow your brow, confused. "What do you mean?" 

You glance at JJ, who is now shaking hands with the lady at the register and making his way to John B. You watch them high five before they start walking to the door. JJ passes you as you and Kiara continue to stand there, waiting for them to exit first. JJ glances at you and gives you a half hearted smile. Your heart picks up pace and you feel the butterflies in your stomach. You can't help but give him the same smile back.

When you look back to Kiara, she's smiling. She obviously just saw that moment between you two. "Maybe, he's embarrassed that you have to be seen with him."

And, for the first time today, you realize you've made a huge mistake.

~

You thought that this was a terrible idea. The lady at the register told JJ she didn't have enough money in cash to give to him right now but if they drove to an isolated area in OBX, then they could collect the money from her safe. You had voiced how stupid this was, and Sarah and Kiara were willing to agree but JJ insisted that there was nothing to worry about.

For the first fifteen minutes, JJ seemed to be right. Other than deserted farms and fields, there seemed to be no life on this side of town. And with no life, there meant no danger. So, you tried to have faith in JJ as you both drove closer to where the lady said the destination was. 

But, before you guys could make it, you heard police sirens. A car with lights was signalling for you to pull over. You cursed aloud.

"What the fuck?" JJ cursed, looking behind you and clutching the knapsack where the gold was.

"JJ," Kiara said, her eyes widening. "You didn't bring the gun right?"

JJ said nothing as Pope and him hid the bag underneath JJ's seat. He was ignoring you as he argued with Pipe on how to hide the gold. John B. was pulling over slowly and also yelling at JJ to hide the gold. 

When he didn't answer you, you spoke up. "JJ! Did you bring the fucking gun?"

JJ's head flew up and looked at you. When he finally hid the knapsack properly, he spoke to you. "No! Of course not. Everyone told me not to bring it."

You sighed, relieved. If you got in trouble with the cops because JJ brought a gun along, you knew your parents would kill you. 

As the figure approached the car, you all looked down and stayed silent. John B. had his window rolled down and was about to speak but before he could, you heard him gasp.

You all instantly looked up. A man with a mask covering half his face pointed a gun at John B. The barrel was right in John B.'s face and you could hear Sarah let out a sob. 

"Get out of the car!" The man ordered, moving your side of the car and sliding the door opened. 

When he locked eyes with you, he pointed the gun at you. You instantly raised your hands in the air. Before he could yell any orders, JJ stepped in front of you, blocking you from the gun. The man got upset and dragged JJ to the ground before pointing the gun back at you.

"JJ!" You screamed, wanting to reach out for him but you knew you couldn't.

"Go lie face down over there!" The man yelled, pointing the gun at Kiara now. 

JJ slowly got up and walked to the ground where the man pointed and laid flat against his stomach. Then, you followed after JJ, doing the same. As you lay beside him, he reached for your hand. You let him grab it but you refused to look at him. Then, Sarah law beside you. Then, Kiara and Pope. Finally, John B. was the last to lay down. When you were all on the ground, the man started to ransack John B.'s wagon. You knew what he was looking for. That lady had tipped off this guy and thought of a better and free way to get the gold. JJ caught on about the same time as you did because you then heard him smack the ground with his other hand and groan.

"JJ..." You whispered, squeezing his hand. This time you had to look at him and when you did, you could see the angry tears in his eyes.

He shook his head at you. "That lady must've tipped him off."

You nodded, scooting closer to him. You wanted to comfort him and tell him it wasn't his fault but you couldn't speak. Instead, you leaned forward and you brushed your lips against his. When you pulled away, JJ was already leaning back in to kiss you again. Everyone had their heads down so they didn't notice this moment but you felt instantly calmer. You looked at him and gave him a soft smile. He nodded and then looked away from you and to the man again.

You decided to look as well and when you saw what he had in his hand, your stomach dropped. He found the gold. He then put it in his big cargo pocket and pointed the gun at each of them.

"Don't any of you move until I'm gone."

As you looked at everyone on the ground, you saw a discrepancy. John B. was no longer there with all of you, laying on his stomach. You were incredibly confused. Where the hell was he? You looked back to JJ and he had the same confused look at his face.

The man made his way back to the car and sat down in the driver's seat. Before he could turn the car back on, John B. came up from the back seat and started choking and punching the guy. You gasped and wanted to look to JJ but he was already up and helping John B. over power the guy with a gun. 

"JJ!" You screamed, scared that he was gonna get himself hurt. You knew he needed help though and you were more than willing to help.

Kiara was the second person to get up from the floor. She joined in on the fighting and soon you all followed after her, kicking and punching the guy who had a gun to each of your heads only moments ago. 

Finally, when you all decided he had enough, you back away. JJ did the honours of removing his mask so that you could see his face. You didn't recognize him but he looked familiar. Apparently JJ did recognize him though.

"He's a drug dealer." 

Then it clicked. He was Rafe's drug dealer. "He sold Rafe drugs." You said aloud. 

The guy looked to you, clutching his side in pain but still smiling. "Your Rafe's girl? He told me about you and how bitchy you are."

Before you could defend yourself, JJ was already doing so by punching the guy once again. You gasped loudly and so did everyone else. Everyone looked to you, almost as if asking why the hell JJ was acting so weird but you couldn't give them a good explanation. It was getting harder and harder to deny your relationship with JJ, especially if he was acting this defensive whenever someone disrespected you.

"Shut up!" JJ yelled at the guy, storming away from him. You knew he was trying his best to control himself.

"JJ," you softly said, following him. He was walking farther and farther away from everyone and it was hard to keep up. When he finally leaned against John B.'s wagon, you spoke again. "It's okay."

JJ put his head in his hands and sighed. You pulled his hands away from his face and made him look at you. When he did, you saw the tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

You knew he didn't mean for what he just did. He was angry at the drug dealer but more angry at himself. Everything was building up for JJ and you knew this was his breaking point.

You shook your head. "It's fine."

This time JJ shook his head. "No, it's not. I keep messing up."

You softly smiled at him, cupping his head on your hands. "No, you're not."

JJ pushed you away. "No, I am. Y/N, I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you. Shit, I'd be singing it from every fuckin' rooftop in OBX if I could."

You chuckled, coming closer again. "Then why don't you?"

JJ frowned. "Did you not just see the danger I've already put you in. I'm a fuckin' trainwreck."

You were gonna cry. You hated seeing JJ put himself down like this. If only he saw himself the way you saw him. "No you're not. Anything that's happened to me today is because I wanted to help. It's not your fault."

You reached out for JJ but he pushed you away again. "I'm a Pogue and you're a Kook. I'm just gonna put you in unnecessary danger."

You rolled your eyes. "Can't we just drop those titles? It's not important to me."

JJ shook his head. "Of course it's not. You're a Kook. You don't know what it's like."

Although that stung, you knew it was true. It was easier for you to stay that those differences didn't matter. You were privileged as a Kook. A privilege JJ never had. You had never walked a day in his shoes and experienced his pain. And until you did, you would never understand it.

"So, you're trying to protect me?" You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

JJ nodded, looking down at his shoes. "Of course."

You rolled your eyes and smiled. Without a second's hesitation, you leaned forward and hugged him. JJ was taken aback for a second. He was sure that you were going to slap him or hurt him for what he said to you but instead, you were happy? He couldn't understand. 

"JJ," you said softly, letting go of JJ for a moment only to keep your arms wrapped around his neck. "I need you. You make me happy. Whatever I don't understand, I can learn. I want to make it work. I'd never be ashamed of you."

JJ tried not to smile as wide but he couldn't help it. His arms came to wrap around your bare stomach, only now realizing that you were only wearing a bikini top. 

"Okay." He said, leaning forward to kiss you softly. You instantly leaned forward to kiss him back.

No matter how many kisses, no matter how many butterflies, kissing JJ always felt like the first time. You had officially decided there was no better feeling in the world than to kiss JJ Maybank.

Once you broke apart, you wanted to speak again and tell him everything you felt for him, even if you only knew him for less than a week. You felt something so strongly for him already but you were scared to admit it. You were scared he didn't feel the same. You had barely known each other. Luckily, you didn't get a chance to say anything because before you can speak, John B. is calling out the both of you.

"Hey love birds! Wanna help?"

You could hear everyone snickering at you and JJ as you awkwardly realized what you had just done in front of your friends. You both distanced yourselves from each other and smiled. 

JJ flipped off John B. and looked at you. "I hope you're ready for the Pogue experience."

You smiled wider and nodded. For the millionth time this week, you looked at JJ and couldn't believe someone like JJ Maybank could make you feel like this.

And you knew, it was just the beginning.

~

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[nxrthmizu]

Hey please can i request daichi with an insecure s/o? Just a cute drabble or anything you want just need some soft Daichi in my life🥺

| Reasons to Love You | Sawamura Daichi 

»»——⍟——««

prompt | Reasons to love you’ (You didn’t chose a prompt so I just picked one)

pairing | Sawamura Daichi x Reader

words | 1.7k

author’s note | Thank you for the requests baby! Hope you enjoy :) And everyone needs soft Daichi in their lives uwuuu

»»——⍟——««

You stared at the floor-length mirror in your bedroom, poking at the rolls of fat around your stomach. It was just so unfair. You tried to love yourself as much as possible, but the world just had to constantly taunt you and bring you down when you were starting to feel better about yourself. 

It was just so unfair. 

You had put hours of work into your job, working overtime till you were on the brink of collapsing of exhaustion. And yet, your hard work was all pushed aside due to your rounder figure. Instead of you, another woman who had curves in the right places had been chosen to represent the company. Someone who was more ideal for society’s mold of ‘beautiful’. 

Of course, you couldn’t deny that she had worked hard, too, but you had seen the report she had handed up and you knew without a doubt you had poured more effort into yours. 

Every part of you knew that the world was unfair, and that was just how things worked on this planet. That didn’t mean you felt any less frustrated, felt any less upset from the let-down. You had worked so hard, dammit! And in the very end, your hard work was disregarded because of your appearance. 

They were lying when they said: ‘It’s what’s inside that matters.’. No matter how kind your smile is, no matter how hard you work, no matter how much you care, first appearance will always triumph over everything else. It didn’t matter if you looked neat, professional, and hard-working- So long as you weren’t society’s ideal image of ‘beautiful’, you were disqualified instantly. 

“Y/N?” You heard Daichi’s voice as the front door clicked open and shut. Hastily, you tugged down your shirt and stepped away from the mirror, trying to busy yourself with other things. “Hey.” He stepped into your bedroom, a soft smile on his face. “How did it go?” 

You tried not to show how upset you were. “I wasn’t chosen,” You told him truthfully. “[The other person] was chosen. She worked really hard too, she deserves it.” 

Both of you could hear your voice catch in your throat, and you knew that Daichi could sense how upset you were, really.

“Well,” He started, trying to figure out what to say as he clasped your hands in between his, leading you onto your bed. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” He said gently, his eyes meeting yours, showing you that no matter what, he wouldn’t judge, and that he would listen. 

The room fell into silence, the background hum of the ceiling fan sounding deafening. “No.” You lied quietly. 

“... Okay.” Daichi said at last, knowing full well that you were lying. “You know what, I have something really important to tell you.” He tugged you along with him, both of you settling down on the middle of the bed, you tucked in between his arms, right in the middle of his warmth. 

You waited patiently for him to speak, and after a minute or two of silence, he spoke up. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now,” He begin, his voice sounding like the gentle patter of rain. “I wanted to list out all the reasons that I love you, so let me talk, okay?” 

You nodded, burrowing yourself deeper into his embrace. 

“1,” He pressed a soft kiss onto your forehead. “You’re always so kind to everyone, no matter what. Like the time you ran out into the rain because you heard a cat outside. And then you climbed up a tree to get the cat down and you were fully soaked by the time you got back inside.” 

You laughed, remembering how much he had scolded you for running out recklessly like that. Barely two minutes in his embrace and you were starting to feel slightly better. 

“2. You’re always so considerate.” He continued to talk, his fingers finding a place in your hair and brushing through them affectionately. “Whenever I have a bad day at work, you give me extra cuddles and kisses until I feel better, and that’s the best feeling in the world.” 

“3.” You were about the mention that he was cuddling you just as you did when he felt upset, but he quickly cut you off with a peck on your lips. “You always sing in the shower when you think I can’t hear you and you have the prettiest voice ever.” He grinned when you squeaked in surprise, not having realised that your bathroom was not sound-proof. “I have a few recordings of you singing on my phone and when I have a bad day at work, I always play them on my phone.” 

“Daichi!” You whined. “You never told me you could hear me.” 

He chuckled and raised his hands in defence. “In my defence, if I told you, you’d stop singing and I won’t be able to hear your beautiful voice anymore.” 

You pouted childishly, whacking his arm playfully. 

“Okay let me continue.” He cleared his throat. “4, I adore how you look at me in the morning, when your hair is messy in a sexy way and your eyes are still sleepy. I adore how you look at me before you go to sleep, when the lights are off and I can just faintly see how your eyes sparkle in the dark.” His voice softened. “I love how you look at me like I’m the only person in the world.” 

At this point, you were speechless, but he kept going. 

“5, I love how you laugh. I love when you burst into full laughter and bend over because you laughed too hard and your stomach hurts.” He smiled, putting over a finger over lips as you started to say something. “For some reason, you always think that laugh is ugly, but I can assure you, it’s the cutest thing ever.” Daichi’s voice lowered. “Plus, I know that when you laugh like that, its’ genuine.” 

For the next thirty minutes, your boyfriend continued to list the reasons as to why he loved you. 

6. I love how you always fuss over me when I get injured, even when it’s the tiniest wound ever. 

7. I love how when I’m with you, time goes by so fast, and when I’m without you, time drags on so slowly. 

8. I love how you smile at the littlest things, like a dandelion growing in between the cracks on a sidewalk (It’s not just a weed, you said, it grants wishes). 

9. I love how you can be so childish and let loose when most other adults would be afraid to be childish. 

10. I love how you always work hard despite everything else. 

11. I love how you love the team and my family even though they’re crazy. And they love you so, so much. Just like I do. 

12. I love how you insist on feeding me porridge when I’m sick. And how you always insist that I’m not allowed to get up from the bed when I literally only have a cold. 

13. I love how you snuggle into my side when we’re sharing an umbrella and it’s raining. 

14. I love how you leave sticky-notes with sweet messages on my lunchbox. 

15. I love how you always manage to plan things for us to do despite how busy the both of us are. I’ll always have time for you. 

16. I love how you’re always so patient with me, even when I forget about our date and didn’t text you because I was busy at work. You deserve so much more. 

17. I love how you’re always willing to be the bigger person, saying sorry even when it isn’t your fault. 

18. I love how you never get angry at me no matter how many times I forget to do the laundry. 

19. I love how you always swap out the wet towels for dry ones when I’m bathing after you. 

20. I love how you leave food in the microwave for me to eat when I get home late from work. 

21. I love how you just somehow know that I don’t want to talk and just want to be with you. Everything will be fine when you let me lie in your lap and cuddle. 

22. I love how you stroke my hair at night when you think I’m asleep. 

23. I love how you always whisper ‘I love you’ when you think I’m asleep. Some nights, I lie down and pretend to be asleep just to hear you tell me you love me. 

24. I love that you give me space and let me go out to have fun with my friends. And whenever I get home, you never complain about having been lonely (Although you probably were), and instead you ask me if I had fun with a smile; you tell me that you’ve already made dinner; you’re just waiting for me to bath. 

25. I love that you always make an effort to be nice to my friends and family, because you know how much they mean to me even though they can be troublesome sometimes. 

26. I love how you always sit down to talk to my parents when we visit them. I love how they love you. I love how you love them. 

27. I love how you always press yourself closer to me when it’s raining or snowing outside because you’re cold. 

28. I love how you always pull the blanket over the both of us and make sure that it covers my legs because you know my feet get cold. 

29. I love how you always remember to fix the socks that I tell you have holes in them even though they probably stink even after going through the washer twice. 

30. I love how you put up with all my bad habits and that you’re always patient with me and tell me for the thousandth time to throw my dirty clothes in the hamper and not on the bed. 

“There are so many more reasons I love you.” He whispered, slightly breathless after his thirtieth reason. “Remember that, okay?” 

You smiled, your stomach rolls forgotten. “Thank you. I needed that.” You replied softly, reaching up to press a kiss on his jawline. “I love you too, Daichi.” 

Everything was going to be okay, because no matter how unfair the world was, out of all the girls in the world, Daichi had chose you, and that meant more than anything else to you. 

»»——⍟——««

JSJSKJSK I SPENT AN HOUR COMING UP WITH THE 30 REASONS. I LEGIT GOOGLED ‘REASONS TO LOVE SOMEONE’. 

For everyone out there (Including men, trans people, and basically everyone) who thinks they’re rounder than the general population, or for anyone out there who’s (like me) basically parallel lines with no curves at all, you are beautiful, amazing, and perfect. I also want everyone out there to know that despite me being a literal ‘bamboo’ (As I have zero curves whatsoever), I have stomach rolls too. Athletes and fit people have stomach rolls too. And that’s okay, because it means you’re eating well and you’re taking care of your body :) 

Despite everything we do to our body, our body loves us. Anyone studying biology will tell you that our body does a million things to keep us living and breathing with each passing second. Your body loves you, so love your body. 

- Cady 

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[freebooter4ever]

i’ve seen the discussion going back and forth on boundaries and sexual objectification, and i don’t have much to add to the conversation other than to say everyone is allowed to determine their OWN ‘lines’ and just because we don’t vocalize them doesn’t make them any less valid. but here’s the limits i set for my blog if anyone feels it is important for them to know (<3):

personally I consider ‘characters’ fair game for anything goes, with ‘public personas’ a little more iffy. ‘RPF’ isn’t new - it just takes on a new more accessible/visible form nowadays. i remember reading my first fic about a ‘real person’ back in my LOTR fandom days - it was a story in first person perspective about the main character meeting orlando bloom on a plane before he was ‘famous’. like a lot of these types of stories, it wasnt so much about the person as it was about the meet cute. the actor was just a convenient placeholder with a handsome face and some personality quirks thrown in to make the romance/dialogue more specific. i personally dont read much xReader fic nowadays, but mostly only cause i’m an old fart who can’t relate to the ‘you’ format. i miss the good old days when people actually created OC’s and then inserted them into things LOL. but also LOL if you think i’ve gone an entire year of quarantine without some imagined personal fantasies of joe mazzello (or steve aoki in the years before)(ramilicious can attest to this. she can also attest to most of these fantasies ending in friendship rather than anything explicit cause that’s just how i roll these days lol). the line i draw is i would never post these types of fics in a place where the subject could accidentally find them - you have to go looking for this stuff on tumblr, most fics are given explicit ratings and under read-mores. with the blacklist tags it’s pretty easy to filter things out. its even easier to add filters to ao3 searches. i am NOT going to do something like message steve aoki and say ‘yeah i watched that movie Ibiza like five times, here is my 1k fic where you’re the dj and i’m the one night stand’. but obviously people still enjoy imagining scenarios like these otherwise movies like Ibiza wouldn’t exist?

for art, i consider anything already on display up for grabs, we all know a certain person’s ass is all over the place...all you have to do is google ‘need for speed’ and rami’s name. HOWEVER, in the case of actors i personally would not draw anything more explicit than what’s already there. i’m not gonna draw full frontal nudity for rami (unless he gifts us with it in a movie, i suppose) or anyone. this is 100% a personal choice for me. 

i was a sophomore or junior in college when i volunteered as a figure drawing monitor where i’d time the nude model’s poses and help them set up the stage and lighting and such. there was this one guy in his mid forties probably, a regular who came every week, and i always thought of him fondly till one day (the day after i ran into my Hot Programming TA during dinner and later sent him an email begging him to go on a date with me because i was desperate for kissing experience)(and Hot Programming TA emailed me back within minutes saying yes) this artist guy who i saw all the time and thought i knew fairly well, decided to draw me instead of the model. which would have been fine except he drew me naked. i was NOT naked at the time, i was wearing a shirt, and a bra, and a full prairie skirt with alternating calico and floral patterns. he drew what he imagined was underneath all that. he came up to me after the figure drawing session and showed me his drawings and told me i had been ‘glowing’ and my response was to laugh it off awkwardly and get the hell out of there as soon as i gave the model their pay check. but inwardly i was thinking a) i was NOT glowing for this creepy man twice my age and b) i did NOT give him consent to sexualize my body under my clothes and then SHOW me that objectification. i never said anything to him or anything else, i continued to be the monitor, and i continued to field off creepy advances from him including multiple job offers, but when i finally realized i could just...stop..and i passed the student volunteer monitor job on to my friend naeem, i also realized that what that older male artist did was NOT ok in my book. and it was probably not something he would do while naeem was monitoring.

nowadays im working in an industry that regularly objectifies female bodies. in the past year alone i have had to deal with requests to make breasts bigger, i have been given character rigs that in addition to the usual elbow, knee, and spine joints also have ‘nipple’ joints but ONLY for the women (to make them jiggle for animation), every time i send out a female pose i get it back with notes that push it further into the sexy type of body language reserved for women (twist the spine more! sway the back more! give it ‘energy!’), i have been told to erase wrinkles and fat and pores but ONLY for the women (men you ADD pores bc realism! and manliness!) and this is all me working for a company that is actually fairly progressive in terms of sexism compared to OTHER studios.

like it or not, sexual objectification is a huge part of specifically women’s lives and how we react to that is our business. for me, turning the tables and putting men on display feels like fair’s fair. i cant stop the men from doing it, so if i want to enjoy sexualizing male bodies, damn it im gonna! like dang it, boy do i want to send steve aoki a thank you note every time he posts a video of himself doing those ice baths during the sunset golden hour bc holy shit gorgeous or working out in his gym wearing VERY little clothes, but i dont because i know what its like when someone imposes their personal fantasies on the subject. or, god, there was that time i had to unfollow nicole’s insta for a while bc i had a very explicit dream about her and realized, shit, i need to take a break and get my emotions under control before i can refollow. and god some of the stuff i see dudes sending her during her live videos on mental illness/meditation is TOTALLY gross and not something they should be confronting her with. and she’s not even ‘famous’ famous. or how some fans send their idols explicit direct messages without consent. THAT feels inappropriate to me.

a part of me feels like i shouldn’t have to defend this. men don’t. they’re even encouraged in mass media to sexualize women. but i also recognize the importance of talking about consent. the importance of recognizing that a celebrity deserves to have their boundaries respected. these are my lines in fandom. other people have different lines they won’t cross, and that’s okay to me. i block or blacklist any blogs or tags i think go over the top.

heck, even in fandom-only spaces i still try to keep my own more sexual fantasies off this blog and only in private messages with my friends and mutuals, and i feel like that might come across as unintentionally prudish or judgmental sometimes. i’m not ‘horny on main’ very often. but like...every time i reblog that particular ‘washing machine’ gif of joe mazzello am i thinking about him naked and thinking about how he’s got very loooooong feet, and ‘gee i wonder if that means /other/ things are Too Big for my tastes’ but also ‘gosh wouldnt that make a pretty picture to draw’???? hell yeah.

i dont know who is gonna actually read this essay but yolo i guess :)

[funnuraba]

A Rough Moral Overview of Archie Comics: Teen Propaganda Machine

Part 1: The 1940s

1941: Archie first appears in a small feature near the end of PEP Comics #22. His popularity builds rapidly, with the audience apparently writing in to express immense interest in the short monthly Archie comic.

At first the Archie story isn’t even mentioned on the cover, but Archie himself slowly starts appearing on the cover, always with PEP’s big star at the time, The Shield. The Shield on the cover is at first much larger than Archie, but he shrinks over time, and after Veronica’s introduction, she and Betty start to feature on covers as well. The Shield continues shrinking...

And by issue #49, the magazine is PEP Comics: Starring Archie Andrews! Archie quickly becomes its own imprint, and the only one of PEP’s lineup that survives into the present day. Ads in the magazine advertise an Archie radio show that was spurred by what was a apparently a massive outpouring of interest from PEP’s teenage subscribers. The concept of teenagerhood itself was a new invention dating from 1944. Archie’s reality included things like school, dating, and modern teen problems like trying to maintain a car and deal with wartime rationing.

Also, sending your dog to fight Nazis. (Note: the above are two separate stories; no Nazis ever actually invaded Riverdale. Oscar, Archie’s dog, gave birth on at least two occasions, including during her army tour, and eventually faded from existence.)

At this stage, minstrel-style caricatures of black men appear on occasion in Riverdale (as train attendants and no-account bums who steal clothing out of the trash), and Yellow Peril-style caricatures of Japanese people are a regular fixture in other PEP features like “Captain Commando and the Boy Soldiers”. As a side note, Chinese people are depicted quite differently in Captain Commando. At this point in US history, they were seen as important potential allies in the war against the Japanese. In Captain Commando, they’re drawn like actual humans in comparison to Japanese soldiers. One story shows a Chinese warrior who’s been bamboozled by foolish Buddhist ideals of peace, but finally snaps out of it and gets his followers to join up with US forces in resisting Japanese occupiers. Chinese-Americans were depicted less frequently, but also running in PEP for a time was a rather remarkable depiction (for the time) of a Chinese-American hero: Fu Chang, International Detective. Chinese people would later be collapsed into the Yellow Peril phenomenon in US pop culture and there were some very racist depictions within Archie Comics, but in the 40s there was a different perspective on display for a while.

(Captain Commando and his Boy Soldiers have since lapsed into the public domain; evidently the heroic quality of child soldiers lost its gleam after WWII and reviving the property was never deemed profitable.)

Also in the 40s, many, many stories end with a quite literal punchline in which Archie gets taken out to the woodshed and beaten by his father for causing trouble. This was PEP’s light-hearted humorous fare that apparently spoke quite deeply to a teenage audience of this era. The depiction of corporal punishment is neither “pro” nor “anti”, it’s simply an unavoidable consequence handed down from on high. Archie’s misadventures lead inevitably to physical punishment from an authority figure, no matter how much or how little he’s to blame for things going wrong. Mr. Andrews himself is sometimes a figure of fun during this period, but the 40s and 50s are the time when he most often feels like a self-insert for the writers and artists, who would have been closer to his position in life than Archie’s.

Archie’s position, though, isn’t entirely as the object of abuse. It’s pretty safe to assume that the writers and artists also grew up with corporal punishment and can sympathize with the experience--though they’ve now entered the stage of life where they understand that it was done only for their own good. Archie at the end of these stories is both resentful and rueful; he wishes it hadn’t happened, but there’s no room in the pages of PEP to contemplate a world where it doesn’t have to.

Violence was much more accepted in the 40s, including against the girls themselves--for their own good, in this case, but it’s still jarring to see a man give Betty and Veronica black eyes. Their crime in this case was, of course, being so silly and man-crazy that they nearly drowned him and themselves.

Often the violence was more cartoonish in nature, but it was only in the 40s that you’d see Betty showing up at Veronica’s door with Moe Szyslak’s weapon of choice.

The porter in this panel is one of the kindest portrayals of a black man in this period; the others (and the one depiction of a black woman that I noticed) are frankly unreproducible without heavy content warnings. Also in the 40s, fat and/or ugly women exist only as an object of fun or outright cruelty.

Vague “reducing plans” were advertised in the pages of Archie in the 1940s. This particular method was, as the name suggests, seaweed pills that were also marketed as chewing gum.

You may notice in some stories that the “ugly” and undesirable woman has very nearly the same face as Archie himself; the irony here is very likely unintentional. It’s rarely (seriously) suggested that there’s anything morally wrong with Archie aspiring to a girl much prettier than he is, but an ugly girl expressing interest in any boy is a figure of fun right up into... well, the present day. The Gabby pictured in the panel above her was a semi-recurring character, one of the only plus-size recurring characters ever depicted in Archie. As her name suggests, she was a gossip and one of the undesirable girls, but she was sometimes allowed to be friendly with Veronica or Betty without immediate karmic punishment. She’s also notable because she’s not only one of the only plus-size characters, she’s one of the very few plus-size female or teenage characters. Mr. Andrews, Mr. Weatherbee and Pop Tate all survived the 40s, but Gabby didn’t.

Betty at the inception of “Archie” (the comic) was just Girl. She rather liked Archie and he liked her, and he would try to impress/date her but end up having his monthly funny adventure. But only once Veronica was introduced did she start to gain more dimension, this time as Other Girl. Veronica was rather nice to begin with and it took a short while for them to start getting played off each other as “characters”. There was still little difference. Veronica was always rich and as a result became snooty fairly quickly, but her flaws were the flaws of an object. They existed to create difficulties for Archie, in his struggle to impress her, and Betty was differentiated only by not being snooty.

When Betty and Veronica were allies, it was because Archie had blown it somehow, and they were naturally compelled to be allies by virtue of both being girls. (When they didn’t like each other, it was also because they were both girls, and such was the natural state of being girls.) The panel above--both in the same pose, their identical faces lifted in scorn towards all men--would be echoed in other later stories, whether by chance or by accident.

Their posing in the 40s was frankly pretty ludicrous and transparent in its intentions.

Sexual attraction wasn’t explicitly commented on in the 40s comics in the way we understand “explicit” today, but it’s allowed to exist more openly than in later years. The va-va-voom effect highlighting the breasts would have to become more euphemistic as the decades passed.

In general, there was very little pretense in the 40s.

Artists had no qualms about showing the girls nearly in the nude (I cropped out a panel of Veronica in the bath above), nor about showing adult men leering at them. Even Mr. Weatherbee was occasionally moved by their charms. Generally adult men were “punished” for showing visible attraction, but only in humorous ways. It was more common for the teenage boys to drool over the girls, but the only disapproval shown when grown men did it came from women their own age, playing the role of scold or prudish spinster. There was also the occasional gag in which an adult man was misunderstood as a “masher” or peeper and received undeserved punishment from the supposed target.

There were various write-ups of celebrity activity in the 40s and 50s, and there too the attitudes towards women were pretty much what you’d expect, but even in the late 1940s the realities of life were not entirely veiled from teenage eyes. There was room for what would now be considered adult jokes.

Also in the 40s, Archie cross-dressed, like, a lot, in a way that noticeably vanished once the 50s rolls around. It’s always as a gag, and it’s usually noted that he makes an ugly girl, but in this era it seems to have been an idea that could be poked fun at without threatening the moral fiber of all America by the mere suggestion.

In fact, one semi-famous 1948 story, “The Battle of the Jitterbugs” (reproduced more fully elsewhere) revolves entirely around the girls and the boys competing in a “fair contest’ to see which sex is better at dancing--since boys only lead and girls only follow, it’s impossible to determine who can dance better overall. The obvious solution is for two girls to dance with each other and two boys to dance with each other.

Crucially, the idea is suggested by Reggie, the prankster of the group, framing it as a joke from its inception. Archie, the main character, follows through with it as a means of asserting male superiority. There’s also no possibility that two boys could dance, or two girls could dance, without the conceit of one performing the role of the opposite gender. But in practice, the whole thing does involve a lengthy depiction of two boys dancing together, and indeed, jokingly flirting with each other.

Again, the joke-flirting comes in the form of mocking from Reggie, both en femme and en homme. Archie, the protagonist and everyman, is uncomfortable throughout and finally throws Reggie right out Pop Tate’s door after Reggie goes too far in impugning his masculinity.

At this stage, the usual band of crones step in to punish him for imagined crimes against women, and he finishes the story sitting in bed with a broken leg, making a pronouncement that stands out rather sharply to the modern eye: “Confidentially, Jug! I’m no longer interested in women... or dancing!”

Veronica and Betty are significantly more comfortable with each other. In fact, it’s a rare 1940s story where they don’t quarrel with each other at all! Veronica’s femininity is seemingly unthreatened by the hat and pants, even though Archie Comics would continue issuing dire warnings against women in pants up through the mid-1970s.

It’s hard to imagine they lost after this! The tone of this page is downright celebratory, a rare occasion of early Betty and Veronica working together and coming out the victors of the story, not by one of them winning Archie, but by both of them showing their own skill at something without trying to show the other up. “Battle of the Jitterbugs” is a true rarity in these early years, a depiction of female triumph that doesn’t exactly defy the era’s pop culture as a whole--women were creating their own art even in the 1940s--but it does defy nearly every other Archie story up to the mid-1970s.

[blainesebastian]

it’s finals week and they’re both stressed and sleep deprived but blaine tries to recreate the meal they had when sebastian took him to meet his family in france knowing that’s his comfort meal and hurts himself bc sleep deprived.

uh okay something smALL for you bc i can’t pass up the boys being sleepy bUT i do have ‘sleep intimacy’ on my posting list so i felt like i was double dipping. enjoy anon! 

1,186 words 

Blaine’s always considered himself to be a good student—able to problem solve and organize and dedicate his time wisely so that he never puts himself into an overwhelming situation. But college is definitely a different monster than high school, even with Dalton setting him high above the standard of preparation compared to McKinley. It’s his first finals week and he already feels like he’s drowning.

He’s used to treading water—he’s used to juggling a lot of things at once, whether it’s school, after school activities, Warblers practice, family, or friends. He started dating Sebastian their senior year and it’s been a whirlwind of balancing acts with trying to get the people closest to him to accept this decision and, well, his boyfriend is a handful all by himself.

Regardless, he feels like he can tackle the world when he starts his first year at NYADA but…that all comes crashing down when he begins studying for his exams. Things that have come to him so easy are suddenly very overwhelming—he’s got theater practices and practicums to study, speeches to make, notes to take, hours upon hours of shifting between material, making flashcards and writing assessments that he keeps falling asleep on no matter many cups of coffee he drinks beforehand.

Sebastian’s in a similar boat, NYU hitting him with grueling tests that all start to feel the same even though they’re for different classes. They’re studying everywhere—libraries, cafés, the bedroom and living space of their apartment (nowhere is safe to Blaine’s many notebooks and highlighters or Sebastian’s long laptop cord mixed with manila folders).

Blaine can feel his emotions start to shift rather easily, which is how he gets when he’s frustrated, exhausted, and stressed. Or worse, a combination of all three. He winds himself up with small things, the slightest disturbance disrupting his very well-built house of cards. He misses Sebastian, he misses when his life didn’t feel like complete and utter chaos and he misses getting a normal amount of sleep every night—as in, more than two hours.

What prompts him to try and cook this multi-step French dish, he has no idea. He’s looking for comfort—from his boyfriend and from the enjoyment he gets out of cooking. On a slow night that’s not during hell week, he loves putting something together and eating dinner in bed with Sebastian. Or better yet, finding time to bake and having cookies throughout the week as a sweet treat he can look forward to.

He hasn’t had time to have sex with his boyfriend (not even a handjob in the shower because both of them are so tired), let alone kiss him longer than a peck on the lips for a ‘good morning’. And he knows that physical intimacy isn’t the most important thing in a relationship but both of them thrive off of small touches—their love language clearly defined in soft brushes of fingers and the weight of their bodies lining up.

Maybe when Sebastian comes home they can both take a break—eat dinner and pass out on the couch. If they’re lucky they can wake up and fool around before they get back to work. It’s a fleeting hope but hope, nonetheless.

Blaine chews on his lower lip as he looks at the recipe Sebastian’s detailed out in one of their shared cookbooks, something from his grandmother—a French beef stew. Once he’s got everything cut, it just needs to marinate on the stove. Simple enough; the hard part is getting all the ingredients together. He lets out a long sigh and sets the peeled carrots down on the cutting board, his one hand moving to rub at his eyes a moment.

There’s a soft headache pinching behind his vision, slowly pulsing in his temples. He’ll feel better once he eats—he just needs to get this done.

Apparently, the universe has other ideas.

He’s not sure how it happens but one moment he’s cutting carrots and the next he’s slicing straight along the side of his finger. Blaine yelps and jumps back from the cutting board, the knife cluttering onto the floor as he hears the front door open and close. He holds his hand to his chest like an injured bird, Sebastian quickly walking into the kitchen to assess the noise.

“Hey, what’s—” He takes a look at the vegetables on their counter, the pot on the stove and finally Blaine, who’s trying very hard not to cry as he squeezes his fingers together with his other hand. “What happened?”

“I—” Blaine shakes his head quickly, not able to finish his sentence because a rush of tears threaten to spill over his cheeks.

God fuck, his hand hurts and his chest feels like it’s about to crack open wide to expose nerve endings. There’s this overwhelming sensation making his entire body shake because he doesn’t know whether he wants to cry over cutting his hand, the spoiled dinner, or the fact that he’s so fucking tired.

“Shh,” Sebastian takes a step forward, gently pulling on his arm. His hand moves to clasp the back of Blaine’s neck, drawing him into his chest where he seems to fit so perfectly. “Easy.”

Blaine hiccups pathetically, big fat droplets rolling down his face as his forehead connects with the other’s collarbone. A few shuddering sobs empty out of him, exhaustion sitting heavy on his shoulders like cinderblocks.

“You’re okay,” Sebastian whispers, “There, just let it out.” He runs a firm hand up and down his back, keeping him close for a few moments before slowly pulling back. “What were you doing?” He asks, soft amusement hugging the end of his sentence.

Blaine sniffles before shaking his head, letting Sebastian pull his hand away from his chest to look at his fingers. “I was trying to make you Daube.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, long fingers splaying his apart to take a peek at the cut. It’s not very deep but it’s angry looking—jagged, red skin and blood dripping from it. His boyfriend quickly reaches for a paper towel and wraps his finger in it, letting his thumb brush back and forth with pressured movements.

“Were you trying to lose a few fingers in the process, or what?”

Blaine laughs wetly, letting out a long sigh before he allows his eyes to close. Sebastian presses a kiss to his temple, “I may have underestimated how tired I am.” He says softly.

Sebastian hums a little and moves them to the sink, taking care of Blaine’s finger before running a hand through his hair. “I say…we let the Daube cook and order take-out. We’ll have lunches for the week and something easy for tonight.”

“That’s…so smart.” Blaine smiles a little, already pulling out their stash of take-out menus from a drawer.

“I mean, that is one of the benefits of dating me.” He winks, picking up a pizza place one to take a closer look at.

Blaine leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek, leaning into his side and breathing him in. “Definitely one out of many.”