#the only thing stopping him from wearing something like that in canon is the colors. he would totally wear it if it was all black

[maulfucker]

fighting artblock by putting him in this one bulma outfit that lives rent free in my mind. for no reason

[behidethetrees]

Rafe Cameron as your Boyfriend hcs ꩜

Pairing : Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Contents : Semi-canon Rafe??, Kook or pogue reader, Sunshine x Grumpy lover trope.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

- He sat next to you in math class and always asked you for help, That was the first thing he liked about you. You were smart. Rafe was used to dating dumb bimbos who never disobeyed Rafe and clung to him like he would disappear. 

- But you were different from anyone Rafes been with. You were strong, Independent and you never let anybody push you around or intimidate you. 

-Rafe wasted no time in asking you to be his girlfriend (He doesn't believe in talking Stages).  Plus Rafe already knew the basics about you from asking around. 

-Rafe is definitely a stalker. He goes full detective mood when it comes to you. 

-You’re the reason Rafe stopped doing Drugs. When one of your friends told him you hated drug users, He got rid of his habits and paid off his debt to Barry, Even giving him a bit extra to make him stay quiet about Rafe's old days. You never found out what kind of person Rafe used to be and he made sure it stayed that way. 

-People dont understand how you and Rafe got together. You two are the couple with opposite aesthetics. Rafe wears a lot of dark clothing, Messy or shaved hair, and dark eyebags while you love to wear your colorful bikini tops Rafe brought you with shorts, Your hair in different styles, and glittery makeup. You were kind and adventurous while Rafe hated everyone except for you. But that’s what made you guys, You. 

-Rafe is very protective. Sometimes it gets very overbearing but Rafe can't help but follow you around everywhere, looming over you, looking out for others who might be staring at you for too long. 

-Even though you two are deathly loyal to each other, He is a very big overthinker and tends to convince himself of the worst scenario. Like if you dont text him back within a few hours, he starts to spam-text you and even sometimes driving to your house. This man needs constant reassurance. 

- His love languages are words of affirmation and acts of service. He always has something sweet to say and spoils you to no end because you’re his baby! He also loves giving you his stuff. You want his hoodie? You got it. You like his shirt? It's yours now.

- Rafe usually goes along with what you say and he tries not to argue with you but sometimes it's bound to happen. You both have very short tempers and get irritated very easily, But Rafe never yelled at you or hit you (If he ever did, you could definitely deck his ass). You two always end up forgiving each other and maybe do something more…

-Rafe is the type of boyfriend who doesn't even have more than two contacts on his phone. One of them is his dad and the other one is you. Rafe has over 1,000 followers on social media most likely but he only follows you and Only posts about you on his feed. You’ve got him whipped. 

-Rafe really does love you and even if he can be a complete bonehead at times, He would do anything for you. 

requests

[bookmaker-untaken]

your husband stays getting on your last nerve

Hayato Suo x Reader // Wind Breaker x My Happy Marriage AU

Summary: The first tranquil image of this man was highly misleading. Suo Hayato's calm facade hides a cheeky devil that loves to tease, and unfortunately - you are the perfect (blushing) target.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Making Out, OOC!Suo, Probably (Look, I Tried), Non-Graphic Torture, Implied/Reference Abuse

Word Count: 4,106

i.

The man before you is the most beautiful you've ever seen.

He's leaning his cheek on his fist, a scroll rolled out over his lap. Cherry blossoms fly around the courtyard in a colorful tornado, some crossing the threshold and dotting the bright wood.

The wind rises to ruffle his brown hair.

"Hello," He croons. "Might you be my new wife?"

Your mouth feels dry. Everything - your fist, your jaw - is clenched tightly. "I- uh, yes."

His smile is polite, close - lipped, and his one eye is closed as well.

You can't read his face and it disquiets you.

"Lovely to meet you," He says. "I am Suo Hayato."

ii.

The first tranquil image of this man was highly misleading.

Suo Hayato's calm facade hides a cheeky devil that loves to tease, and unfortunately - you are the perfect (blushing) target.

You try to avoid them as much as you can, but it's not always enough.

Suo stares at you across the breakfast table. He's always watching, observing.

It freaks you out, warms your cheeks. "What."

He leans his chin on his palm. "You're cute."

"Huh!" You almost choke. How can he say such a thing so nonchalantly!?

The smile never leaves his face. "I just think your cute. I'm happy to have such a cute little wife,"

You are not little, or cute, but what comes out instead is, "I'm not your wife."

"Yet," He hums. "But you will be. And I, for one, am looking forward to it."

You cough. "Sure."

At least the maid, Yurie, does not share her young master's penchant for teasing. You were worried at first, not that you'd tell anybody, that she would dislike you as the maids at your house had.

To be wrong was a startling relief.

iii.

You have a few dreamless nights before the nightmares return.

In your dreams there are no monsters - only your mother and her mother, pelting you with subtle insults and ignoring your pleas.

You awaken in the middle of the night, eyes wet.

Unable to sleep, you start to make your way to the kitchen.

Across the courtyard, in an open door, sits Suo beside a kettle of tea.

His eye is closed and he seems tranquil, enjoying the cool night breeze on his face.

You retreat.

You will not allow him to see such weakness.

iv.

"I was asked to attend a banquet by my superior," Suo says. “I'd like you to come."

"Alright," You say, despite the very idea making your sick. Your mind flickers with candlelit dinners and thinly veiled insults.

“We should go shopping," Suo continues. "Your kimonos are from last season, aren't they?"

"I ... suppose," You shift awkwardly and hope he doesn't notice. Shopping, too, is an incredibly sore spot for you.

"Wonderful! It's a date!"

"D-date!" You jerk to attention. "It's not a date!"

"Why not?" Suo says, pout in his voice. "The two of us are going to do something fun together, aren't we?"

"It's just shopping! That's more like - a mission! Yes, a mission."

Suo seems to think for a second. "No, I like date better."

You scoff in disbelief.

v.

The town is bustling, full of throngs of people moving to and fro like a rushing lake, some harking their wears, some enjoying the nice weather.

You stay close to Suo, careful not to get lost.

So close, you walk into his back when he stops.

"Hayato!" The person at the counter cheers. "And who is this?"

"My wife," Suo says easily.

"H-his fiancée!" You stutter.

"Same thing," He says. "This is Tsubaki. Their family has made kimonos for the Suos for generations, though I do prefer Tsubaki's unique patterns and eye for design."

Something about being preemptively called a Suo makes you cheeks warm despite yourself.

"What a flatter, am I right?" Tsubaki grins at you. "At your service!"

You give a polite nod. "Nice to meet you."

Fabric brushes against your shoulder and you turn to a kimono - a very expensive kimono, more expensive than anything you've owned - being held up beside you. "Hmm. No."

"Do you have any sort of patterns or colors you like?" Tsubaki asks. You realize too late that the question is directed to you.

You take your eyes from Suo to stare at them blankly. "Um?" Normally, your used to being told exactly what to wear, dressed up like a little doll at the mercy of others. "Surprise me?"

"Sure!" Tsubaki disappears further into the store.

Suo stands beside you, far too close. "Your in good hands. Tsubaki has excellent taste," You can feel the heat of his breath and lean away slightly on instinct. “I'm sure they'll find something amazing.”

"Okay," You say, trying to keep any hint of nervousness out of your voice.

“Though," He says, near the tips of your warming ears. "I'm sure you'll look wonderful either way."

You arch away from him. "Sure!"

Your thankful when Tsubaki comes around the corner. "What about this one? Would you like to try it on?"

You glance to Suo. "You can do whatever you wish," He says. "We'll probably end up buying a few, anyway."

You follow Tsubaki to the fitting room.

"Would you mind ... waiting outside, please?"

Tsubaki looks slightly confused. "Are you sure? It might be hard to get into some of them alone."

"I ... please."

"Of course."

In the mirror, you seem distorted. You're vaguely aware that you've seemingly gained some wight, a consequence of them feeding you well at the Suo household - but a potential target nonetheless. Your stretch marks ripple across your skin, shining lightly in the sunlight that sneaks though the top windows of the shop.

"It looks nice on you." Suo looks up when you walk out. "Do you like it?"

You pause. Do you? You don't know. "I -"

"You hesitated."

You slump, but go back into the fitting room.

Again you emerge, bashfully asking, "How about this one?"

"How about it?" Suo asks, seemingly fishing for an answer.

"No!" calls Tsubaki from the front of the store. "Not it!"

You return with the final kimono of the stack, padding your way out of the fitting room.

Suo's eye widens a fraction and he swallows.

You instinctively sink into yourself at the intensity of his gaze.

"Now we're getting somewhere!" Tsubaki says, bouncing over and turning you around. Looking between the two of you, they say, "Hey, this kimono is the same color as your eyes, Hayato!"

You look down, meeting the slightly hooded eye of your fiancée.

Tsubaki's right.

"What do you think ... Suo?"

Suo's eyes flicker up, then down once more. For not the first time, you wish he was easier to read. "We're taking that one home Tsubaki.”

vi.

You try on a few more Kimonos before waving goodbye to Tsubaki.

The sun has risen higher and the streets seem even more crowded, if that where even possible.

Suo takes your hand.

His hand engulfs your own - unnaturally cold, fingers long.

You stop in your tracks with a sound like a record scratching.

"I don't want to lose you, dear," He says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

"You don't need to hold my hand, though!"

"Of course I do." He says.

The two of you continue, stopping at one of the small stalls for a snack.

It drips down your hand and your eyebrows furrow as you debate licking it up. You feel Suo's eye on you. It would be unladylike.

Suo chuckles at your hesitation. "I'll go get napkins from the stall."

You nod, taking another bite of your food.

For a moment, you feel something... calm.

"Hello there, pretty lady."

The man looms over you, casting a long shadow.

"You seem to be enjoying that treat. How’s about we go into that alleyway and I give you another?"

"I-I'm waiting for my fiancée - " You force out tightly.

He looks down. “I don’t see a ring on that finger. Maybe if I got a closer look?"

He moves to grab your hand and you yank it away, but he's faster.

"Excuse me?" It's Suo's voice - but it's different.The teasing is still there, but his voice is lower. Colder. A dark growl. "Would you kindly unhand my wife?”

"S-suo- " Falls out of your mouth, and you hate how pitiful you sound.

The man turns his head, but you can’t see beyond his large stature. “That’s your man? Why not hang with a real man instead of pretty boy over there?”

Your throat constricts.

And then the man crumples, holding his arm and screaming. Spikes of ice, swirling with snowflakes, split his arm.

"Were my instructions unclear? I told you to get your hands off of my wife."

The man turns to Suo, panting. He starts to run at him, but Suo simply sidesteps the man, flipping him onto his back.

“Are you hurt?" He walks over to you and you shrink away on instinct. His lips quirk in a thin line.

"N-no."

He holds out a hand. "Can I see?"

Reluctantly, you extend your arm. He takes it gingerly, eye darkening at the blooming bruise.

"I'm alright," You find yourself saying, more for him than for you.

He sighs. "If I had been even a moment later, you might not have been."

"But you came."

Suo doesn't respond, eye swirling with unidentifiable emotions. He releases his gentle hold on your arm. "Let's go home."

When he takes your hand again, you don't argue.

vii.

You let out a sharp exhale of pain and bring your finger to your mouth, the salty taste blooming on your tongue.

You feel stupid standing in the Suo estate kitchen in an inappropriately fancy kimono over a boiling pot of water.

You'd never cooked alone before, so you didn't exactly know why you'd thought you should try it now. You could hear the low hiss of voices in your head, and you squeezed your eyes shut before opening them determined.

You would pay him back for his kindness.

You went to retrieve another bandage, returning to continue your clunky cuts.

The result was ... very ugly.

You were not going to serve this to Suo. Knowing him, he'd probably tease you for it. The voices were getting louder.

You weren't fit to be a wife -

"Hmm? And what might you be doing?"

You jerk. "Suo! I - " Your eyes dart around. You'd lost track of time, and now he was already home before you could disregard the evidence. The familiar heat warmed your cheeks.

"Could it be?" He moves smoothly into the kitchen, eye closed and smile curling. "My darling wife has made something for me?"

"No!" You squeak, heat crawling up to your ears. "Y-your mistaken! I was just tasting something - "

"Oh? Well, I'd like a taste, too. As you can imagine, I'm properly famished after a hard day's work."

You open your mouth to refute it but can't.

"...Go sit." You grumble.

"Hmm?" He leans forward slightly, and your chest pounds.

"Go sit!" You snap.

You concentrate on plating his food and setting it in front of him, before moving back. Your blush-darkened fingers hold on to the tray for dear life.

He raises the spoon to his mouth in a delicate, measured moment, chewing slowly. You want to scream.

"Delicious!" He says, grinning, taking another bite. "You did this by yourself?"

You don't meet his eyes. "Yeah. Yurie is busy enough," I don't want to be a burden, you don’t say.

"It's kind of funny looking - " He says, smile unchanging.

" - Why you - "

"But it's really good!"

"It's no big deal," You say, avoiding his eyes.

"Oh, yeah?" He says, eyes falling to your hands. You immediately try to hide them in the sleeves of your kimono. "I'm grateful to have such a loving wife."

"Just eat." You grumble.

viii.

The night of the bequest arrives faster than you'd anticipated.

You arrive stiff, but begin to loosen up when the plum wine begins to flow and your fiancée's fellow soldiers - Haruka and Akihiko - begin to regale you with tales of your husbands great skill and fortitude.

You commiserate with Haruka about how teasing he is, and Akihiko how mysterious.

"He is rather mysterious," You agree, laughing along.

During the night you feel a hand sneak it's way around your waist, you look up at Suo with a quirked eyebrow.

He doesn't smell drunk and he doesn't move his hand.

You blush all the way down to your fingertips.

"Alright," Suo says eventually. "It's time for me to take my darling wife home."

He leaves relatively quickly, tugging you by the wrist.

"Suo?" Your brows furrow. "Is something wrong? Suo?"

He doesn't answer. This increases your worry. What had you done wrong?

"... Suo?" He turns around then, stepping forward and caging you against the wall.

"You seem to be enjoying discussing how "teasing" and "mysterious" I am with my colleagues."

There's a different quality in his voice that you can’t read again, different still from that day in the market.

He is smiling, though.

"B-but you are!" You squawk in your defense, eyes darting around and quickly realizing you have nowhere to run.

"I'd tell you if you only asked,"

"Would you really?" You look up at him with something akin to hope.

His eyes dart down, and he looks as he's contemplating something. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. "Yes."

"So - so - " You stutter when he gets closer. "Are you ... mad with me?"

His eyes dart to meet yours once more. "Mad with you?"

"It's just that we left so suddenly, and I didn't mean to embarrass you, if I did - "

Suo's lips claim yours and you freeze. They move hotly against yours and you struggle to keep up with the slow dance he's leading. All you can think to do is hold your shaking grasp on his kimono under his army uniform as he grasps you tightly by the waist and seems to try to eat you alive.

He runs his tongue along the seam of your lips, but you don't respond.

"Open," He murmurs, without breaking the kiss.

"Huh? Why - " But he's upon you again, tongue exploring your mouth as you quake against him. He finally pulls away connected by a translucent string, scanning your face - the tears gathering in your lashes, your scrunched nose, your kiss bruised lips.

He kisses down to your jaw, then nips.

"D-did you just bite me?" You stammer.

"Oh, love," He coos. "That was hardly a bite."

He presses more kisses to your neck and then bites, hard, and it draws a sound out of the back of your throat that mortifies you.

You want to melt into the wall. Your hand flies up to try to cover your mouth, but he catches you by the wrist - pinning it against the bricks.

"Uh uh. I want to hear," He says, biting down again.

You do, indeed, reward him with another sound that chokes into a gasp when his cooling tongue soothes over the bite.

He moves away, eyes falling to your lips once more.

"Oops!" Suo pulls away, a smug quality to his smile. "Got a bit carried away there, didn't I!"

You stare at him, wide eyed, heaving and disheveled. Your cheeks are on fire.

"Sorry, love," He says innocently, rubbing circles on your hip with his thumb, as if he hadn’t just kissed you senseless.

You can't meet his eyes. You don’t know what to say first, but what comes out: "D-did you have to bite me?"

"Oh?" He asks, eye glinting. "Absolutely."

ix.

You can't wipe this kiss ... er, well, kisses - from your mind.

It's all you can think about.

You feel like a silly school girl, unable to stop your mind from wondering to his darkened eye swimming with ... desire, you suppose.

You didn't know what you'd done to deserve such a look!

You weren't even a very good wife or anything!

Hell, until he'd kissed you like that - you'd never really known he'd ... you'd just thought you where to be married on paper and nothing more.

Ug, you could still feel his lips moving on yours.

You really hated this!

When you almost chopped your hand off again helping Yurie prepare a meal, you decided that you where going to confront him about this.

You stood in front of the door to his office.

You where going to confront him!

But ... how exactly?

What would you say?

You hear a familiar chuckle on the other side of the screen. "Are you going to just keep standing there, or are you going to come in?"

You, very ungracefully, slam the door open.

Suo smiles at you.

You stomp across the mat, sitting before him.

Your hands fidget in your lap, already starting to darken with a blush. "About - about the other day."

"You mean when I kissed you outside of the banquet?"

Despite your embarrassment, your happy he doesn't beat around the bush. "Yes. Um, why."

"Why?" He echoes, brow quirked.

"Yes, why."

He tilts his head. "Because I wanted to?" He says. "Can't I kiss my future bride?"

You slam your hand down. "Not like that you can't!"

"Did you like it?"

"I - " You stammer, eyes darting around.

"It's alright if you did," He coaxes.

"It ..." You shift. "Surprised me."

"Really? But I've been flirting with you this whole time!"

You squint at him. "You've been messing with me! You say weird things all the time! I never know when you’re joking or not!”

"I've been honest with you," He says. "Very honest. In fact, so honest I deserve another kiss."

"You can't just decide -! "

"Please?" He says. "If not now, then when? If I have to wait too long again, it's going to build up like last time - and I don't think you want that."

"Look!" You hold a hand out to stop him from approaching you. "You can do it again! Just ... less. It was a bit ... too much ..."

"Hmm," He puts a finger to his chin as if thinking. "You where shaking,"

"Shut up!" You snap.

You move forward on your knees to him with the intent of shutting him up but you falter half way when you catch him looking at you in that way again. It's intense, weighty.

"I - " You swallow. You gulp, looking down at his lips - you can feel his breath.

You will yourself to move.

"Young master, breakfast!" Yurie's voice chimes.

You fall forward into his lap and start to skitter backwards, but he catches your wrist.

"Oh! Is the mistress in there with you? Breakfast!"

"Coming!" Suo sings back, pressing his lips to the inside of your wrist as he looks up at you.

You quiver, looking down at him with wide eyes.

"Let's go eat," He says lowly. "Shall we?”

x.

One minute your shopping with Yurie, and the next minute you are gone.

When you awaken, a familiar stands over you face stands over you. "Mother?"

The woman looks down at you. "Mother, what are you - "

"There was no there way."

"What-what do you mean?"

"That man - he wouldn't let us see you, even when we called the marriage off."

"What?" You ask, mind racing. "Why would you do that?"

She frowns. "I do not need to explain myself to you."

"But I - "

"What? Love him?" She laughs. "Do you think he loves you?"

You pause. Could he? You remember the kimonos, and how he held your hand so gingerly, and the the kisses he'd spared after the first one that always turned searing. Yurie had laughed at the two of you, murmuring something about young love to herself.

"He does." You say, steadfast.

Something in your eyes glints and your Mother turns away.

"Well. It matters very little."

Suddenly you remember that look in his eye that day in the marketplace - the icy chill in his voice.

"Mother," You say, and she looks at you. "For your safety, I would request you return me to Suo. I ... I don’t want him to hurt you.”

She laughs again. "Bluffing won't save you dear." Her laughing cuts off, eyes dull and exhausted. "Not even I can do that."

xii.

The room they keep you in is dark, undisturbed - until the man in a suit and fedora comes.

He hurts you, plain and simple.

Your parents had done many things, but they had never laid a hand on you. The pain is unfamiliar and hard to bear.

And after what could have been days or hours, something strange happens.

The man moves to hurt you again and it bounces off. He tries again and his attack slides off of the iridescent bubble once more.

He seems satisfied with this, sporting a toothy smile that could make milk curdle.

He goes for another blow, then seizes. Icicles sprout from his chest.

The temperature of the very room drops, freezing the tears on your cheeks.

Your savior comes into view, eye hard and merciless. Cold air streams from his lips.

"Suo ... " You rasp, lips quirking. You are too weak to smile.

He gathers you into his arms immediately, holding you against him. "I'm sorry I took so long to find you, my love. But I'm here now."

"Everything ... " Pain flickers across your face. "...Hurts..."

He's clutching you so tightly. “I know, my heart, I know."

"Hayato - " You say, and you feel him freeze against you. "Hayato, I - "

"Shut up." He grits out.

"But, I - "

"Won't die here. Keep your eyes open for me."

"But I'm so tired," You say. "And..."

"You won't leave me," He snaps. "I won't let you."

"I won't," You agree, eyes lowering. "Hayato, I - "

"Shut up!"

"I ... love you..."

xiii.

Hayato is strange after that.

Both close and extremely far.

He stays silently glued to your side, even after he's sure your family is no longer powerful enough to take you from him, again, he still insists on coming with you to every shopping trip and excursion he can - asking you to postpone if otherwise.

He doesn't say those three words back.

You try not to be hurt about it, and continue on as normal as possible. Well, as normal as your injuries allow.

In time, your Mother's words begin to eat away at you.

Maybe you were mistaken after all.

You approach Hayato in the courtyard, taking a deep breath, saying his name.

He opens his eye to look up at you.

You take another deep breath, wring your hands. "I understand ... if after what my family has done - the grave insult they have caused ... if you do not wish to marry me anymore."

He looks truly taken aback, which would be funny in any other circumstance.

The brunt of his focus is heavy. "And if you left here? What would you do then?"

"I ... don't know," You admit, looking away. "But ... I wouldn't be a burden to you any longer."

"That's what you think I see you as?" He murmurs, more to himself than you.

You shift.

"Do you know," He asks, in a strangely hoarse voice. "Do you know how I felt when I saw you lying there? Beaten? Broken?"

You stay silent.

"It took everything in my being not to kill them all."

You glance to him and he's looking at you.

There is no remorse or regret in his eye.

"You don't deserve the love of any more monsters."

Your fists curl at your side. "You - you take that back."

His eye widens slightly at your tone.

“You - you saved me."

He starts to open his mouth, but you’re faster.

"I was afraid I was going to die there, all alone, in the dark, but you came for me!" You say, unshed tears in your eyes as you yell. "And you! You don't get to talk about the man I love like that!"

Hayato stays silent.

"And you - you love me too!" You accuse. "And you don't have to say it back, right now. Or at all, if you don't feel that way - ”

"I love you." He says, breathlessly.

"Oh," You says dumbly. "Oh."

His hands find your waist, pulling you into his lap. "Why do you sound so surprised? Didn't you say you knew?"

"Well, I wasn't - wasn't completely sure." You grumble. "And - and it's different hearing you - hearing you actually say it."

"I can say it again," He mummers, rubbing circles on your hip. "Until it becomes as natural as breathing."

You cover your face with your hands, wondering if your poor heart can take such a thing.

[icaberries]

What if the Vinsmokes were in the Wano Arc?

Go read Part 1 here but TL;DR the Vinsmokes regain their ability to feel emotions and escape Germa with Sanji and the Strawhats.

Mostly headcanons with a side of canon plot.

They’re still modded physically, but now their pain receptors are active so they’re dealing with the ramifications of years of neglecting their body. Ichiji is partially blind from using Valkyrie, Niji has burn marks all over his body, and Yonji has chronic pain in his wrists. It's a struggle, but they feel like they deserve it after all the torment they inflicted.

Ichiji comes across traditional tattoo shops in Wano and decides to get new tattoos on a whim. The ‘1’ tattoo he had before had been his first rebellion against his father and now that he’s free he wants to add more to it. He gets tattoos for all his siblings along his other arm—a pink butterfly for Reiju, a blue lightning bolt for Niji, a green clover for Yonji and a yellow sun for Sanji. It helps to ground him when the Feelings™ get overwhelming and reminds him that he’s not alone in this world. 

The drama in Shokugeki no Sanji with Sanji’s soba stall still happens, only this time he’s backed up by the rest of his siblings who glares at the soba competitors in submission. 

Reiju is first in line when the soba stall officially opens. She’d had to fight her brothers and the Strawhats for it. Robin is a close second but only because Reiju was distracted by her. If you know what I mean ;) 

The handcuffs left marks on Sanji’s wrists. Surprisingly, it’s Niji who asks why Sanji’s hands are so precious to him and Sanji tells them about Baratie and Zeff. There’s something about the sparkle in Sanji’s eyes as he talks that draws them in, the way he speaks so highly and softly about his found family on the East Blue. They wonder, if somewhere down the line, Sanji would speak about them with that same fond tone. 

Niji gifts Sanji a pair of dark brown leather gloves, long enough to cover the marks on his wrist. Sanji wears it to the raid and Niji is quite proud of it and claims he must be Sanji's favorite brother now. Until Ichiji chimes in and says that Sanji’s hairstyle as Stealth Black/Soba Mask is more similar to his and confidently declares himself as Sanji’s favorite brother. Ichiji and Niji argue for hours.  

(It’s actually Yonji who's the favorite. Sanji only has one little brother and he’s got a soft spot for him.) 

Just imagine Law, Basil Hawkins and X Drake watching Soba Mask. Now imagine them seeing a group of brightly-colored siblings cheering on Soba Mask, while they themselves look like Sparking Red, Electric Blue, Wench Green and Poison Pink. It’s a good day to be a North Blue fanboy in Wano. 

AND NOW FOR SOME ANGST!

They witness Sanji awakening his modifications and for a brief moment they’re happy that Sanji caught up to them like he always wanted, until they see the horrified look on Sanji’s face. He looks so afraid to turn out like them, to the point that he’d ask his own crewmate (Zoro) to take him down if he ever ended up like them. They’re not even mad. They’re just sad and guilty that Sanji felt that way. 

There’s a brief lull in the battle and Reiju pulls her brothers aside to tell them about their mother and her sacrifice. She told Sanji that story so he’d remember that his life was worth living and being kind. Now she’s telling the same story to Ichiji, Niji and Yonji so they can remember the same thing. Sora wanted them to live and be good. 

After his fight with Queen, the brothers hug it out. Reiju may or may not have taken a picture.

Right after that, the brothers now hug Reiju! Because she deserves it alright! Years of pretending for Judge, of keeping her brother's in check and dealing with their mother's death, Reiju did her best to be there for all of them. Now she gets to see her little brothers grow up into the good people their mother wanted them to be and she can finally stop pretending. She can be herself again <3

(I love Reiju sm yall but that's just the eldest daughter syndrome talking)

The road to redemption is paved with triumphs and stumbles. It’s just fortunate for them that Sanji has a good sense of direction. 

AND NOW BACK TO FLUFF!

Yonji continues to cement himself as the favorite when he calls Chuji the cutest thing in the world and proceeds to share his snacks with the little guy. Niji and Ichiji never stood a chance. Little brother is strong and is hitting all of Sanji's buttons.

The worst part of regaining emotions though? It’s not the gooey mushy feelings of love, or the cold guilt and shame over their past mistakes, it’s the annoyance they now feel whenever they witness Roronoa Zoro flirt with their oblivious brother. They can’t stand him. Unfortunately, he makes Sanji happy so they’re forced to seethe on the sidelines while Zoro picks another fight/flirting session with Sanji. 

Reiju doesn’t tell them that it’s not just Zoro they have to worry about. Trafalgar Law keeps finding an excuse to check Sanji over for his “health”, a jaguar mink keeps asking him out to smoke together, don’t even get her started on Basil Hawkins and X Drake asking her for her blessing. That’s not even counting Sanji’s other suitors who aren’t in Wano right now. Their baby brother is quite the popular guy.

[the-kr8tor]

Silk & Cologne

Hobie Brown x Silk!Reader Relationship Headcanons.

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Silk! gn Reader/ Spider-Punk x Silk! gn Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, TW needles, TW injuries, canon typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, Kinda soulmate AU.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You meet Hobie while you're running away from his team of spider-people.

You are an anomaly who accidentally entered a different dimension from yours, but you didn't know that at the moment. Your biggest worry right now are the various spider-people going after you for some reason. 

Running and swinging from unfamiliar rooftops, you feel an invisible rope tug at you, this is probably your silk sense telling you where to go, you thought, so you follow it on instinct.

Unbeknownst to you, Hobie Brown aka Spider-Punk feels the exact same invisible rope pull him towards somewhere. He just got out of the inter-dimensional portal when he felt an unfamiliar feeling.

Also thinking it's his spidey senses keeping him on his toes, he follows it. He ignores all the calls from his comms to follow his instincts. 

You both swing towards the mysterious pull, until you both almost collide in the air with each other. 

You and Hobie both lean away last minute from each other to prevent the collision.

Your eyes lock with his for the first time.

You both feel the invisible rope stop pulling, it's replaced by longing and an unidentified urge.

As you both swing in the air you get a good look at each other. Time seems to be in slow motion as you both swing in a circle just watching each other. 

The others catch up to the both of you, stopping at a nearby rooftop, watching you both curiously. 

"What the hell am I watching?" Gwen Stacy asks as she watches you circle each other. 

"Looks like some sort of mating dance" Peter B. Scratches his neck. 

"Oh God, they're a silk variant, Lyla, Get Miguel and tell him to bring the silk blockers, this could get ugly" Jess says in her comms.

"Ohh, Dramaa. Miguel's on his way" Lyla reports.

It seemed to be hours just circling each other, waiting for either one of you to make a move. 

Suddenly you both get tackled at the same time, landing on a dirty rooftop, you bite and scratch at the assailant. 

You see from your peripheral that he's getting manhandled by someone in a blue suit, you watch as he quickly injects something in him, that makes your stranger go limp. The same invisible pull you felt dulls a little bit. 

You turn back to the woman holding you down, your eyes widen before she plunges the needle with the same color in your neck.

Darkness wraps you immediately. The last thing you see is the sunlight bouncing off the metal on his suit.

You wake up from the noise of different voices arguing. 

You're in a futuristic prison of some sort, you listen to the conversation for some answers, the magnetic pull seems to get stronger every second.

"Hobie you didn't see how they reacted, they're like feral or something!" Gwen pleads.

"Yeah, because you bloody tackled them!" Hobie uncharacteristically screams at Gwen.

"Let them go now" He demands Miguel.

"Don't you see Hobie, you're already captivated, it's because you were both bitten by the same radioactive spider, it created an irresistible attraction between you two, it will overwhelm you once the blockers I injected in both of you wears off" Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose "You two are linked together. You need to take this pheromone blocker to see reason" 

You see him hold a blue pill. 

"Take it before you become a danger to yourself and them" Miguel points at you. 

They all look towards you, now awake, your pupils blown up like a balloon, with all the eyes on you, your only attention is on the leather clad form. 

Hobie looks at you then to the pill, every second he wastes not taking the medication, he feels the pull towards you get stronger, it's almost painful. 

Listening to Gwen, he grabs the pill quickly downing it. 

He sighs as the pressure subsides.

Hobie feels like himself again.

You sigh as you feel it too, the pain without him next to you dulls. It's like an itch you can't scratch. 

Hobie crouches next to you. 

You lock eyes, the attraction still there, but you both don't have the animalistic need to be with each other.

"They need to take it too, so the medicine can take full effect" Miguel gives Hobie an identical pill. 

"Where am I? Who are you?" You meekly speak for the first time. 

"My name's Hobie Brown, apparently we were bitten by the same spider, we're linked with each other," Hobie looks towards Miguel "open it, they won't do anything" 

"How'd you know?" Miguel raises his brow.

"I just know" 

Miguel deactivates the orange glow around you.

You stand up to your full height, Hobie mirrors your movement. He hands you the pill, your hands brush against each other, electricity cackles around Hobie's hand. 

You swallow it down dryly. Feeling the pressure completely alleviate, you finally feel normal. 

Hobie feels the same, he still feels connected to you, somewhat. Like a lingering aftertaste. But there's no feeling of suddenly jumping your bones in front of everyone.

"Okay, now where the hell am I?" You push past Hobie, he gets surprised with your sudden change of tone.

Miguel gives you the spidey orientation added with some context on silk variants. 

Learning that you were bitten by the same spider feels kinda weird. Like how Lyla put it simply "it's like your soul mates, kindred spirits" then she sighs while holographic hearts float above her head.

Then finding out what you both felt hours ago, was actually an animalistic urge to mate? That is the weirdest thing ever.

After hearing the word mate leave Miguel's mouth, you take a step further away from Hobie, you just met the man and you were ready to rip off each other's clothes the second you saw each other? 

Miguel, the boss of the entire spider society, you just learned, offered you a place in their elite group. As long as you and Hobie keep taking the medication of course.

You accept the offer. A few hours ago, you thought you were the only person with spider powers, being locked in a bunker alone for almost ten years makes you lonely. Now that there's an entire team who understands you and a man who's basically your soulmate you cannot say no. 

You don't want to be lonely ever again.

You've been part of the spider society for a few weeks now, becoming friends with the other spider people. 

You were afraid of coming out of your assigned room for the first few days just in case there's another spider-person out there who was bitten by the same radioactive spider. You definitely don't want to ever feel that way again. 

Miguel tasked you to train so you could hone your skills. 

In your surprise you see Hobie in the training room, honestly you were avoiding him, with how weird you two first met, who wouldn't?

"O'hara, really?" You glare at Miguel. 

Weirdly enough, you and Miguel have become fast friends, probably because he keeps you closely monitored in case your 'charms' go haywire again. 

You call it your 'charms' since you didn't like that everyone called it pheromones, it gave you the ick.

"Being in close proximity to each other helps in training you in keeping your urges in check" Miguel informed you both, "you've taken both your meds, right?"

"Yes bossman, otherwise I would be all over them right now" Hobie teases you both. 

You almost broke your own neck with how fast you turned to look at Hobie.

Miguel sighs "Whatever just keep it PG" He leaves, the doors hiss closed once he stepped outside. 

"I like your suit" Hobie breaks the ice as he roams his eyes over your form. 

"Thanks, I made it from my own webbing" you lift your arms to show it off.

"That's -"

"Please don't say hot" 

"I was gonna say punk rock, but that works too" 

Ignoring his last comment, you walk towards the console to start up the training simulation.

"You've been avoiding me" he says matter-of-fact. 

"Hmm, I wonder why" you play with the console's settings, continuing in ignoring him.

Suddenly you feel strong arms caging you in, you turn around, and find yourself trapped by Hobie, your back gets blocked by the console so you don't have anywhere else to go. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. You can feel his warmth with how close he is. You look up at him through your eyelashes. 

"It bothers you then? Our connection" Hobie tilts his head in question. 

"No it doesn't, it's just weird and awkward. I've already wasted ten years of my life locked up, I don't want a spider defining the rest of it, do you?" Despite your brain telling you to just swing away, you fight it off and speak your mind. 

Hobie smirks, oh how he likes that fire, he intends to feed it, let it spread, he would let it burn him as long as he gets to see the real you without the pheromone fog clouding his thoughts. 

"No I don't, but we've both been away from each other for a while, and yet you still feel it don't you? The want to be near each other, the need to protect each other" Hobie rambles on, "I think it's our shared spider senses telling us something, it would be a shame to not explore it" 

"What a shame, then" taunting him, you lean up closer, your breaths mixing with each other. 

Suddenly Miguel's booming voice surrounds the large training grounds "LEAVE ROOM FOR THE HOLY SPIRIT!" 

You both pull away snickering at Miguel's comment. 

No matter how hard you try to ignore what Hobie said you can't, because he's right, even though you take the medication, you still feel him. Every time he goes back to Nueva York, for some reason you feel his presence even though you didn't see him around the building; same goes for when he leaves, you feel some sort of emptiness inside you. 

You ask Miguel whether his medication isn't completely working. 

"It's not the medication's fault, there'll always be that lingering feeling. You're connected to each other, whether you like it or not" Miguel has his back turned to you, "best to just ignore it" 

You huff at his comment, dissatisfied with his answer.

You try to ignore him, you do but it's basically impossible since you're friends with his friends and you both work at the same place. You keep seeing him EVERYWHERE.

Hobie does it on purpose though, whenever another spidey gets partnered up with you on a mission, he convinces them to swap with him. 

"You, again?!" You scoff. "Lyla said I would be partnered up with Noir this time"

"He had something come up," Hobie shrugs. "Right Lyla?"

Lyla appears suddenly "yep, some goons to punch and what not" 

"Ugh!" You swing away.

Hobie winks at Lyla as she shapes a heart with her hand. 

Whenever you come to the mess hall with a long line of hungry spider-people, Hobie's already sitting down with an extra tray of food next to him. He nonchalantly looks at you with a smug smile on his lips. 

You would ignore his invitation but he's always with backup, he would be with Gwen or Pavitr, whom you have grown fond of over the last few months. So you reluctantly swing towards them.

It also doesn't help that he's your assigned trainer, all the lingering looks and touches when he's correcting your form, wakes up the butterflies in your stomach. 

You spend so much time with him, it's impossible to ignore the feeling.

Hobie loves leaving you cd's of movies and music you missed from the last decade in your dimension. He drops it on your doorstep every chance he's got.

One time you got hurt while on a mission without Hobie, you tried to hide the deep gash on your shoulder from your team, but of course you stubbornly deny it.

Entering the inter-dimensional portal, you feel the stabbing pain on your shoulder. Ignoring the pleas from your team, you give them a pained smile, telling them that your enhanced healing will fix it. 

When you reach the hallway where your room resides, you see Hobie leaning on your door, you feel the magnetic pull towards him. With no choice but to confront him, despite the pain, you saunter towards your door with your head held up high. 

"I don't remember ordering a doormat" You tease him, You felt a chill run through your body from the pain and blood loss. 

"I felt that y'know, the cold" He stares at you seriously. "I felt the exact moment you got injured, I never want to feel that ever again" he straightens up, anticipating what comes next.

"Hobie I'm - " You feel nauseous, you fall towards him, he catches you in one swift motion. 

"Stop being so bloody stubborn. Let me help you please" He softly says right next to your head.

You shift your head to look at him directly, memorizing every detail of his face, counting every single one of his piercings. 

He shakes you out of your stupor, "Oi, stay awake for me, yeah?" 

You swallow down the pain, "Okay, Hobie, you can help me" 

Without missing a beat he carries you towards the med bay, expertly weaving through spider-people. 

The entire time you were in the med bay, he was there with you, with every stitch to close your wound, he was there. You instinctively reached for his hand to hold on to. 

When you finally woke up, he was sitting on a chair next to your bed, asleep. You take note of his hand still holding yours. You watch him, his chest moving up and down, taking note of every single detail of his suit, every crease of his boots; the different pins he has on his vest. You count every callus he has on his fingers.

 Oh

When Miguel finally approves your proposal to finally go back to your own dimension. Now that you're both stable enough to be around each other; your stomach flips when you remember it's also Hobie's dimension. 

With your reintegration back to society, you ask Jess, (the only adult you trust) to help you in finding a place to live in. And possibly a Job, to feel like a normal human again.

Thanks to Jess your transition back to your own dimension was pretty smooth. You still feel the pull here and there, but now you've gotten used to it. So used to the feeling and his presence, you didn't notice him perched on your windowsill. 

"Nice place you got here" Hobie whistles.

"Christ!" 

"Just me, lovey" he takes off his mask and enters your abode. "D'you need a doormat?" Hobie holds a brown rectangle in his hand. 

"What?" You take it from hobie with a raised brow, "Come back with a warrant" laughing once you read it out loud. 

"Glad you liked it, nicked it from another flat" Hobie smiles hearing your laugh, he goes towards your fridge to rummage through it.

"Wait, what! Please don't tell me it's from a neighbor" You follow him, opening the freezer, showing him different kinds of soda he can choose from. 

" 'Course not, got it from another building in a nicer neighborhood" he opens a can of orange soda. 

"So you basically swung around the city, holding this" you hold up the doormat. You must like me a lot. You wanted to add but you bite your tongue.

"Yeah, what of it?" He rummages through your cupboards. "You got any food in this dump?" 

You roll your eyes, knowing his schedule you hand him a packet of biscuits for his patrol. You wish he could stay though.

Whenever you're both free from your responsibilities and obligations, Hobie mysteriously appears in your flat, holding a dvd of another movie you missed and a large bag of popcorn, three feet tall, how and where in the world did he even get that? 

Sometimes though you're the instigator, instead of movies and a comically large popcorn, you bring him to different places around the city. Museums, a walk in the park, cafés, and concerts of bands that Hobie likes (that you like too but you don't specifically tell Hobie that)

When you're swinging together on patrol, you point at places that have changed since you were in your bunker. Telling him stories about your experiences in some places. 

Whenever you feel hungry, sad or in pain, Hobie feels it too. He's there waiting for you and you do the same thing for him. You take care of each other.

Once you two got bored in your flat and decided to make a conspiracy/theory board on how and when you two got bit by the same spider. Both of you were so invested in it, you didn't sleep till five am. 

You woke up from the soft snores and the strong arms around you. You force one eye open, the first thing you saw was the large board you two made, riddled with pins, and pictures of places you've both been to all connected with red strings tied around the pins. 

You hear him snort in his sleep, you smile softly. Cuddling further onto his chest. He hugs you tighter, half lidded eyes looking down on you.

"First I was a doormat, now a pillow" He says in his gravelly voice from just waking up. 

"Go back to sleep or you'll be a punching bag next" 

You were in Nueva York, just hanging around with Gwen, when suddenly you felt a painful pang in your chest. You hold on to a nearby wall to steady yourself.

"You okay?" Gwen asks.

"I think -" another stabbing pain but in your skull this time. Your eyes widen in realization. 

You look up at Gwen "Hobie" you gasp, swinging towards Miguel's command center. Gwen following your move.

You didn't waste a second once you landed in his area. "Where's Hobie?!" You scream in your urgency for him to answer you quickly. Miguel's up on his platform, his back turned.

"They didn't ask for backup, stand down, Silk" he watches his numerous monitors.

"I don't give a shit, O'hara! Tell me which dimension!" You demand. 

Miguel finally turns to you, he looks down on you menacingly "I said stand down" 

You feel the pull again, a lot stronger this time, it's a primal need to protect him. 

Gwen, noticing the tension in the air, decides to simmer it down. "It's okay Miguel, we uh, understand we'll wait for them to call for backup" she stares at you to wordlessly say: play along.

"Fine" you say, faking a smile. 

Miguel grunts and finally turns around back to his monitors.

Gwen subtly knocks your shoulder with hers.

Lyla appears on a nearby table, hiding behind a console, she beckons you over. 

You crouch in front of her, she puts her index finger on her lips, she summons a board out of thin air, written on it is the dimension where Hobie is. 

You mouth a thank you to Lyla. She makes a heart with her hands. 

Wasting no time, you run away from Miguel, finding a spot to open a portal, Gwen and you swing towards it quickly. 

Once transported, smoke and chaos greet you. Your eyes roam around the area where various spider people swing around the giant mech of an octopus, clambering up the buildings. 

You panic, not seeing the familiar glint of his spikes. 

"Gwen go help the others, be careful" you instruct her.

"Go find him" She nods.

Without being able to see him, you panic, so you use the invisible web that ties you both together. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on finding the other end of the web. You try to remember his smell to help you in locating him. 

Reaching the end of the rope you finally feel him, you can hear him breathing out slow breaths, you feel every cut and bruise on his body. A tear slides down your cheeks, but you don't have time, so you swing towards him.

Dodging mechanical octopus arms, you ignore Miguel's orders ringing from your armband. 

You finally reach him inside an abandoned restaurant. He's sitting down on the floor, back against the cashier counter, his head down low, chin on his chest.

He looks up at you the moment he feels your presence. 

"You come 'ere often?" He jokes despite the pain. 

"Hobie Brown, you're an idiot" you walk towards him. 

"Yeah, but you're the one who came here, so who's the bigger idiot?" He coughs out the last part of his sentence. 

You carefully grab his chin to assess the damage. His mask torn from the side, his brilliant brown eyes now dull, you get a glimpse of a dark red gash on his chest. 

"Let's get you out of here, okay?" You hold his face, keeping him awake with your touch. 

"Have I ever told you that You're the most gorgeous person I've ever seen?" He managed to get out. 

"No, but you show it often," you smile. "Will you let me help you?" 

He gives you a blood soaked smile, "Yeah, you can help me, love" 

You both feel the tug and pull of the web, straining against itself, now taut, it finally breaks. 

You kiss him on his bloodstained lips, ignoring the taste of iron. He kisses you most fervently. 

You feel like a dam just broke in you, overflowing your senses with just Hobie flooding every fiber of your being. 

Hobie feels rejuvenated, like he can get back out again and fight the giant octopus by himself. 

You both pull away for air. Gasping and staring in each other's blown out eyes. Hobie leans forward and kisses you again, as if he hadn't seen you in years.

"We need to take out doc oc" Hobie whispers against your lips. 

As if on cue, the octopus mech falls down on the ground with a loud crash, followed by the cheers of the spider-people. 

"Guess they didn't need us" you chuckle. 

You hold him up by his arms, slinging one on your shoulder, you help him up. 

The sunlight greets you both as you step out of the building. 

You hear Gwen yell out your names. She drops down gracefully. 

"You're both Okay!" She bounces on her feet in happinesses.

"It takes more than that to kill me, Gweny" Hobie holds on to you tighter. 

Gwen opens a portal back to Nueva York. You all step in. 

You sigh in relief when the three of you finally reach the med bay. You get Hobie admitted, you hold his hand the entire time he gets treated. Thank goodness for 2099 medicine. 

He finally falls asleep, still holding your hand. Miguel enters the room, one angry look from you, he grunts as if to say 'another time then' before leaving you both. 

When he woke up you made sure that the first thing he sees is your face. 

"Hey, trouble" his gravelly voice making you smile in relief.

"You're okay?" Tears threaten to spill over your eyes. 

"Come 'ere," Hobie brings out his arm so you don't crush it as you lay down next to him. He moves his head towards you for a kiss, you close your eyes, anticipation flooding your senses.

His kiss reminds you that you'll never be truly alone in this world.

A/n: that awkward moment when you realise that you almost accidentally wrote an a/b/o fic lmao I had so much fun writing this! Couldn't even sleep without finishing it up. Is this still technically a headcanon when it's this long lol. Hope you liked it! As always comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*image above is from pinterest*

[leonenjoyer69]

Hi!!! Guess who has an AU of an AU now? Yeah, so here's the fresh Vampire Elias AU, art and vague lore! Also you can't tell me Hyde wouldn't play dress up with a vampire

I don't even remember how this idea came about, but I've been doing stuff non stop with it for the past 3 days 💀

So! Lore and details-- (also, color-pickable refs at the bottom)

Elias got turned while out walking around a park with Lanyon. The two were actually mostly getting along when Elias got attacked, and he wasn't able to really fight them off through the panic (and with Lanyon yelling in his head) so, he got turned.

The HJ7 is able to supress a bit of stuff, and basically mostly keeps Lanyon from turning (bc I say so, magic potion), but Elias is definitely still a vampire. He only has one eye that mostly turned red, on the side he was bit. He wears an eyepatch over that eye, unless he's alone or just with Jekyll/hyde where he knows they won't be disturbed. his ears pointed a little, and of course he has sharper teeth. His skin also grew a bit paler and a bit more ashy looking, and his flush isn't as strong. He's also sensitive to light, mostly in his red eye, and his skin stings a bit when he's exposed in the sun too long.

He also has a lot more control over his vampiric impulses, and for a while basically starves himself of blood out of guilt (until Jekyll and/or Hyde find out and force him to feed from them. Hyde is *very* excited to have a vampire boyfriend. He's,,, quite into it. Jekyll won't let Hyde get turned (though Elias wouldn't do it anyways)). At a point, he'd probably try feeding on himself, but quickly stop when he realizes that it makes him sick. His bat form is a little white fruit bat (or something of the sort, I just want him to be fed fruits man) ALSO, @historysphysiciann HAS SOME REALLY AWESOME VAMPIRE ELIAS ART WITH HIS LIL BAT FORM :D

Onto Lanyon, he does get a few of the physical traits, (his eyes have a slight red tint, his teeth are the slightest bit sharper, but grow a tad bit more around blood, slightly pointer ears, slightly paler skin (especially when Elias is basically starving himself), etc.) But certainly to a lesser degree than Elias. He can also still eat normal food, just has a craving for meat more. Also, he *can* drink blood for the both of them, but it's a very gross concept to him and he only has a slight taste for it, so it's still something he avoids. Otherwise, he's still mostly human, and his heart still pumps, just a decent bit slower. He gets cold quite easily now.

Elias's heart still vaguely pumps, but it's mainly because of the HJ7-induced adrenaline.

Also! Elias doesn't have a reflection any more, so he can only see Lanyon in mirrors now. When Lanyon's in control, he still has a reflection, but it's slightly blurry. He can also still see Elias in the mirror, since the HJ7 reflection and shadow thing is just like, a hallucination or manifestation of the other half.

A buncha folks on discord also made him angsty after just turning. Someone asks for directions or such and a freshly turned Elias can't control his urges, since he's freshly drained, and attacks the person. Lanyon forces a transformation in a panic, leaving the person not dead, and runs off to the society to find Jekyll or Hyde. That doesn't really have to be canon lmao, still fun tho

ANYWAYS YEAH, THIS IS NOT CANON TO THE LANYON TAKES THE POTION AU, THIS IS JUST,,, ANOTHER AU OF THAT 💀💀 for funsies 😋 also, he WILL be on art fight, as a seperate character from normal Elias :3

FEEL FREE TO ASK ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THIS NEW AU >:33

[sabigawa]

this is from like, early last year lmfao that I never got around to posting-- atla AU!

it's not really that fleshed out, I just know it would be set post atla but before lok, before republic city is the metropolis that it is in lok. So I put the original gaang to be around their 40's-50's?

the Kongo brothers are from a mixed family, with a firebending father and a non-bender, water tribe mother. Agon is a fire bender, and as in canon, a prodigy in everything he does (he even has blue flames because he sucks like that). because they grew up with a firebender as a parent, and because they lived in a predominantly fire-nation neighborhood, Agon ended up getting the most attention and praise for his bending accomplishments, and he proudly incorporates both fire-nation and water-tribe clothing styles into his day-to-day wear mainly because he likes standing out.

Unsui is a water bender. he's a hard worker and practices for hours every day, but he didn't have the guidance of a water-bender parent, and no matter how hard he worked he could never get close to Agon's skill. sometimes he looks at Agon firebending, and seeing his blue flames while he seamlessly incorporates water bending techniques into his firebending as though it's the easies thing in the world makes Unsui feel as though Agon isn't just the better bender, but the better water bender too. eventually Unsui gives up trying to compete with his twin. it gets to a point where he stops wearing water tribe colors at all as a way to stand out less as a water bender.

Hiruma is a non-bender. he seems to know every nook and cranny of every district in republic city, but no one know where he actually lives. he spends his time being a menace to society with his blackmail book, gambling, and inventing things (he doesn't patent any of his work-- he privately invented hair dye (or bleach, in this case) and uses it only for himself so that people are unnerved by his appearance. rumors that he has something to do with the spirit world follows him around, but he neither denies nor confirms). he and Agon meet one day in a shady alleyway on the rough side of town....

[steviewashere]

Hello, since you're taking prompts, I'm here humbly requesting anything with autistic Steve because I adore him and he's relatable af. Steddie, heavy on the comfort? Other than that, whatever you like, I'll love it :)

Wooo!! I wrote this in like three hours because I was on a roll, so I'm excited to share this!

Rating: Teen and UpCW: Meltdown, Overstimulation (Not That Kind), Some Negative Stimming, Mild Internalized AbleismTags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Cuddling & Snuggling, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Soft Steve Harrington, Soft Eddie Munson

Also on AO3

💕—————💕 His t-shirt was too tight. Had it shrunk in the wash, he initially asked himself. Is this not even mine? But when he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, reflected back at him was the same burgundy colored t-shirt, softly worn and sweat stained, a big graphic stretched across the chest that read: ‘Go Bulls, Go!’. Where this thing came from, he doesn’t remember, but it’s kept him comforted and grounded throughout the years.

Steve had a particular wardrobe. Maybe a bit peculiar to the normal, wandering eye. But to him, his clothes made perfect sense. Every pair of jeans was just a size bigger than he needed them, to give him the extra give. All of his white boxer briefs were made of cotton, because the silky type were always too constricting. His socks had holes and patches on them—worn over and over and over again, folded inside out so that the seams didn’t catch under his toes, but they were the perfect level of softness that he couldn’t find anywhere else. Polos made of cotton. Henleys the same. And his t-shirts, well they were soft, too.

In fact, Steve loves soft things. Loves loose things. Loves expected things.

But now his t-shirt is too tight. The t-shirt he thought of all of the last three days. A t-shirt he thought would look good with his light washed Levi’s—always worn on Thursdays for his day of errands. And looking at the little desktop calendar in his room, it is indeed Thursday. He planned this, but he neither planned nor considered the possibility of a clothing malfunction. His hands go to stretch the hem of the shirt, pluck it away from his body and make the fabric accommodate him. However, at the first tug, the loosely bound hem gives an unmistakable Riiiippp sound.

And…

Great, he thinks, I’ve just ruined one of my favorite shirts.

The t-shirt’s too tight, now ripped, and about to be retired. If only he could find something that works the exact same. Every t-shirt he tries on has some sort of error: too big, too ugly, clashing colors, won’t match the Adidas he picked out last night, stretched on the collar, so on and so forth. It’s Thursday, he thinks, it’s a busy day. Errand day. And now I have nothing to wear. Well, he has something. Not exactly what he planned. But if he doesn’t just put on a damn shirt, he’ll never get through his day, and if he misses out on the free time to take charge of the few errant errands—Steve’ll never get them done or he’ll get them done on a different day, a day where it’s noticeably not Thursday.

He snatches a yellow polo from the back of his closet. Dijon mustard colored. Too scratchy over the downy hairs on his belly. But he doesn’t have the time. Doesn’t have the time to redo his hair—three puffs of hairspray and he’d have to do a fourth, but four doesn’t fit, it’s not right, it’s too different. So he just settles. He’s got a schedule today, and damn the world for already trying to stop him.

Next on his agenda is breakfast.

Which, now that his head is shoved dutifully in the fridge and he’s rummaging around like a dumpster diving raccoon, he remembers that he has to go grocery shopping. Down to three large eggs, a couple bacon strips that didn’t crunch right the last time he ate them, and some cream cheese for bagels he can’t reason eating anymore. But he makes do. Again, settling—always settling, it seems. Because today just can’t go right.

Half-way through the eggs, his brain reminds him that he’s eating eggs. The texture going from wonderfully scrambled, not too soft and not too dry—to awfully rubbery and terribly bland and disgustingly charred. His bacon didn’t crisp right, so he won’t even attempt the few nibbles that lay out on his plate. And the bagel is just…staring up at him like the thousand eyes on every spider of his nightmares. Just the mere thought of cream cheese on his tongue has him wanting to hurl. So he tosses the rest, sets his plate in the sink, and wonders if he’ll even have the time to do the dishes—they aren’t piling by any means, but he didn’t plan this. He wanted cereal this morning. Had thought about the near glass like shards of Cap’n Crunch against the roof of his mouth, drenched in whole fat milk. But, again—You’re an idiot, he’s starting to chastise—he forgot that he needed to do a grocery run today.

Now that his stomach isn’t full and is left completely unsettled. Now that his shirt is scratching him and rough in all the wrong places. Now that more wrongs have been done to him than rights, he can woefully cart himself to the supermarket.

Only to get there and not find a spot. Well, one in the back of the parking lot is barely a spot. The one he hates parking in because he always has to walk two minutes longer than he needs to and sometimes the gravel from the nearby bushes is kicked up and then he steps on it and there’ll be a rock in the sole of his shoe. Like there is today because of course, of all days, there are little jagged gravel rocks for him to step on and feel through the soft, giving out soles of his sneakers. Of course, he thinks—riding over mildly irritated to extremely annoyed within seconds.

The grocery store is hell on earth, if it exists. Lights fluorescent and produce aisle sprinklers going haywire and the coffee grounds too fresh and the chatter of people incessant. Annoying.

He brought a paper slip with him. His chicken scratch identifiable to him. Reading:

Grocery List

Milk White Bread (Wonder, not Kroger) Peanut Butter (Jiff, not Skippy) Laundry Detergent - unscented Cat food (salmon this time, maybe that’ll lure in that stray?) Pasta (Thin spaghetti, penne, and farfalle) Parmesan (Preferably not in the jar, but whatever is cheapest) Potatoes Pop-Tarts? (Eddie’s favorite is brown sugar) Chicken Chicken nuggets

The cart he grabs has a wheel that squeaks the entire time he pushes it. Wonder bread is sold out by the time he gets to the right aisle. They really should say something when they change the layout of the store, he notes bitterly, stuffing a couple loafs of Kroger white bread into his cart. Skippy was the chosen option of the creamy peanut butters, simply because the Jiff wasn’t on sale anymore. On the bright side, salmon wet cat food wasn’t too expensive, even if he could only grab three cans. The Pop-Tarts are forgotten by the time he makes it back to his car. And the first paper bag has a handle that rips off almost immediately. And he forgot to unload the quite substantial amount of baseball supplies he brought to the park the other day—which means the bags are loaded into the backseat and he can only hope and pray that the milk doesn’t topple over and squish the bread or god forbid the laundry detergent somehow gets jostled the wrong way and spills all over his car.

He should’ve made another list of things he needs to remember he’d done. Would’ve been nice, he supposes, if he told his future self that the baseball equipment is still in his trunk. But, alas, here he is playing the same Tears for Fears tape again, listening to the baseballs clink off of each other. Thank god for the Tears for Fears tape, though—it’s the same one he’s listened to nearly every day since he bought it in 1983. At least that’s something to expect. At least it’s something he can rely on after the absolute shitshow he’s had today.

Though, maybe he should’ve expected having to pull over to the shoulder. In a car that chokes and gives up when he’s two-thirds back, half-way through his errands list, and completely done with everything. His hands are tight on the steering wheel. And there’s nothing but silence flowing around him. It’s like drowning, sitting here like this. For once, after everything he’s ever experienced and having so many bad days like this, he doesn’t know what to do.

A part of him, the overwhelmingly obvious part, wants to scream and cry and kick his legs out in front of him. Wants to dig the heels of his feet into the pure asphalt underneath the rubber tires of his stupid, unreliable car. Maybe tear the shirt right off his body and squish himself back to normal. But in the open, bright pool of sunlight, he can do nothing but just sit there. Head against the steering wheel, wet breaths through his nose, and a tightness in his throat that won’t rid even after his fifth swallow. Part of him wants to cry and cry and cry and never stop crying. And it sounds good. Not here, though. Not yet.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there before something knocks on his window. So, he rolls his head over to peer—not at all that gently, with enough force to drive a hard line into his skin. But when he catches sight of the person watching him nearly fall apart, he wants to cry impossibly more.

It’s Eddie. With his big, soft, concerned eyes. Hair tied up into a bun. Coveralls over his body, splattered with oil and other unidentifiable muck. Probably coming back from an early morning shift at the auto shop in town. He can help, maybe. So, Steve cranks down his window. Enough that Eddie can dangle his arms inside and crouch down to get a better looks.

“Stevie,” he softly greets. “You doin’ okay?”

Steve just shrugs. Makes some sort of noncommittal grunt. He works his jaw tight and tense. Mumbles, “Car broke down.”

Eddie hums, acknowledging. He looks over his shoulder briefly, leans to peer into the backseat, and then looks onto Steve again. “I can take a look, if you want, sweetheart.”

“Don’t have enough money to get it fixed right now.”

“Baby,” Eddie sighs. His eyes go half-lidded with aching. He reaches out a tentative hand and gently traces his fingers over Steve’s left shoulder. Inching his way to his neck, where knots are surely forming. “It’s free of charge for you, you know that.”

“I just don’t care about it right now,” Steve lies. He cares a great deal. Cares that this has ruined his day. Has ruined the rest of his plans, but if he admits that, he’s sure he’ll cry. He’s not sure why that’s his first reaction: to cry and break things and flap his hands as if ridding the energy. Not sure why it hurts to look Eddie in the eyes right now. Why everything that’s happened has affected him so negatively. Why he’s so particular about his things to do and how he dresses and what he eats. But he knows he’ll cry if he explains.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters. His fingers are soothing over Steve’s shoulder. Light and airy and so soft, it makes Steve want to melt. “How about I drive you back? Help you unpack your groceries? We can leave this baby right here for now and figure out how to get it back to you later, alright?”

Wordlessly, Steve nods, hauls himself out of the driver’s seat, and helps Eddie unpack the bags into the back of his van. That part of him that wants to destroy flares alive inside of him. And he has to restrain himself from chucking the milk carton against the side of the van. But he gets into the passenger seat, silent and seething and mildly overwhelmed.

He gets angrier, though, as soon as Eddie’s radio blares to life. Heavy, obnoxiously loud drums and guitars and vocals fill the space. Instinctively, Steve’s hands shoot to his ears, covering them completely with his palms, digging his fingernails into the skin around them. Garbled, he makes a noise of great discomfort. Grits his teeth together. Squeezes his eyes shut until little speckles of black float in the corners. And hunches into himself, compact and an easy trick to consolidate himself. It doesn’t work, though. Nothing is working in his favor.

“Turn it off, Eddie,” he distantly hears himself snap, “turn it off!”

All at once, the music stops.

Steve sighs, not quite relieved, but easier. It’s still bright. And Eddie’s van smells a little bit like marijuana. And maybe Steve hasn’t smoked that in a little while because the scent is too intense and he never knows how to explain why the smell alone makes him want to scream, but it does and he knows part of that isn’t normal but he doesn’t know how to be normal and now he’s blown his cover all because of something petulant like music being too loud and now Eddie won’t want to date him because he’s being irritable and annoying and—

“Sweetheart?” Eddie’s distant, raspy, soft voice calls. “Is it a migraine? Do you need some water?”

“No,” Steve answers tersely. “Just take me home, Eddie.” He can’t loosen himself from the tight hold, from the squeeze of his eyelids, from the tension in his fingers. But he’s probably making an ass of himself. Probably pissing Eddie off. “Please,” he tacks on, “please take me home, Eddie.”

Nothing else is said as the van rattles and grumbles, pulling away from where Eddie had been parked. There’s no words. No music. Eddie doesn’t fidget. Steve doesn’t think either of them breathe, really. And not only has he pissed Eddie off, but he’s starting to make himself angry. Why couldn’t I just be normal, Steve internally bemoans. I’m being annoying. And he shouldn’t be helping me. And I should’ve just called a tow truck. And I’m making a big deal out of nothing, just like Mom and Dad used to say.

And if he were in a different mindset, he could probably think about why that statement used to feel so miserable. When his parents would dismiss him. Send him to his room. Where he’d sob into his pillows and toss his books across the room and hide inside his closet because it’s the only place that truly felt safe. The closet, where the world couldn’t reach him, and the lights were all dark and he could hum as much as he wanted. Because nobody could find him. And nobody cared. And then he was warm, safe, the version of himself he felt he needed to be.

Eddie parks gently. He helps bring the groceries inside. And then he just stays. As if Steve didn’t just ruin everything. But he looks at him with those concerned eyes again, fidgeting with his fingers because he wants to reach out, about two seconds away from crawling out of his skin. Meanwhile, Steve’s pacing back and forth, squeezing his hands shut, eyes closed, breathing heavy through his nose.

“Is something wrong, Steve?” Eddie finally breaks.

Steve shakes his head quickly. “Long day,” he gets out.

Humming, Eddie takes a step forward. He tilts his head and attempts to make eye contact, but Steve averts his gaze. “Why don’t we sit down for a bit and take a little breather?”

“This is the wrong shirt,” Steve blurts, scratching at his stomach again. The shirt keeps rubbing up and down whenever he bends, whenever he moves for that matter. It’s starchy and too new. Too much, not enough. “And my hair is a mess.”

“It’s not a mess,” Eddie murmurs, “looks fine to me.”

“No. I messed it up this morning. Because I tried on all my shirts.”

“All of them?”

Steve nods hastily. “None of them were right. And that doesn’t make sense, I know, but it’s true. And I put three puffs of hairspray in, needed a fourth, but that’s not right either.” He angles his head up at the ceiling, furls and unfurls his hands a few more times before placing them palm down and flat against his chest. Wants to press down. Hard enough to remember, but not enough to bruise. So he does. Gives in. Allows himself this one good thing, the pressure, the hurt, the sizzling ache. “My breakfast was gross.”

“Yeah? What’d you have, baby?” Eddie gently asks.

“Why—“ Steve gasps, struggling. “Why are you fine with this?”

Taken aback, Eddie makes a soft noise. His eyes widen and he furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m being weird. I—You saw me! I was having like a little mini freakout in my car and then I got all mad at you and I was covering my ears and keeping myself tight and now I’m—Fuck, I’m going insane.

“Everything’s wrong. Everything is so wrong. My whole day is fucking wrong. Schedule got ruined. The clothes I planned out days ago didn’t work. My breakfast was bullshit and the grocery store didn’t have the right bread and Skippy is my least favorite peanut butter, but I had to get it because it was on sale and I forgot to get those Pop-Tarts you like even though I wrote them down on my stupid list but I don’t make enough lists because I forgot about the baseball stuff in my car and it shouldn’t have been there and that’s why I had to put the groceries in the backseat and the only good thing was my Tears for Fears album was still in the radio—And…Fuck.” Steve takes a haltingly loud gasping breath. He slams his hands over his chest, finally giving in to that innate urge he’s carried since he was a kid. Squeezes his eyes shut again, not wanting to see whatever hurt or disappointment or realization washes over Eddie’s face.

He continues, “I left the album in my car. The light’s too bright. I can…I can like hear the wiring in the fixtures. Everything. I’m feeling…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” Steve babbles. His hands flex into his shirt, the fabric wrong on his skin. Fingernails scratching at it, trying to tear it off. Wants to crouch down onto his knees and hide between the corner cabinets, nestle himself in a dark place, cry until there’s nothing left to give.

The realization hits him all at once, he needs to get away. To the safe space he created. So he forces himself around Eddie, up the stairs, behind his slammed bedroom door. And he crawls the rest of the way into the deep, far side of his closet. On top of old blankets, underneath too small clothes. Rests his head against the wall. And just…sobs. 

His elbows rest upon his knees as he shields his face with his forearms. The sounds of his cries muffled by his own skin. He kicks off his sneakers and digs his feet into the pile of blankets underneath him. Trying to get rid of the itchy, swooping, nauseous ache from inside him. He doesn’t like this part of his bad days. Doesn’t like being alone. To be left with his own mess. But he’s not sure how Eddie will respond, so he figures this is better.

Though, that’s quickly proven wrong when Eddie carefully comes in, announcing himself as the door opens. He stops in front of the closet and crouches down. “Hey, Stevie? Is it alright if I’m in here, baby?”

Steve sniffles. “I…You’re not going to be mean, are you?”

“No, Steve. I promise I’ll be nice. I just…You seem really overwhelmed and I thought maybe I could help you a little bit.” He shuffles forward slightly, opening the closet door from inside. Peeks through the gap. Asks, “How?”

“Could give you a hug? But…I was thinking we could trade shirts first? Mine is pretty soft, kind of loose. I know that’s how you like your t-shirts, baby.” For good measure, he plucks his t-shirt and gestures for Steve’s.

“You’ll look like a dork.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be comfortable. So hand me your shirt and I’ll give you mine.”

Once they’ve exchanged shirts, Steve leaves the closet and sits with Eddie against the side of his bed. Sure, the mattress may be soft and feel nice, but the firm ground under him keeps him anchored. He leans into Eddie’s side, lets him drape an arm over his shoulders, and sighs into the hold. Eddie’s other hand comes up and he traces fingers over Steve’s hairline, featherlight but caring all the same.

“Does this help?” Eddie whispers.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Sorry about…Well, being weird and getting all intense earlier.”

Eddie shrugs. “It wasn’t like that at all, baby. You had a bad day, nothing worked in your favor. I’m not going to fault you for reacting.”

“I was crying in my closet, Eds. That’s hardly normal.”

“I’d cry, too if I had the day you experienced.” He runs his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades, pressing firmly over the tense knots that formed. “Is there anything I can do? Anything on your list that you need help with?”

Steve nuzzles his face into Eddie’s shoulder, cheek squished against the joint. Muffled, he says, “For now, can you just hold me for a while? Nobody’s ever comforted me like this after…Well, you saw what happened. But later, can you help me vacuum and mop?”

“I’ll hold you forever,” Eddie promises. “And I’ll exterminate all the dust bunnies you could ever think to encounter, nothing could make me happier.”

Something in him finally chips away. He’s not quite loose, yet. Not ready to release all the pent up negative energy he’s seemed to catch throughout his day. But he can believe Eddie, for the moment. He rests his head deeper into Eddie’s shoulder, lets himself fall into whatever song Eddie is humming, reaches out and grips firmly to one of Eddie’s hands. Plays with his rings, the smooth metal like a balm on the fatty part of his thumb. He relishes in how Eddie just lets him. Lets him, despite everything.

He can’t quite look Eddie in the eyes, not yet. Can’t force himself off the ground. Can’t quite get rid of that intense, drowning sensation that burbles in his chest—makes him want to cry and breakdown even further. And maybe he can, realistically. But later, he surmises, later he’ll do that, so long as Eddie continues to not mind.

The warmth of their shared bodies is nice. The softness of Eddie’s t-shirt against his skin. The gentle musk left on the collar from whatever cologne Eddie uses. Something with bergamot, a little bit of citrus, something like bourbon. He closes his eyes softly. There’s not much light flooding into his bedroom, just a stripe of golden sunlight from between his curtains, but that’s fine.

For the first time today, something is fine.

“I like this,” Steve quietly admits. “You being here with me through this, I mean.”

Eddie makes an acknowledging hum. “Whenever you need me, I’m a phone call away, sweetheart. I’ll come dashing over, your knight in shining armor, armed with the softest of t-shirts and the most delicious of snacks just for you, baby.”

Steve chuckles. A sound he thought wouldn’t be possible on a day like this. Despite everything, he smiles softly. “I’d love that,” he whispers, “I love you, Eds. Thank you for making me feel a little bit normal.”

“I love you, too, Stevie,” he responds, easy as that. “And I mean it, baby. I love you, I want to hold you and cherish you. You need anything, any time of day, you call me. Bad days are no joke.”

“Mmm,” Steve gently hums. “Maybe I should add cuddle time to my daily routine?”

“Maybe you should,” Eddie agrees. “I think that would be excellent for both of us.”

“Good,” Steve states quietly. He wraps his own arm around Eddie’s waist, pulls him in tighter, and tucks in close. “This feels right.”

💕——–——💕 Taglist: @hotluncheddie

[gloomwitchwrites]

High Stakes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: canon-typical swearing, mando’a lanaguge, yearning, denial of feelings, placing bets, light dom/sub (with bratty behavior), possessive behavior, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie

Word Count: 7k

When your employer loses a bet to Jabba the Hutt's favorite contract killer, Boba Fett, you are suddenly placed in his control. But you and Boba are not enemies. The two of you have known each other for a while now, and this only pushes the two of you closer together.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart mesh’ika – little beauty mesh’la – beautiful

The artificial air kicks in and its refreshing coldness brushes against your neck. You sigh heavily, appreciating the luxury that few establishments have in Mos Espa. Not even Jabba’s Palace can boast to having such a feature.

Glancing over your shoulder, the rest of the room begins to melt into smoky shadow. The large shutters over the windows start to shift downward to ward off the light and heat from Tatooine’s twin suns. They stop two-thirds of the way, allowing for natural light but shrouding Tranquil Sands in shadow. The small lamps at each of the tables turn on, giving the place an intimate glow. In the far corner, the band changes up their song, and spice smoke from hookah pipes fills the air.

It might be the middle of the day, but Tranquil Sands is full. It always is.

Need a drink? Tranquil Sands has a full-service bar.

Want to spend all your money gambling? Tranquil Sands has all the best tables.

Do you desire more carnal pleasures? Tranquil Sands can provide.

Or are you simply wanting a place to rest your head? At Tranquil Sands, there are plenty of beds.

Tranquil Sands has it all.

And you are its bookkeeper.

Lady Sheku, a beautiful Twi’lek female with peachy skin, is the owner of Tranquil Sands. You’ve been keeping her books for several years. The two of you have grown close over time, forming a subtle friendship built on mutual respect.

Trust is important for something like this. You work closely tracking every credit and form of currency that enters or exits this establishment. It’s not just to ensure that proper dues are paid out to Jabba, but to be as transparent as possible for when—not if—the Empire comes knocking.

“Is everything in order?” asks a sultry voice.

You spin around just as Lady Sheku approaches. The Twi’lek is gorgeous, and she doesn’t even try. Many with money on Tatooine show it off, but Lady Sheku is all gentle elegance.

“As it always is,” you reply, knowing exactly what she’s referring to.

Today is payment day. Today is the day that Jabba the Hutt receives the protection dues from Tranquil Sands. But it isn’t Jabba who fetches it, nor is it his loathsome second Bib Fortuna. It’s Jabba the Hutt’s favorite bounty hunter, Boba Fett, that comes calling.

He is always on time. Never misses a single payment.

“You look lovely today,” murmurs Lady Sheku, her brow rising slightly as she admires your outfit.

When out on the floor, you have to look like you belong, not like you sit in a backroom all day hunched over ledgers. Yet you also cannot look like any of the workers. That might give some guests the wrong impression, and the last thing you need is a misunderstanding out in the open. You’ve opted for black, a color none of the workers wear. They prefer brighter colors, and the ones for pleasure purchases are even brighter with golden bangles and necklaces. You’ve gone completely bare other than the thin black fabric that hangs on your body.

“Thank you,” you reply.

Lady Sheku leans in, her voice dropping even lower. “It can’t be because a certain bounty hunter is coming today?”

“No,” you answer automatically, but it’s not entirely a lie.

Boba Fett is sweet on you, and everyone knows it. You are the one who interacts with him, who hands over the credits, who makes sure Jabba is paid and satisfied. Boba Fett is the man between, and yet he is enticing. A flavor of spice you cannot seem to shake.

But no matter how much attention he gives you; it simply isn’t possible. The two of you cannot be together. Boba Fett is a bounty hunter. He wears Mandalorian armor. He works for Jabba the Hutt. Everyone knows how deadly Boba is, that he’d rather vaporize his bounties than bring them in alive. A man like that makes enemies, and you’d be first on the list if they plan on targeting him.

“Liar,” teases Lady Sheku, waving her hand dismissively.

As if speaking his name summons him, Boba Fett enters through the front doors. For a moment, all conversation ceases, even the music seems distant. His helmeted head swivels, scanning the room. When it lands on you, everything stutters before hurtling forward. He takes one step, then another, and then he’s moving toward you with purpose embedded into every slap of his boots against the marble.

“Boba Fett,” greets Lady Sheku, her head dipping slightly with acknowledgement. You do the same, knowing it’s better to show respect to one of Jabba’s favorite contract killers.

When your gaze returns to him, the T-shaped visor is aimed at you. Though you cannot see his eyes, you feel his stare. It brands your skin, peeling back the flesh to reveal your deepest secrets.

“Everything is in order,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “The credits are in the back if you’ll follow me.” You shift and raise an arm, indicating the backroom you and Boba always meet in to make the exchange.

Boba shifts in your direction but Lady Sheku raises a hand. “A moment. Please.”

He pauses, and you drop your hand back to your side slowly, unsure of why Lady Sheku is delaying the proceedings.

“I have a proposal for you. An offer, if you will.” Lady Sheku’s shoulders shake a bit as she straightens her spine. Boba says nothing but inclines his head. “You never partake in anything we offer here at Tranquil Sands. As the proprietor of this fine establishment, I’d like to know what I can do to make you a loyal customer.”

You keep your face completely blank even as your mind races. Why is Lady Sheku asking this now? There isn’t any reason to delay. All the credits are there. In fact, there is plenty, so why make him wait? Why make you wait?

Boba Fett considers Lady Sheku’s question for a moment before he answers. “What I want isn’t on the menu.”

What I want isn’t on the menu.

When Boba says this, his helmet is turned in your direction, the T-shaped visor pinning you to the spot. Lady Sheku grins, her gaze subtly shifting between you and Boba.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” shrugs Lady Sheku. “For a price.”

Is she really selling you to him? You’re not a slave. You’re an employee.

You’re about to protest, the words forming on the tip of your tongue, but Lady Sheku gives you a look that silences you completely.

Trust me, it says.

Boba inclines his head. “I’m listening.”

“Wonderful!” Lady Sheku claps her hands together. “Let’s make a game of it. Shall we?” Placing one hand on Boba Fett’s upper arm, she guides him over to the gambling corner. Boba allows himself to be led and you follow right behind him, tension tight in your stomach.

“A wager,” says Lady Sheku. “If I win, you pay a portion of the protection money. If you win, you can have the woman you want for the evening. She will be…yours. Completely.”

“Lady—” you begin but Boba cuts in.

“What game?” he asks.

“Cards.” Lady Sheku gestures toward one of the tables.

“Sabacc?”

“Afraid, Boba?” teases Lady Sheku.

“Hardly. Let’s play.”

The two of them sit down at the nearest table. You stand there in shock, your feet unable to move. A droid dealer approaches, shuffling the cards, and still, you do not move. Others begin to press in, watching on as cards are dealt.

You want to rage, to curse everyone and everything, and yet, at your core, you’re not entirely angry. Lady Sheku has stepped over the line, crossed into territory that is blurry and wrong, but she’s not doing it for her own gain.

Everyone knows how sweet Boba is on you, how he always stands close whenever he’s near you, or how he compliments you at every visit. Even when he goes to the backroom with you, Boba is a complete gentleman. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t disrespect your boundaries. None of that accounts for all the gifts that arrive at Tranquil Sands’ doors. The ones for you never have a name on them, but it’s easy to guess who they’re from.

Something solidifies in your soul, and you take a step forward. A crowd has gathered, eager eyes watching on as the owner of Tranquil Sands and Jabba’s favorite bounty hunter face off over a few rounds of Sabacc.

The air is stagnant, and your gaze is glued to the floor.

Should you look? Should you watch on? Or should you let it be?

Even if Boba wins, you know he’d never hurt you. He has it in him to be cruel and sadistic, but he’s never raised a hand to you. He’s never taken what you haven’t freely offered. In this, if he wins, will Boba remain the same? Do you even want to know?

Kriff it, you think, shoving through the crowd, coming up behind Boba. Just as you squeeze between a Zabrak and Weequay, the crowd gasps. Boba leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread wide. Lady Sheku appears disappointed but you know her tells.

She glances up, winks, and then stands, sighing loudly. Your gaze falls to the table. Boba’s winning hand stares back at you tauntingly.

“You’ve won, Boba.” Lady Sheku inclines her head, hands spreading wide before her. The crowd around the table begins to disperse, their interest disappearing quickly. “My assistant will make sure you receive Jabba’s payment and then she’s all yours.”

Boba starts to stand and you shoot Lady Sheku a look. The Twi’lek shrugs casually. You’re welcome, she silently mouths before greeting a new wave of customers.

With Boba Fett looming over you, it’s hard not to notice his height and broad shoulders. The Mandalorian armor he wears is worn and dented, the paint chipped and peeling in some places. Yet it only adds to his aura, his sense of strength and power. His helmeted head dips as if he can kiss you through it. For a moment, your face rises as if to meet him, but you back out at the last second.

“This way,” you choke out, taking a step back, gesturing toward the other end of the room.

Boba leans away but he doesn’t create any distance other than that. It isn’t until you start walking that Boba moves, keeping pace with you. At the doors to Lady Sheku’s office, you scan your card and enter with Boba following behind.

“I’d offer you something to drink but this will only take a minute,” you say over your shoulder.

At the massive safe, you enter the code, retrieving the credits in their locked box. Turning around, you set the box down on the table, opening the lid to reveal the credits inside.

“Everything appear satisfactory?” you ask.

Boba doesn’t say anything. It’s infuriating because you don’t know if he’s looking at you or the credits behind that bucket.

“It’s all there. You can count if you—”

“You’re mine,” says Boba, like it’s an indisputable fact.

You take a deep breath, hands balling into fists at your sides. “For the evening,” you amend.

Boba glances down at the credits. He shuts the lid, reengaging the lock. His head tilts and his hand ascends, one finger pressing to the side of his helmet.

“I’ll need a pick up,” he says to someone that clearly isn’t you.

Boba does not pick up the credit case. Instead, he steps around the desk until he’s standing next to you. Reaching out, the back of his gloved hand brushes over bare skin. You feel the ridge of knuckles through the leather.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You nod because you don’t trust yourself to form proper words. Boba’s touch is like a stun wand. Electric but lethal. You are struck, ripped apart, and pieced together. It hurts, not because he’s touching you but because this will end, and the two of you will return to your lives. He is not meant for you. This cannot be more than just the evening.

Lady Sheku meant well by losing, but this might be too much.

Boba drops his hand and plucks the credit case from the desk. “When we return, you’ll sit with me. In my lap.”

His tone is assertive. Boba isn’t asking, and that stirs something inside you. While you like this, you also want to push back. But you’re not quick enough in your response. Boba points in your direction, chastising before you even get a word out.

The two of you stare each other down before Boba curls his finger in and presents his open palm. It’s an invitation instead of an order. While Lady Sheku needs to mind her business, Boba is the man that haunts your dreams. Every interaction with him is a memory that sticks to you like syrup.

Slowly, you extend your own hand, slipping it into his offered palm.

Boba’s hold is gentle as his fingers encase your hand. You allow yourself to be led from the room, to be escorted to a large booth tucked into a private corner. From here, Boba can see the rest of Tranquil Sands. It’s private yet strategic, a habit of any good bounty hunter.

Placing the container of credits on the table, Boba takes a seat in the booth. The cushions are soft and wide. The table in front of it is low to the ground. Boba never let’s go of your hand. He keeps you close, drawing you into his lap.

You fit perfectly there, and the naturalness is startling.

Boba keeps one arm around your lower back for support, his broad hand planted firmly on the curve where your hip and upper thigh meet. You’re tucked against him, leaning into the crook of his arm, one hand resting on his armored chest. With his other hand, Boba guides your legs over his thighs.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, that same hand running up your thigh, parting fabric until he’s touching bare skin.

“Yes,” you reply softly, a shiver running through you from the contact.

Boba’s answer is a gentle grunt as his hand on your thigh tightens. It’s a possessive hold, and you don’t entirely mind. Around you, patrons move about. Many don’t even glance your way, entirely preoccupied with their own endeavors.

It isn’t long before two Gamorreans enter Tranquil Sands. Between them is a woman in an all-black body suit with cape and cowl. The only visible part of her are her eyes which glow a subtle shade of purple.

“Boba,” she says on her approach.

Boba Fett only nods toward the container of credits. She is swift, fetching the credits and leaving without another glance at you or Boba.

After a few moments of silence, Boba adjusts, and it only draws you closer to him. “Are you upset with me, cyar’ika?”

The question surprises you. “Why would I be upset?”

“Why would you not be? Didn’t ask what you wanted.”

You snort. “Did you even consider what I wanted?”

The answer comes automatically. “No. I want you. And I saw an opportunity,” he says. “But you know that.”

You do know. You’ve known for over a year now and so does everyone else. Whenever Boba walks in, Lady Sheku and all the workers immediately look at you with amusement on their faces. Boba might not be overt in his attentions, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t gone unnoticed.

“What’s your plan, Boba? To lure me in? To convince me I should be yours?” You’re pushing him, feeling bold, but how could you not be? You’re in his lap, almost straddling him, and Boba’s hands are everywhere even though they’ve hardly moved at all.

Boba inclines his head. “You’re already mine. Always have been.”

“You don’t own me,” you murmur.

Boba’s silence is deafening, and you have no idea what it means. You desperately wish you could see his face, to look into his eyes and glimpse even a semblance of understanding. That silence is all there is because the matter is done the moment the doors of Tranquil Sands open.

Boba is all business after. He shifts you out of his lap, having you sit beside him instead like a pretty thing on display. But Boba keeps one hand on your inner thigh as he conversers, never removing it even when you adjust against the cushions.

Strangely, Boba never removes his helmet. Whenever he comes to retrieve Jabba’s payment, Boba almost always removes his helmet in front of you. But that has always been in a private setting behind closed doors. This is out in the open.

He orders food and drink, offering it to his guests as much as he offers it to you, and yet taking none for himself. You remain quiet, listening attentively but mostly staying out of it. Boba doesn’t ask for your input, and the various individuals seem to understand that you are off limits.

It isn’t until Tatooine’s suns begin to descend that Boba shifts gears.

“We’re going upstairs.”

Upstairs. The only thing upstairs are rooms. Rooms to sleep. To rest. To—

Your heart thunders in your chest. Excitement rushes in along with an underlying nervousness you can’t entirely place. It’s not geared toward Boba. He’d never hurt you, never push himself on you. No. This nervousness is a questioning of whether or not he’ll accept your advances if you give them.

It's a silly thing to question. Boba likes you. He’s smitten, willing to pay an entire month’s worth of protection money just to have the chance to be with you.

Boba stands and presents his hand. You take it, and he helps you to your feet, but he doesn’t drag you to the lift. He stays right there, towering over you, his free hand grasping your waist.

“What is it?” you ask, gaze roaming over the room in one quick sweep before returning to Boba.

“Do you want this?”

You blink, unsure if you heard him correctly. “Boba?”

“Do you want this?” he repeats. “With me?”

When you don’t answer right away, Boba gently squeezes your waist. “Give the word and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Boba—”

“If you wish to leave, tell me now.”

You swallow. “Does this mean I can’t go if I change my mind?”

Boba’s chest heaves. “No. You can always go. You can always walk away. I won’t stop you.”

Even though Boba played Sabacc with Lady Sheku in order to possess you, he is still giving you a choice. This is up to you. Boba has already made it clear what he wants. All you need to do is accept him, or walk away.

“I don’t want to go,” you breathe, knowing with these words you’ve changed your future forever.

There is no going back. No reversal. You are confirming what you already know and what he’s suspected. You want him.

Boba’s hand slips away from your waist only to travel downward to grasp the back of your thigh. This one touch makes you inhale sharply, and the soft chuckle Boba makes sends heat straight to your core.

“My mesh’ika,” he croons.

Boba keeps using these words you don’t know. You can take a guess as to their meaning. He’s used them before but only in private. Only when you’ve allowed him a passing touch before you depart.

Now, with his hand massaging the back of your thigh, the meaning is clear to you. And this place is far too public for such affection.

“Upstairs,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you’re surprised the voice receiver in the helmet even picks it up.

Boba’s hand disappears from your thigh, leaving an emptiness behind. You long to draw him back to you and indulge in his touch.

The ascent to the room is sluggish, and yet with a blink, you’re at the door. You cling to Boba’s armor-clad arm as the door slides open, and Boba guides you into the dark. The moment the two of you cross the threshold, a lamp near the window clicks on.

This is one of Tranquil Sands’ suites.

You enter into a small sitting area with a lounge sofa and low table. The curtains are closed, keeping out the light of Tatooine’s suns. To the right are sliding double doors. They stand open, revealing a large bed. The door to the bathroom is through there but you cannot see it from where you’re standing.

Boba releases your hand, and you are reluctant to let him go. He presses a few buttons on the control panel near the door. More lights turn on. It is dim—almost intimate—and all you want to do is reach out to him.

This is just for the evening. Only for the night. Then it’ll be over. You will return to your books, and Boba will be the vicious bounty hunter he has always been. He will come for Jabba’s payment, and you will hand it over, never meeting until the time to return rolls around again.

Hesitantly, you stride forward into the middle of the room. With hands clasped in front of you, you turn in Boba’s direction, only to find him within arm’s reach.

The two of you stare at each other, not speaking, hardly breathing.

With an aching slowness, Boba reaches up with both hands, clasping the sides of his helmet. You hear the hiss of the seal releasing, and then it’s gone, revealing his face. This is not a surprise. It’s no gut-punch. Boba’s face is one you’ve seen before, but this is not a business exchange. This is personal.

Boba moves past you and gently sets his helmet down on the table. He is right there, and when he straightens to undo his leather gloves, your hand finds his bicep, resting where there is no armor. His dark eyes swivel towards you, and you have the urge to run your fingers through his hair. It looks so soft and inviting—just long enough to give it a little tug.

He removes one glove and then the other, tossing them onto the table next to his helmet. Your eyes track every movement, the casualness of Boba’s undressing a mesmerizing dance. You cannot look away.

“You’re staring, cyar’ika,” muses Boba, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You cough, and discreetly check for drool. “Want me to stop?” you shrug. “I can do that?”

“No.” Boba’s tone startles you, but it is his hand on the back of your neck that truly makes your stomach flip. He drags you against him, and your hands instinctually rise, pressing against his chestplate.

His dark gaze is sharp. Piercing. “Draw me a bath, cyar’ika.” Your lips part and Boba’s gaze drops momentarily before returning to your eyes. His grip on the back of your neck tightens a bit before releasing.

“Go,” he says, voice husky and rough. “Before I get dirt on that pretty dress.”

Heat rushes up your spine and flares hot in your cheeks. Pressing a hand to your burning face, you quickly enter the bathroom. Built into the wall is a massive tub. It’s all smooth, clean lines and easily fits two.

“Kriffing hell,” you murmur at the ceiling. You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart.

Shaking your hands out at your sides to release some of the giddy nervousness, you reach for the small panel in the wall. Hot water begins to emerge from the faucet. Pressing a few more buttons bring forth an aromatic aroma, and the water starts to turn sudsy.

It looks inviting. Entirely heavenly.

Water is a heavily sought-after resource on Tatooine, but Lady Sheku has connections, often transporting water in from off world. It’s expensive but it supplements what can be purchased on Tatooine.

You pause, hearing soft footsteps. Turning, your eyes widen, and the heat that you banished from your cheeks returns. You quickly look away as Boba’s nude body brushes past you and steps over the edge of the tub to slide into the water.

Boba sighs heavily, and the sound goes straight to your sex. It’s contentment and satisfaction, and you want to know if that’s what he sounds like when he’s buried deep.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” you say, keeping your gaze averted. But as you turn to leave, Boba reaches out, his wet hand grasping your wrist.

“You’ll stay,” he commands, releasing your wrist to tap the side of the tub. “Right here. Where I can look at you.”

Slowly, you ease down on the edge of the tub. It’s not entirely uncomfortable. It is wide and flat, large enough for you to sit without sliding onto the floor and into Boba’s lap. You place one hand behind you, and one on your knee to keep balance. Boba submerges himself a bit more, the water coming up to the middle of his chest.

“You look lovely today,” he murmurs, gaze roaming up and down your body in appreciation.

“Thank you,” you reply. “Am I not lovely to you every time you see me?”

Boba smirks. “You are. And even when I don’t see you.”

“Oh,” you whisper, fingers playing with one of the gauzy, black strands of fabric.

It’s loose enough that the material spreads out and hangs toward the floor, revealing plenty of bare leg. Boba’s hand is nearby but not touching. Yet his fingers flex like he wants to touch you but is resisting the urge to do so.

“Join me,” he rasps, those fidgeting fingers forming a fist.

“Is it a command or an ask?” It doesn’t really matter if he’s asking or demanding. Sliding into that warm water with him is a desire you don’t want to resist. Will you straddle his lap, sitting face to face? Or will Boba want you to recline against him, back pressed against his chest?

Boba’s dark gaze is unmoving when he speaks. “It’s what you wish it to be.”

You swallow and sit up straighter. “Look away.”

Boba laughs, and runs his hands through his hair. It sticks up at an odd angle and you giggle.

“Fine,” he agrees, glancing at the wall, whistling to himself.

Slowly, you stand. You partially give Boba your back as you slip one strap over your shoulder and then the other. You loosen the band at your waist, and then the dress is on the ground, a dark pool of fabric at your feet.

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Boba still turned away, but he’s stiff, almost rigid. That is when you notice your reflection. It is blurry, mostly an outline, but it’s clear that you’re nude.

Turning quickly, you cover your breasts and step into the tub at an odd angle to hide yourself. It’s silly, since you’re already taking this leap, but it’s natural to want to hide yourself. This is new. Different. While you’ve always liked him, this is beyond anything the two of you have engaged in.

A few stolen kisses in a backroom means nothing compared to this.

As you start to sink down, Boba’s head turns. Your gazes lock, and then he’s reaching for you, bringing you against him. He does bring you to a straddling position. Boba guides you around until you’re sitting in his lap, back pressed against his chest and head resting on his shoulder.

The water hardly covers your breasts.

“I want to see all of you,” he murmurs in your ear even as his hands run up and down your thighs, waist, and hips under the water.

The motion stirs the water, revealing your breasts to him. Boba groans against your throat as one of your hands reaches back to rub the back of his neck. While keeping one hand on your thigh, Boba gently cups one breast, lightly pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Your breasts have never been overly sensitive, but Boba’s touch is immense. All-consuming. You’ve never reacted to anyone’s touch like this.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs. Boba’s hand beneath the water grasps the inside of your thigh and squeezes. “All mine.”

Boba’s lips trail over your neck and then the curve of your jaw near your ear. You turn your head just enough to look at him, and all trepidation you might have held vanishes. This man is enamored. In rapture.

“Let me kiss you, cyar’ika.”

But you do not let him. Instead of saying yes, instead of agreeing, you’re the one who responds with action. Your lips connect with Boba’s, and it seems to surprise him. At first his lips do not react, but then he’s answering back, kissing deeper. Seeking. Wanting to taste.

You open for him, and Boba moans, his hand upon your breast sliding upward to grasp the front of your throat in a possessive hold.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this, cyar’ika?” murmurs Boba against your lips. “Do you know how much I’ve craved you?”

“I thought we were bathing,” you reply, and he smiles. It’s so sweet. Soft. Something you’ve never seen on his face.

“You’re right,” he croons. “We are.”

You’ve never been cleaner. Boba keeps you reclined against him as he scrubs and strokes every inch of your body. He is gentle the entire time, pebbling your throat and lips with soft kisses that has your pussy clenching around nothing.

When you’re refreshed, Boba hands over control, and you are just as thorough. You adjust positions, straddling him. Boba wiggles further into the water, leaning back entirely, one arm splayed across the back of the tub while the other rests under the water where it rests on your thigh.

Boba never looks away. His gaze is always on you. There is a dreamy, happy quality to it, like he can’t believe you are truly here with him.

“You’re clean,” you say, twisting out the excess water from the handcloth. You set it aside just as Boba releases the valve for the water to drain.

You start to stand but Boba grabs your waist, drawing you back into his lap. Words begin to form on your lips, but Boba is quick, silencing whatever you wanted to say with a kiss.

“Can I take you to bed?” he asks, drawing back enough to stare into your face.

The water is quickly disappearing, and the sudden rush of air prickles your skin.

“You can have whatever you want,” you answer, and Boba’s grip on your waist tightens.

“And what if I want you on your back, hm?” he prompts. “Would you spread you legs for me?” He leans in for another kiss. This one is chaste. Quick. “Would you let me in, cyar’ika?”

Would you let me in, cyar’ika?

You have to bite back a moan. You’ll give this man anything.

“Dry me off and find out.”

With a swiftness that has you grabbing on to the back of Boba’s neck, he manages to lift you and step onto the bathroom floor in open fluid movement. He holds you in the air like that, and you pretend not to notice his hard as it presses against your inner thigh.

Slowly, Boba eases you to the ground, but he doesn’t let go. Keeping one arm around your waist, Boba snags a towel from the shelf. It is clean and white. Freshly laundered. He drapes it over your shoulders and you find the edges, bringing it in. Boba grabs another for himself.

You start with your ears and throat, then the rest of your body before drying your hair enough that it’s slightly damp. Boba is much faster than you, and he does nothing to help, only watches. Admires. It’s far too intimate, and you keep glancing away, smiling like a kriffing idiot.

“What?” you laugh, and Boba returns the smile.

He gently grabs hold of the towel and you release it to him, leaving you completely bare. The towel falls from his hands, and then Boba is grasping your hips, walking you backward into the dimly lit bedroom.

Boba comes to a halt when the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed. Keeping one hand on your hip, his other hand grasps the side of your throat, titling your head back a bit as his mouth meets yours in a searing kiss.

Heat is everywhere. It burns beneath your skin, soaring outward until you’re pushing up onto your toes in an attempt to draw closer. Boba is all eagerness. All hunger. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pause for air. He is devouring and you want to be consumed by him.

“I want to taste you,” he says between kisses.

When he leans in for more, you pull back, giggling. “You are.”

“No,” he replies, voice growing husky. “I want to taste you here.”

On here, Boba slips his hand between your legs, fingers gently parting your sex to revealing your slickness. The moment his fingers make contact, Boba growls, and it is a needy sound.

“That is what I want,” he reiterates, and you will not tell him no.

“I told you, Boba. You can have whatever you want.”

Boba withdraws his hand from between your legs. “On your back, love.”

You ease down onto the bed and then lean back on your elbows as you scoot away from the edge. Boba’s fingers brush against the tops of your knees before sliding between, easing your legs apart, guiding them wide so that he can move between them.

His rough, calloused hands are soft brands against your inner thighs. They slide upward toward your sex, only to purposefully pass over it instead to grasp waist and stomach.

Boba adjusts, leaning onto one elbow, his other hand roaming across your skin.

He studies the curve of your hip, the softness of your belly, the places where you think there is too much and not enough. Boba worships it all, leaving nothing untouched.

“Ready?” he asks, and you nod.

Boba’s thumb hovers at your entrance where your slickness pools. He draws some up to your clit. Presses. Swirls. It’s a sharp tug. A sudden burst.

You gasp, back arching slightly as Boba continues to play with that sensitive bump. His fingers aren’t even inside you. And you are falling apart, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hips flexing into his touch as your body clenches. The moan is choked, suppressed. Boba grins against your thigh.

“Good. That’s it, cyar’ika,” he purrs, wrist rotating, his middle finger sliding through your wetness.

He finally adds a finger, begins pumping. Your hips buck, and Boba meets with a thrust of his hand. His thumb on your clit is relentless and it isn’t long before you’re clenching again, this time mewling softly, trying hard to relax but failing completely.

That is when Boba descends. That is when he finally takes his taste.

Boba parts your pussy with a slow swipe of his tongue. He swirls up, teasing your clit with just the tip, and that is enough to make your shake, for your back to come off the bed. Without thought, your hands seek him. One slides through his hair, tangling, twisting, anchoring yourself as your hips roll against his mouth, riding his face.

Boba sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s over. You hear yourself but it seems so distant, like you’re falling into a deep hole. Your thighs clench like you’re trying to trap his head between them, but Boba is strong. Insistent. He keeps spread, forcing you wide again to take his tongue without resistance.

You say his name until your voice grows hoarse and you skin is tingling in the afterglow of pleasure.

Around you, the bed sinks as Boba shifts forward, pushing off his knees, crawling over you until the two of you are face to face. Your chest heaves as you gaze up at the man you’ve always held at a distance. Boba’s lips are slightly parted. In the small slashes of light, you glimpse the glossy shine on his lips.

You reach up and run your thumb across that mess only for Boba to suck that digit into his mouth, wiping you clean of yourself.

Boba is so close, and you arch your neck, seeking his mouth. He gives you what you’re seeking, and everything in you melts, becoming one with his warmth. Your hands slide up his chest and then back down, nails grazing over his skin.

He breaks the kiss, panting. “I need you.”

“You can have me.” It’s a wonder that you’re even able to speak.

Pushing up onto one elbow, Boba grasps your wrists, and then you’re rolling on to your stomach, Boba’s weight heavy at your back. Your arms are above your head, pinned there. With a quick adjustment, Boba shifts your wrists to one hand while the other runs up and down your back in a gentle caress.

“Mesh’la,” he murmurs, and you shiver.

Slowly, Boba releases your wrists, but you do not move them. You hold them above your head, awaiting Boba’s next move. Both hands join, moving lower and lower until his hands are full of you. He squeezes your ass and mutters something under his breath that you’re unable to hear.

Boba’s hands fall to your hips. They adjust, bringing them up off the bed a bit. But Boba does not part your legs. Instead, he tests your entrance with a single finger.

Grunting, he withdraws, and then reaches up, snagging one of the pillows.

“Lift your hips,” he commands. You comply, and Boba slips the pillow beneath your lower abdomen. “Better,” he growls, hands returning to your ass.

The bed sinks as he shifts, and again, Boba does not part your legs. He adjusts the pillow some more, arching your hips a bit higher. His hands slide down to the backs of your thighs, pausing near your pussy. With a little pressure, Boba spreads you a bit, but it’s not nearly as much as you expected.

You push up onto your forearm, twisting a bit to look over your shoulder.

Boba’s gaze meets yours just as the head of his cock finds your entrance. He holds himself there, and then thrusts forward.

You cry out, not from pain but from pure pleasure. The stretch is intolerable but so kriffing good you nearly come undone right then.

Boba retreats, and then returns, each roll of his hips giving you more and more of his cock.

“You’re so kriffing tight, cyar’ika,” he groans, feeding you more until your toes curl from the intrusion.

Boba pauses when he bottoms out, holding himself there as his hands slide up and down your back in a soothing caress.

“How do you feel?” The question is one of genuine concern.

You’re no longer leaning on your forearm. You’ve collapsed, cheek pressed against the bed. “Good, Boba. I’m good.”

Boba rolls his hips again, and the slow drag has you clenching. The whimper that accompanies it arrives unbidden, but it is only one of many.

His thrusts begin slow before becoming steady, each one a claiming. Boba drapes himself over you, his forehead resting against the back of your head, and his hands planted on either side of you. Boba uses that as leverage to drive into you over and over.

You are pinned beneath him, taking everything, and it is delicious. You don’t want him to stop. You want to be claimed. To be possessed. To be known by him.

Boba’s breath is hot against your neck, and the words he mutters are of a language you don’t know. He might be cursing you, praising you, or praying to gods you know nothing about.

It isn’t until Boba’s thrusts become quick and erratic that his mind seems to return to you. Keeping one hand anchored to the bed, Boba uses his other hand to tangle his fingers in your hair. Without hurting you, he turns your head just enough to look into your eyes.

“Let me come inside you, cyar’ika.”

“Boba,” you groan as he grinds his hips against you.

“Please,” he begs.

Boba slows his thrusts, awaiting your answer.

You start nodding, but Boba shakes his head like it isn’t enough. “I need words. I need to hear you say it.”

He lightly tugs on your hair and you moan your answer loudly. “Yes.”

Boba’s grip on your hair releases, and your head drops back to the bed. In his end, Boba is relentless, a pounding pace that drives you into the bed. Your fingers claw at the bedding, everything in your clenching and unclenching, your clip rubbing against the pillow until your own release bursts like stardust.

Boba groans against your throat, and then he stills, pressing down with all his weight, burying himself to the hilt. You don’t even care how messy this will be. You only care about how his arms start to go around you. How he completely drapes himself across you like a blanket. How he whispers your name between kisses to the space between your shoulder blades.

Adjusting some of his weight off of you, Boba grasps the front of your throat, and then you’re looking at each other.

“How many more times can I have you tonight?” he muses, lips curling into a smile.

“We should take what we can. Before we depart. Return to our lives,” you answer.

“You think I’m letting you go, cyar’ika?” counters Boba.

You shift to see him better. “Isn’t that what has to happen?”

 Boba’s mouth forms in a wide grin. “No. You might return to your books, but when I come calling, I expect to be treated like this.” He lightly thrusts, and you whimper. He’s growing hard again. Needy.

“Boba,” you groan, arching into him.

He kisses your shoulder. Kisses the dip and then your throat. “I’m never letting you go, cyar’ika.”

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet

@singleteapot @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @kayden666 @cherryofdeath @enfppuff @ninman82

@no-oneelsebutnsu @beebeechaos @tulipsun-flower @nomercyforthewarrior @hantheconqueror

[cosmerelists]

What Cosmere Characters' Rooms Look Like (But Mostly In Terms of Vibes)

As requested by @rainbyanyothername :)

Here is my take on what the vibe of Cosmere characters' rooms would be--vibes mostly because I don't want to be stuck to, like, what bedrooms are canonically like in the various worlds. We're going by vibes, baby!

1. Adolin

I think that, as soon as he stopped having to abide by his father's strict "all rooms must follow the codes somehow" standards, Adolin went his own way...and that way was tasteful and fashionable. Adolin is the sort of guy whose bedroom pieces all match--but not in a "all bought from a matching set" kind of way, but rather, like, a deep orange bedspread and a forest green rug that somehow complement each other beautifully. It's neat--he is NOT going to wrinkle his clothes by tossing them over a chair--but also clearly lived in and homey.

2. Zellion

He doesn't have a room. :( He's always on the run. :( How rude of you to even ask. :(

3. Shallan

I just remember how happy Shallan was to be in that big fluffy comforter when she first moved in with Sebarial. I think she'd love to have that deeply soft bed and that big fluffy comforter and a beanbag chair and also a big egress window in case she has to escape in the night to do spy stuff. It is also definitely not neat.

4. Jasnah

Well...we know nothing is soft if Jasnah can help it. Her mattress is firm, her rug (if she has one) is low-pile, and she has bookshelves everywhere.

5. Wax

I think he has deerskin-rug-on-the-floor-guns-on-the-walls-but-also-everything-in-there-costs-one-million-dollars vibes. Except for the boots, which Wayne left behind as a trade and are worth $1.50.

6. Ranette

Her room is gross and cluttered and every single surface is either guns or gun parts.

7. Dalinar

I mean, surely this one is obvious: his room is Spartan. Dalinar has the minimum amount of furniture necessary to make a room a room, and he didn't even have any photographs before Navani came along. He thinks slippers are extravagant.

8. Lightsong

I mean, this one is clear from canon. Lightsong has, like, nineteen pillows and sixteen blankets and carpets on top of his carpets and a lot of objects that could only be called "baubles."

9. Sigzil

I don't think Sigzil is quite as Spartan as Dalinar--or at least, it isn't a moral thing for him. I think Sigzil would live fairly simply because he's not a big stuff person, and it would be neat on the surface but perhaps a bit dusty if you looked too closely because he's out a lot.

10. Zane

All I know is that his room has a My Chemical Romance poster on its wall...in, like, vibes.

11. Breeze

He has a wine fridge. It's by the bed. His room his mostly tasteful and masculine and, like, full of oak...but also there are sparkly pink pillows and doilies everywhere. We all know why.

12. Kelsier

Kelsier's room would be a sanctuary to Mare; like not-touched-at-all-since-she-was-last-there-even-though-he-feels-like-weeping-whenever-he-sees-it-but-he-can't-throw-away-that-crumpled-up-kleenex-because-Mare-touched-it sort of vibes. Sorry :(

13. Vasher

His room his gross. He thinks he can wear his socks three times before they need washing and in the meantime he will be leaving them on that chair.

14. Vivenna

Her room is very neat--she definitely makes her bed every morning and actually moves books to dust underneath them--and there is, just, no color anywhere.

15. Kaladin

If you asked Kaladin what he wanted in a bedroom he would be like "A mattress?? To sleep on?? What else do you need in a bedroom???" And yes, he's definitely a mattress-put-directly-on-the-floor boy. But then Syl keeps collecting cool leaves and flowers and putting them around, and there are some rocks from Tien, and a flute that somehow ended up back with him, and Adolin gave him something called a "decorative pillow" and in the end it's still a mattress on the floor but surrounded by things brought in by people who love him.

[shoukiko]

How the TF2 Mercs would react to you wanting to paint their nails <3

a/n: I hope you guys will appreciate this, TF2 holds a special place in my heart, I've loved it for years so doing this makes me all giddy inside. If you have ay requests, please message me! I do CoD and TF2!! Enjoy! <3

Scout

Would be like "I ain't into that type of things, Toots."

After some convincing would let you paint his thumb and only his thumb.

Perhaps he sees you all happy while doing it and says it's okay for just *one more* finger.

Square nails, I don't make the rules.

Which then turns into his whole hand.

Shows it off to the team because YOU were the one who did it and they should be jealous.

"TAKE A FUCKIN GANDER YA BUNCH OF PANSIES"

Would pick off the nail polish as a habit during briefings or when he's not paying attention.

Feels bad coming back to you with his awful manicure.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud, at least you get to hold my hand." Dick

Medic

Would love to have you paint his nails, but he thinks it would cause issues during his procedures

Ya know, cuz he doesn't wear gloves....for whatever reason

"Please.... :(" "Oh... Meine Taube.. How can I ever say no to you?"

100% Short round nails. Maybe not slender/skinny fingers, but they're def on the thinner side.

Ends up forcing himself to wear gloves just so they won't get ruined.

He thinks your careful and skilled hands are very attractive and "intriguing" as you paint them.

He's weird like that, You love it.

He loves you....maybe too much....He'd probably cut your hands off if you said yes.

He's the type to ask lol

Spy

No

No again

Stop asking

He wears gloves anyways, why do you want to so bad?

He doesn't have time for these silly games!!!!

"Mon canard, Please. This is too immature for me" "So you're saying you don't love me?" *Smug look*

You win

He has very nice nails by the way. Perfect nails, perfect slender hands.

He doesn't really say much, but you can tell from his eyes he enjoys such an intimate moment.

He tells noone and shows noone, but he likes to be in his room jsut looking at them, thinking of you.

Would do yours if you asked....nicely

Pyro

I mean this is obviously a yes.

The gloves are off before you finish your sentence.

Scarred hands, maybe missing a nail on a finger, but that's okay.

Picks the colors, they want pink. Lotta pink.

Get's excited when you bring up stickers.

Rocks a pink and purple manicure with a flower sticker on their missing nail.

Becomes a weekly thing, your little spa day. :)

Heavy

Skeptical, but why not? Couldn't hurt.

Lot of surface area, dudes hands are bigger than your face.

He finds it amusing that your hands are so small compared to his.

He's letting you paint his nails, but he'd like some dark colors.

Maybe not black, more like blue or maybe red occasionally/

"One sticker?" "No sticker, thank you" "Okay one sticker" "...Okay, for you"

Sniper

"If it'll make ya happy, doll."

Falls asleep as you paint them.

Rough hands, tan lines from his gloves, he has dirty finger nails :Gross:

You throw in some....cleaning... just cuz you care.

I love this man so much, but oh my god I just know he's musty.

You give him plain black nails, one white nail on his ring fingers

You don't do his thumb, you notice the big bruise under his nail, idk what those are called.

I looked it up it's called Garand Thumb (It's so canon)

You fight with him because you wanna know of it's like a hematoma or not (Gross I know, but I'd do it)

Engineer

Well it's not something he'd find himself doing on his own, would probably think it's silly until he met you.

"As long as I don't look all frou frou after, I'm fine with anything Darlin' "

AAAA TALK TO ME LIKE THAT

Thick fingies, like fat hands a bit, slightly rough because of how much he works. Only slightly because he still wears gloves.

I like to think his hands are covered in oil/dirt most of the time, He does wash them, but he's just always workin on something.

Would wash them before you paint them though. Lovely little you can't be getting your perfect hands dirty.

He wants yellow, give him yellow nails. Like sunshine yellow, like his hat.

He thinks it's "Just lovely lookin' "

Demoman

You don't ask, you just paint them while he's passed out drunk.

You give him rainbow nails, Glitter top coat. You're so mean

Surprisingly soft hands, Big and thick, very soft. My goodness you're even jealous by how nice they are.

He even has the perfect nails for painting. What doesnt this man have?

Oh wait

He's PISSED when he wakes up.

Probably calls it gay (But like....worse)

Sees you sad because of how he reacted.

Slumps in his chair, "They're 'right...."

Grows to like them (more like live with them)

Maybe in like 2 weeks to see hims again, they're still painted, just a bit withered away.

He loves em

Soldier

"DO I LOOK LIKE SOME SORT OF PANSY TO YOU, MAGGOT???"

You offer to do them in the colors of the American flag

He accepts obviously

You do it standing up cause he is just...there. Stiff as a board.

Wide nails, Rough knuckles, calluses.

When you're done he salutes you.

"Well done, Maggot. Now I won't have to kill you." Sure buddy

I hope you guys liked it!!

[twstfanblog]

*~Family Feud~*

AN: This has been done for DAYS I just didn't get a chance to read it over because I dropped two outfit descriptions in this and I wanted to draw them out. Instead, I decided to get this out and stop hoarding it. XD

Also an introduction to one of my Twist OC's I'll do my best to get a proper bio of him and link it at a later date.

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: Toxic family dynamics, Disregard of adopted family, She/They Yuu OC. My own canon of Silver's backstory mixed with canon.

Pairings: Mallus x Yuu

Enjoy~!

Starter, Part 1(Pomefiore), Part 2 (Heartslabyul), Part 3 (Here)

Diasomnia was strangely desolate, something that Louis wasn't really expecting. He would have thought the dorm would reflect Briar Valley. The times he'd seen the valley, it was full of lush vegetation, life seeming to spill out of every corner. The only place that looked vaguely like these densely packed dead woods was the royal castle of the Draconia’s. But, even then, the castle had a beautiful rose garden. At the thought of the Briar royalty he scowled, his resolve only growing as he stomped through the woods. Eyes roaming through the trees looking for someone.

Louis Durand was the eldest son and crown prince of Ulstead, one of the longest-standing royal families of Twisted Wonderland. Honey-blonde hair and aurora-colored eyes showing his heritage of the Knight of Dawn. His light-plated iron clinked, gold and iron mix giving off a pale sunshine hue, added protection from his basic princely attire. Long hair braided back and pinned with his family’s crest acting as a crown.

Soon he finds someone, his eyes widening before a smile breaks out on his face. He picks up his pace seeing the figure under the tree slowly open his eyes. Silver hair and dressed in a black and green military uniform, Louis couldn’t keep his voice quiet as he ran closer, " Beau!"

Matching aurora eyes snap open at the name. Silver sighs under his breath, not sure if staying asleep would be better or worse in this situation. Instead, he stood up, waiting for the prince to reach him and for the common argument to start.

Malleus walked with Yuu, smiling at the pout on the human's face, "Why are you so upset, my dear? It's a lovely day and I have you all to myself. Why the long face?" In hand was his spinning wheel wand. He didn’t have his pen in such form normally, But while in his dorm uniform, the staff was perfect for the overall look. Plus, it felt good to wear such regal wear with his child of man in their own new dorm uniform of Ramshackle.

Lilia himself was delighted seeing the outfit, saying Yuu looked like a troublesome fairy he had a run-in with long ago. A light tealish green button-up shirt with bluebell-shaped sleeves. A darker grey-teal vest over the shirt, a series of leather belts wrapped around their waist to hold an assortment of things, one of which being a bag of marbles. (For purposes Yuu told the others.) The vest had multiple tail ends, layering into a rough jagged line like the edge of a leaf. Leggings patterned with asymmetrical lines to mirror shattered glass. The look was pulled together with a pair of leather pirate-style boots that folded over their knees and a worn-looking navy captain’s hat, refurbished lightly to match the color of their dorm better.

Malleus himself could see what Lilia meant when Yuu wore their new uniform. Though it was a collaborative design by Divus and Yuu, the final result came out very close to the common fashion of Briar Valley. And with their temper and short stature (Compared to him), Yuu truly reminded him of the trickster fairies of the woods. Oh, the times Malleus had to keep Silver from being led astray by little wings of glitter. At the very least, Yuu gave kisses instead of deceiving the innocent…Well, Yuu does the same but it was normally unlethal. Now looking down at his lover, he smiles, tilting his head at the pouting human. He wonders if he could get away with calling them a pixie. He chuckles, raising an arm to place around their shoulders, “Come, let me hold you.”

Yuu huffs, leaning away from Malleus' arm as he tries to bring them closer. They glare at the tall fae, crossing their arms across their chest, "You know very well I wanted to meet your grandma. And you have the gall to stand there, looking cute, and call me over here after you already sent her home!"

The laugh Malleus let out was loud like thunder, it would almost be threatening if not for the warmth in his smile. He leans down, forehead resting on Yuu's as he looked into their eyes, "Are you truly upset you couldn't meet my grandmother? Or are you upset you haven't been able to embarrass me in front of my maternal figure like you've done your other lovers?"

They scoff, turning around to walk away from Malleus, but didn't try to move when he wrapped his arm around them. Yuu rested against his chest, sighing forlornly as they placed their hand over their forehead, "All I ask is to look into your grandmother and have her look back at me…"

"..." Malleus laughs, standing up and moving Yuu to face him directly, "You know, I may consider introducing you to my grandmother more if you stopped insinuating she is the void."

"Have you ever seen your grandmother and the void in the same room? I haven't." They laugh at Malleus' smile, pulling him down and leaning in to kiss his cheek. Giving him another seeing how the fae beamed under the physical affection.

Their sweet moment was interrupted by shouting, the sound of it getting closer and closer. Sharing a look, Malleus stands back to full height, a hand placed on the middle of Yuu’s back, the two of them walking toward the sounds of arguing.

"-before someone sees us, we should go!"

"Louis, please just go. I'm not having this argument with you again…"

Yuu blinks at the unknown boy trying to pull Silver through the woods, the gray-haired boy digging his heels into the dirt. Silver looked more annoyed than distressed at the manhandling, but, Yuu still pulled her golf club from the back holster Crewel had designed for them, "Hey! The fuck’s going on here?"

Her shout was enough for the both of them to look over in surprise, giving Silver the chance to finally slip out of the mystery boy's hold. The 2nd year was quick to join them, standing just slightly behind Malleus on his side in his normal position as a retainer. For whatever reason it made the boy glare, frowning fiercely at Malleus.

"Still insulting the Ulstead crown with your display, I see. He should be in jewels and celebrated! Not set to the side to be forgotten and overlooked by your people!"

Malleus' mirthful attitude was gone, a bored look on his face as he looked down his nose at the armor-clad boy.

Seeing Malleus wasn’t going to grace the stranger with an answer, Yuu spoke up. Their golf club swinging lazily to tap against their calf, "While I agree Silver is a national treasure, you can't just be grabbing and dragging people around like they owe you money."

The stranger opens his mouth, poised to start yelling at them too before he freezes. Looking at them, his eyes widen in shock, "You're human?"

"Good eyes, now explain yourself-"

"Fair maiden you must come with me at once! This land of fae and fowl isn't safe nor suitable for humans!" He reached out, moving to grab onto Yuu's wrist only to be forced back by a crackle of green lightning. 

Yuu was just as surprised, blinking when Silver pulled them farther behind Malleus and missing the prominent anger in the fae's eyes as dark clouds began to gather above them.

Malleus’s eyes seemed to glow the darker the area became, his face a deadly edge of sober as he tilted his head slightly, "You dare try to abscond with my treasures? I would think your family knows a dragon does not give from their hoard so lightly…"

The stranger matched Malleus' expression, taking a step forward before he was interrupted by Silver sighing.

"Louis. Please. Just go home. I've long made my choice and I would like it if you and your family to respect it."

“They’re our family!” Louis' face crumbles, a hand reaching out in a pleading motion toward Silver, " Beau, please just come home with me. We can talk this out with the family and see if you've been cursed like father thinks. If all is well we can go from there."

Yuu casts a confused look toward Silver, raising an eyebrow, "Beau?"

Silver shakes his head, not wanting to explain, missing Malleus locking eyes with Louis. A smug smirk grew on the fae’s face before he spoke.

" I would like it if you left my brother be. He doesn't wish to speak to you."

"He is not your brother you accursed, bastard!"

"Now, now. There's no need for all of this yelling…"

Lilia dropped down from above a few paces away. Instead of his normal dorm uniform, he wore a tight thorn pattern long-sleeve top, the high neckline hidden by a false collar and a bright green tie with a complex-looking knot. Long pants tucked into knee-length lace-up boots. His oversized jacket was replaced with an open-back vest in the dorm colors, long coattails trailing behind him. The look pulled together with his normal dorm accessories, the vest showing off the spiked spine brace the Diasomnia students regularly wear.

His youthful face was strangely in a neutral expression. He looks to Louis, not even flinching at the glare. Turning to him fully, Lilia gives a polite smile, trying to calm the enraged boy, "Prince Louis. I understand the campus is open to all visitors. But, you are aware Silver doesn't wish to speak to you or the other Ulstead royals unless it is at the yearly treaty festival or you’ve called ahead of time."

Louis stomps forward, getting directly in Lilia's face to snarl, "His name is Beau, you thief!"

"Enough!" Silver steps forward, standing beside Lilia and only stopping at the hand gripping his arm, keeping him closer to Lilia, "I will not let you talk to my father like this."

"He isn't your father!" Louis looks to Silver, eyes pleading, "Beau, no matter what they've told you, they're lying to you. They aren't your true family and all we want is for you to come home to us…"

Silver’s face clenches, almost winning in the fight to not grimace. His fists ball up at his sides, turning his head away from Louis as he muttered, “Who I care for isn’t your choice to make…”

Lilia glances at Silver from the corner of his eye. Seeing Silver's anger, he opened his mouth to calm his son, only to have Louis speak before him.

"He won't love you like a real father would. You know that. You'll be dead and gone long before he even has time to care about you."

That was enough to make Silver crumble, the 2nd year hunching into himself hoping to hide away from the other's hurtful words.

The sound of thunder and lightning was deafening. The dark clouds overhead that had eclipsed the sun were almost meaningless as a single bolt of lightning illuminated the grounds, striking dangerously close to the group. Both of which were ignored by Lilia, scooping Silver into his arms. 

Placing the taller boy onto his hip and supporting his legs while glaring at the human prince, "If you'll excuse us, my son seems to be under the weather. I'm going to get him inside to rest."

Lilia doesn't look back, walking away like Silver weighed less than nothing in his hold. Even with his confused expression, Silver soon relaxed, properly latching onto his father and resting his head against the top of Lilia's hair.

Yuu looks over to Louis, frowning at the other human's intense glare at the retreating figures, "You know, as a fellow human? That was extremely fucked up, you know that, right? Like severely fucked."

"I quite agree with my child of man." Malleus' face was stone cold, his tinted lips curling over a fang as he snarled, "It was fucked."

“What’s fucked,” Louis somehow made the vitriol in his voice even harsher, eyes glaring into Malleus’ cold green iris, “Is stealing a prince and making him a guard to the enemy of his nation.”

Malleus leans in, a small smile showing his fangs as he spoke in a soft mocking tone, “He wasn’t stolen by fae hands. Nor are we enemies, the treaty was signed nearly 20 years ago Prince Durand.” His smile drops, voice almost a growl, “You’d do well to remember that.”

Louis’ hand reached toward his sword, managing to draw it out only a few inches before a force slammed into the hilt of the blade, forcing it back into the sheath. The head of a golf club resting on top of the rounded metal of the weapon, Yuu’s dark eyes glaring into his own morning dews, the silent promise clear in their actions. He huffed, his glare only barely softening as he addressed Yuu, “Stand down, maiden. I don’t know why you’ve allied yourself with this fae, but he is not to be trusted.”

“With all disrespect? What I do with the future father of my child is none of your business.”

Malleus’ magic forms around Yuu faster than she could swing and faster than Louis could grab her. The green aura glittered around her, lifting Yuu into the air and away from the human’s out-reaching hand. Louis glared at the prince, his hand clenching into the open air.

Louis closes his eyes, trying to calm his breathing before looking up at Yuu, “You…Miss, you can’t be serious! The Draconia family is founded on the wicked deeds of the Thorn Fairy herself! To be a human and want to continue that line-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Yuu was now lounging in the air, golf club resting over their crossed legs, “I’m going to do my best to be…polite with my reasonings. I don’t care, I just don’t care. I like Malleus, so I find no issue in doing him this kindness as his close platonic-romantic friend-soulmate. The choices I made to carry the potential apocalypse baby are just that. My choices. Just like Silver apparently chose to be Silver instead of Beau. Learn to live with it. Cope, seethe even. But don’t make it our problem when clearly you’re the only one bothered.”

The expression on Louis’ face was odd. A strange mixture of anger yet heartbreak, the type of look that spoke of internal struggle. Yuu almost had enough time to feel bad, opening their mouth to give some kind of comfort, before the human royal’s face steels.

Louis stepped back, rolling his shoulders into the proper position and looking into Malleus’ eyes with a neutral expression, “Apologies for my outburst Prince Draconia. I will take what you said into consideration. Good day to you and your…” His face fights against the sneer he wants to pull, “Consort…Good day.” With that, he spins in his iron-plated heel, stomping his way back toward the dorm’s mirror.

“...” Yuu turns to Malleus, still floating in the air, “Put me down.” Malleus raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t take his eyes off of Louis until he was well in the distance, “Why…?” “I’m gonna beat his ass.”

A smile breaks across his face, looking out from the corner of his eye to see the glare on the prefect. Yuu never failed to entertain, always having a gesture or words that would pull him from sour moods and episodes of sorrow. Be it a physical reminder of their friendship or a verbal assurance of their shared devotions, Yuu always made him smile, even when he didn’t want to.

Malleus shakes his head,  “No. You have no need to engage in combat with the likes of him. You are my consort after all.” He starts to walk toward the dorm, keeping Yuu suspended in the air with his magic. In their current mood, they were more likely to ignore his words and chase the prince down than listen. His thoughts reminded him of Silver and Lilia’s emotional states, the urge to check on them growing once Louis’ presence was fully gone.

“Oh, is that gonna be your new favorite word? Because you’re gonna make Jamil and Azul jealous. They can only call me ‘girlfriend’ for now.”

“I suppose they can cope then. Seethe even.”

“Stop stealing my words! You make it sound so much fancier when you say it.”

Malleus chuckles, bringing Yuu closer to place another kiss against their cheek, “Cope.”

Diasomnia’s dorm was massive, scary, and regal. It was also peacefully quiet when Malleus and Yuu walked inside. The families that were chatting away in the common area had all vacated, leaving the room bare except for Sebek, Lilia, and Silver. The pearly-haired human was sleeping, head resting on Lilia’s lap while the short fae caressed his hair.

Walking to the couch, Yuu sat beside Lilia, Malleus taking the armchair that Sebek instantly jumped up to stand beside.

"So I have to ask, why the outfit change?"

Giggling, Lilia turned to look at Yuu, a sneaky smile on his face, "While I normally, as you say 'serve cunt', I decided to change into something semi-respectable since I knew visitors of the valley were coming." He gestures mildly to his new outfit, "As such I picked something that echoes my old war armor."

“Well you failed, you’re still serving cunt, good sir. But next question…Who was his royal dick?” Yuu asks, their voice hushed even though they knew Silver wasn’t going to wake up with anything less than Sebek screaming in his face.

Lilia sighs, “Prince Louis Durand. Crown prince of Ulstead and…” He sighs again, the force of it almost fully deflating him, “And Silver’s twin.”

“He has one of those?”

Sebek scoffs, rolling his eyes but refusing to say anything. He grew up dealing with the human prince’s numerous visits. Louis would do everything he could to exclude Sebek, but Silver was just as vigilant in making sure he was involved. Once, Silver held onto Sebek’s hand and refused to let go for the whole visit. It took both Baul and Lilia to pull them apart once Louis had left, Silver claiming he couldn’t unclench his hand.

“Yes…It’s a long story, but by fae laws Silver is mine and his blood family isn’t too happy about it.”

Yuu tilted their head, “I wouldn’t be either, this is extremely suspicious. Lilia, you said you found Silver on the ground.”

“I-” Lilia realizes what Yuu was insinuating, snapping his face up to pout at the prefect, “I did.”

“Lilia, how do you find a baby prince on a random forest floor?”

The pink-haired fae huffs, arms wrapping tighter around Silver’s sleeping form, “Well, I did! Believe me or not, I found him fair and square. He even picked me over them so they have no right to complain…”

Yuu smiled, always loving to pick at Lilia when the older fae would get annoyed with her, “Your story is falling apart. Did the baby pick you or did you find him, Lilia? What is it you want me to believe?”

Lilia was fast, a hand reaching out and pinching Yuu’s ear to tug on it. He hisses out a shush while she squirms in his hold, “Hush, let me tell you what happened…”

Silver was led to the palace throne room, his small hand gripping onto Sir Baul's as the old fae stared ahead. He was stern as usual when he came to collect him, but the look he had when he called Silver made his stomach twist. Sebek had gone quiet again, only waving goodbye as Baul led him from the room. He didn't know what was happening as the double doors of the throne room opened. On one side of the room stood his father and on the other side stood a group of strangers wearing the same colors as the people who stormed their home. 

Days ago, he and his father had to flee to the palace when a group of human knights broke down their door in the middle of the night. Silver had never felt such terror, watching his father fight off a squad of intruders before scooping him into his arms. He had jumped from the bedroom window, Silver only in his pajamas and Lilia still smelling of burning flesh from iron as he sprinted into the woods.

They reached the palace, a number of fae knights riding into the woods at his father's report. He wasn't proud of it, but he cried when he had to leave his father's arms. The short fae smiled and teased him, saying he was only getting bandaged and to not be so silly. He was sulking about later in his brother's  Malleus’ arms. He was six years old, he shouldn't be crying as such anymore.

Over the next few days, Silver was with Malleus for most of the day. Sebek joined them and was oddly soft-spoken, the younger boy looking at him pained and heartbroken but wouldn't tell him why. He would hear voices echoing in shouts in the halls, unknown knights staring at him. Their eyes made him nervous before Malleus whisked him away. But now, in the throne room, Malleus was standing beside the queen, looking upset and refusing to meet his eyes. Even father wouldn’t look at him, only the glamourously dressed family standing on the other side of the room would look toward him.

Her Majesty spoke, her voice an odd mix of cold yet cordial, “Silver-”

The unknown woman, who Silver now realized also had a crown in her braided warm brown hair, snapped. Her soft smile turned into a vicious frown as she rounded to the Queen, “His name is Beau.”

Her Majesty simply sighed, just barely keeping from rolling her eyes, a hand held up to calm the guards and Malleus, “Child. You are being offered a choice on this day. It is your choice alone if you return home with either Lilia Vanrouge or the royal family of Ulstead, the Durands. Make your decision judicially, you will not gain another.”

…

Silver looked over to the strangers. Whatever anger the woman had felt was gone, leaving behind a kind person who reached out to him before pulling her hand back to her chest. Looking at them closely, he fully saw just how lavish their clothing was, soft and bright colors unfound in the valley since so many made their living working with nature or potions (It’d get dirty so quickly). Delicate light fabrics with sewn-in gems and woven gold threads. They looked at him with such hope. Around them, guards of that knight stood showing chests of gold shiny board swords and armor. A boy who looked so similar yet different from him smiled, a stuffed bear held tightly in his arms.

He waved, bowing his head in a show of respect for the visiting royalty, but the beaming grins they gave back to him didn’t ease the discomfort he felt. He was sure the woman was one second away from rushing over to him and taking him in her arms, never to be seen again.

To the other side was his father. Standing silently and still, so unlike himself it made Silver more uncomfortable than the overly friendly strangers. Father stood in just the cloak he had on when they absconded to the palace, the black cloth hiding his body and long hair tied into a low ponytail. He wouldn’t look at him, he wasn’t even smiling. Silver had never seen his father so…impartial. It was frightening, but it only cemented the fact Lilia was his father.

Looking the fae over, Silver’s mind brought to light just how much he knew about his father. He knew the exact cloak he had managed to grab. A flash of yellowish-green peaking from the hood. The fruits of his and Sebek’s sewing lesson from weeks ago. Silver knew in that hood was a crudely stitched-in bat (From when he was in the war his father told him, to keep others from stealing his cloak), a simple bright green oval, a chartreuse blob to mimic a crocodile, and a simple ivory-colored smaller bat. Father always stated it was his lucky cloak. 

Though he tried to hide it, Silver knew his father’s hair was streaked with blocks of white strands. They were debating on which color he was going to dye it next. Silver was so close to convincing him to try orange, he knew it’d look ridiculous, but his father would do it if he could persuade him properly.

And the final secret Silver could easily see was how his father fidgeted with the bracelet he had gifted him. It was something of a nervous tick, the fae would at times look into the distance and simply tape his sharp nails against the seeds. Sometimes Silver worried he would break the charm one day, only to watch the same worry overtake his father would he seemingly tapped too hard.

He wasn’t sure of the severity of this decision, but he had his options and his choice was clear.

Silver squared his shoulders, keeping his eyes trained on his father as he walked towards him. His stride only stops when the woman gives a heartbroken cry of ‘Beau’. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the strange family crumbled, tears gathering in their eyes. The woman all but falls to the floor, being held up by her husband who looks at him in disapproval. The boy’s expression hurts, it’s pleading, heartbroken. Silver strangely felt for him the most, but he couldn’t leave his father to his lonesome.

Before long Silver was standing right in front of Lilia, bright aurora-colored eyes trying to catch glittering magenta ones. Lilia laughs, short and almost damp. He finally looks at Silver, expression pained as he fights back his tears, “You wish to go with me?”

Silver nods, not a moment of hesitation, “I’m ready to go home now father.”

Lilia doesn’t hesitate either. Scooping Silver into his arms, tucking his son’s face into his neck and walking from the chamber at a quick pace. Silver hears chaos engulf the room, the woman from before starting to scream in anger and Her Majesty raising her voice to demand she calms herself. Silver looks up from his father’s collar, catching hauntingly similar aurora eyes before the doors close behind them.

“Of course the Durands never let it rest. Maleficia was honest with them…” Lilia sighed, looking down at a sleeping Silver, “Silver doesn’t count as ‘Stolen by Fae’. As such there was no trade, so no proper test could be given and Silver was left to pick where he went.”

“Did they not…think he would pick you? I mean you were his dad for his whole life…”

Malleus sighed from his chair, eyes gazing into the green fireplace, he hint of annoyance curling his lip, “My grandmother warned them of that likelihood. But they were insistent on Silver knowing he’d want to be with ‘his blood’...” Malleus wouldn’t speak of the shouting match that broke out when Lilia fled the room with Silver. But, he was just as smug when his grandmother smiled and explained to the wailing queen that Silver had made his choice.

“The silly boy really just walked up to me with no doubt in his heart. But, from there, the Durand family was calling at our home near weekly.” Lilia sighs, remembering the string of panic attacks he’d gain waking up to iron-clad knights banging on his cottage's front door. The number of letters he’d start to just burn in the fireplace, each one detailing and painting him as a wicked being for stealing a vulnerable infant from his loving home.

Yuu scoffed, leaning back into the couch, “What? So they just show up every few days to bother you guys and shout that you’re not a real family?”

“Not nearly as much as before. But basically.” Sebek sighed, shaking his head in mild irritation, “The king and queen have stopped coming so often, only at the yearly Peace Treaty celebration held at our borders.”

“They stopped visiting around Silver’s 10th birthday…Louis still spends his summers camped out in the woods with his posse.” Malleus pouts, the windows darkening as his mood briefly soured, muttering under his breath, “They keep sending him gifts heavy in iron though…”

Lilia caresses Silver’s head, smiling at his serene face, “Louis always tried so hard to be by Silver the first few visits. He was more docile when beside him, but when anyone tried to detach them, he’d throw such tantrums.”

Malleus looked to Lilia, eyes lidded in annoyance, “Tanturms. Lilia, he stabbed you when you tried to wipe Silver’s face.”

Lilia waves Malleus’s words off, ignoring Yuu’s surprised laughter, “It didn’t even draw blood. Barely counts as a stab.”

Lilia would never lie, but he never told the whole truth either. He never told Maleficia the truth the night he brought a human baby for her blessing and he thinks he never will. He didn’t lie, he never stole Silver. But, he never told anyone the whole story.

He met the Knight of Dawn the night Maleaonor died, the knight had saved both his and Malleus’ lives. They barely spoke, eyes meeting before the knight turned around. He told him and Baul to run, that he’d deal with whoever entered the tunnel after them.

It’s embarrassing, Lilia thinks to himself sometimes. The fact that simple action was enough to make his heart flutter, in the moment he attributed it to his adrenaline. But he still blushed and whispered under his breath a basic blessing as a thank you.

Lilia thinks he’s cursed to take care of the children of those he loves. He cared about Maleficia for taking him in and then he became Maleanor’s keeper. He loved Maleanor and Revan, Malleus was more his mother’s son than his father’s he’s realizing. And only once his heart fluttered and now he’s staring down at a sobbing infant.

He wasn’t sure why he walked to this old place, taken over by the people who killed his friend and orphaned his charge. But a part of him was happy he did. Two children in a basic bassinet, one sleeping peacefully while the other wailed. How his sibling didn’t wake up worried Lilia, but he decided to tend to the screaming one first.

One blessing later, the baby’s golden hair turned Silver. At least whoever took care of them would be able to tell them apart now. Soon he pulled away from the bassinet, leaving the awake infant to start crying again. It pained him to leave the poor dears, but they were human and he was a fae. He couldn’t look after them properly. So he’d drop a hint to the Human kingdom, something about hearing the sounds of a crying baby in the abandoned ‘First Castle’.

It was easy to connect the dots when the neighboring kingdom spoke of the joyous event of the queen birthing two twin boys. Lilia was fine with that, those boys deserved a happy home full of love and care. One he could not give, not since his own efforts took so long to even hatch Malleus. A human child can’t live as long as it takes for him to muster enough love for a child to be raised on.

But only a week later, walking through the woods in his late-night musings, he hears a familiar cry. In the silver band of moonlight, he finds that same infant crying nestled in the roots of a dying tree. The basic nightgown was gone, the baby simply wrapped in a blanket, though surprisingly a thin gold chain with a familiar golden ring. Lilia so badly wanted to turn and walk away, maybe leave another tip to the humans they seemed to be missing a whole baby.

Instead, the infant cried, tiny pudgy hands reaching out to him for comfort. He really had gotten weak in his old age. Sweeping the baby into his arms he hummed the lullaby he’s been singing for centuries. And as the baby slept in his arms he smiled, walking back to his cottage, “Guess I will be taking care of you after all, aren’t I little one?”

Lilia didn’t take this child. He never even lifted him from that bassinet when he found both of them. This wasn’t kidnapping nor an act of theft. He was simply taking in a child he found in the woods and that’s all anyone had to know.

“Hmm…You need a name…Silver, Like a moonbeam in the dark…” He laughed, pressing a kiss to the soft strands, “And for your hair!”

Lilia wouldn’t tell the whole story, but he didn’t lie. He found Silver in the forest and he was his son.

[beneathsilverstars]

@horatiocomehome replied

ooo how about jewelry taste. dangly earrings vs studs, do they wear bracelets, rings, flashy vs elegant, etc

mirabelle has so many cute trinkets! we know she loves accessories that go ding ding, and she'll layer a ton of necklaces so they knock against each other. sometimes they all match nicely, sometimes it's eclectic chic! she adores metal charms and carved beads, especially charmingly unusual shapes like an itty bitty fork, ducky, book, etc. as well as classics like lockets and bells! she tends to fidget with rings and lose track of them, so she avoids those. post-canon she decides to stop wearing earrings, so she turns her novelty earrings into bracelet/necklace charms! and gives her more basic studs to isabeau so he'll actually own some basics.

isabeau is all about shapes and contrast, so he likes chunky beads in materials like turquoise or jasper that have different shades marbled together, metal geometric shapes, wire-wrapped stone, and unique arrangements of elements. he likes funny noises too, but will go for one complicated necklace instead of multiple single strands. he definitely tends towards statement necklaces and earrings — he used to run into trouble because he only had statement pieces, so they would clash terribly, but then he started buying more matching sets. he loves bonding earrings as a romantic, but is a little torn because there's no way any two earrings could match all of his fits...

odile is the kind of person to pick a nice look and stick to it, so there's not much variety in her accessories. she has her glasses gems, a pair of pearl studs, a pair of silver studs, and a couple sentimental rings that she keeps somewhere safe instead of wearing. we know bonding earrings are popular in ka bue but not as universal as in vaugarde; i think it would be cute if ka bue had a whole language of earrings and rings, with different gem types/cuts/colors denoting different sorts of relationships and emotions. so she's got, like, a [daughter, you are the most important thing in my life] ring from her dad, and a [lover, we change each other] ring from an ex.

siffrin is all about sentimental pieces!! it doesn't really occur to him to buy himself jewelry, but isa or mira will see him looking at something in the market and buy it for him and suddenly the aesthetic appeal that sif had mildly enjoyed doesn't matter at all compared to They Gave This To Me. siffrin tends to be drawn towards solid shades or starry dots, and smooth, swirling shapes. isa also gets them stimmy pieces like a bumpy bangle or spinny ring, and mira gets them cute things that remind her of them like star pins or kitty charms. he's just so fun to give trinkets to, even bonnie and odile have gotten him some, so he's working up quite a collection! he carefully rotates through everything, and keeps some pieces in his pockets when he can't fit everything he wants onto his body or doesn't want to wear any jewelry that day.

bonnie's bracelet is smooth wood, and they're going to be very upset the day it no longer fits over their hand. they prefer non-rock materials like wood, shells, bones, and sea glass, because that's just way more fun! they made shell necklaces with nille all the time, so many that it doesn't matter how often they lose them.

loop goes full magpie! since they don't have to buy necessities like food, they're less careful about spending money than siffrin, plus they're more desperate to capture any scrap of joy. they also have a bit of "everyone else is an npc" brain and "i am both above and beneath normal rules", so they're more comfortable with stealing than siffrin is. they like drapey chains, black and white beads, and unusual pieces. they like the pressure stim of very heavy necklaces and the clack of many bracelets. once when one of their favorites broke they procured the tools to fix it, and started modifying the stuff they own and stringing trinkets onto chains!

[spiders-scare-me]

noir hcs

(these are hcs, not actual canon so these are things that are made up and NOT based off the comics)

hc him as 19 yrs old.

joined the spider society because he thought he maybe could do some good by helping others, only to regret it later. genuinely thinks Miguel is kinda a facist.

he also doesn’t regret joining the society because he got to spend time with Ham, Gwen, Peni, Hobie etc.

he and hobie bonded over similar views, became best friends for the last four ish months before Noir quit.

quit because he generally had a bad feeling about miguel, but got worse when he referred to robbie’s death as a canon event.( https://www.tumblr.com/lildoodlenoodle/720268522059612160/if-spider-noir-wasnt-kicked-off-the-elite-spider ) (based off of)

taught hobie how to pickpocket/steal things in different places/shops before he quit. especially shops in Noirs dimension where it was easier to put something in your pocket and leave without anybody noticing.

( https://www.tumblr.com/butevrythinggoesaway/719504366077345792/i-kind-of-headcanon-noir-as-having-kelptomania-so ) (inspired)

Miguel hates him, probably because Noir rivals him in size and also questions the way Miguel runs things around the spider society.

(Miguel is canonically 6’9 and i hc Noir as around 6’5)

Miguel once asked (very rudely) in front of hobie, if Noir only dated Hobie because he was similar to Robbie. You can only IMAGINE what Noir almost did (aka assassinate Miguel) before he was stopped by most spider people who are loyal to Miguel. Basically, Noir went even more crazy because of that since Miguel uses Robbie as a way to get to him.

Noir in fact didn’t want to date anyone because of some stuff that happened, but when he met Hobie and got to know him, he instantly fell in love.

Miguel simply hates Noir, but can’t fire him or kick him out for no reason so Miguel picks on him until he snaps.

he acts like Peni’s older brother, being protective of her. she became depressed after he quit the spider society because she really cared about him.

most likely smokes, Peni hates it and always takes his cigarette from him to put it out. has dumped water on him multiple times. Hobie also puts out Noirs cigarette when he sees him smoking.

humor is his coping mechanism, example (my interpretation of the scenes):

when miles said his uncle was the prowler, Noir responded with “this is a pretty hardcore origin story” which sounds like he’s trying to make the situation a bit lighter by joking a bit.

as well as when aunt may asked if they could fight doc ock outside, he replied with “We don’t pick the ballroom, we just dance”

another one: when he, peni and ham met gwen, miles and peter for the first time, peter asked noir how they got there and he answered with “it’s a long story” only to say right after “maybe not that long”

(I INTERPRET THIS AS HUMOR FIGHT ME)

Hobie paints Noirs nails from time to time because it seems to relax him.

used to wear glasses because he had such bad eyes but now that he sees better because of the whole spider thing, he wears them cuz they’re cool.

his favorite color is purple because of robbie. (angst obvi) ( https://www.tumblr.com/lildoodlenoodle/721163033344425984/me-watching-everyone-on-tumblrtiktok-say-spider )

(based off of)

his relationship with aunt may is so wholesome. she’s against him killing facists etc, but still loves him more than anything.

his style is absolutely IMMACULATE. ( https://www.tumblr.com/spiders-scare-me/723947203857694720/tried-to-find-references-for-30s-mens-fashion-and ) (based off my own post) ( https://www.tumblr.com/spiders-scare-me/723996134618628096/no-stfu-im-so-fucking-obsessed )

i tried :,) don’t bully me

i’ll post more later if it’s wanted obvi

credits to @lildoodlenoodle and @butevrythinggoesaway for the posts i linked <3

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

The Stronger Desires

So, starting off strong, we're doing the request for @cantchoosejust1 first, who lovingly requested a femme fatale reader.

Now, I haven't written anything like this, so hopefully you enjoy my spin on things.

Now, let's see exactly what happens with these two.

*Side note, I may have a poll later regarding a pfp change, just to see everyone's thoughts.*

Warnings: Cursing, canon like violence, sexual innuendos, perhaps even fluff, Female reader

The gif is unfortunately not mine, and Tumblr didn't wanna work with me, so it's from Pinterest.

Anywho

Arthur wished, truly, that he could explain exactly how he ended up in this spot, but honestly he'd be just as lost as whoever he was telling the story too.

The night had started off pretty good in all honesty. The gang had been celebrating, enjoying their success on the last job they'd managed to pull off, drinking, laughing, and causing problems for everyone else around them in the saloon.

The place had been lively. Hell, even Arthur had ACTUALLY been having fun.

The biggest smile on his face as he took a seat in the far corner to catch his breath from all the dancing and singing he'd been doing, which he was sure had made him look like an absolute fool.

He chuckles to himself as he quietly lights a cigarette and places it between his lips.

The Saint Denis saloon was...surprisingly more lively than what he'd expected it to be. Rich folks sure knew how to party properly.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots something, a brightly colored dress, not out of the norm for this place, but, for some reason, this one seemed...different.

He turned his head to look, and he was honestly surprised he managed to keep the cigarette in his mouth with the way it nearly fell open.

The woman wearing the dress was far prettier than the actual dress itself.

A gorgeous face, and absolutely wonderful hair as well.

The only part that didn't quite make much sense to him was the fact that you were all over a fat aristocrat. Balding with an awful mustache, but you seemed to be rather excited to stand next to him.

He couldn't quite understand it, how absolutely stunning you are, yet you're following a man like that around.

It boggled him.

The night continued, as they usually do, but now that he'd seen you, Arthur couldn't quite stop staring at you.

You were absolutely beautiful. You were...stunning, and it was damn near impossible for him to focus on much else.

It was hard not to when they man you were clinging too was a big as a house, and being followed around by at least four body guards.

What he was doing in a saloon he'd never know.

It's pretty late at night when things really start to get confusing for Arthur. It's about here that he'd be a little...confused when trying to retell the tale.

Due to the confusing nature of it all as well as all the apple pie moonshine in his system.

Things seem to be going smoothly, until all the sudden the entire saloon is screaming rather than singing.

Instinct takes over and Arthur's hand grabs the butt of his pistol before he realizes exactly what's going on.

The crowd quickly disperses, and it's then that Arthur realizes exactly what happened.

You, you're what happened.

There, on the floor is the aristocrat, though he's much less lively now that there's a bullet wound through his head.

How the hell he hadn't heard the shot he still didn't grasp.

The body guards all surround...you.

Arthur almost jumped up right then and there to defend you. He could take out all four of them in a matter of seconds, and he knew that, but right as he contemplates it he watches you pull a revolver out from under your dress.

The evening suddenly got much more interesting.

"Back off! Or I'll kill you too, that fat bastard had more money than he needed anyway, and if he'd put his hand up my skirt one more time he was gonna die in a much worse way, so be fucking GRATEFUL!"

Arthur nearly laughs out loud at the venom in your voice. It was...well it wasn't funny actually, it was more...attractive to him than anything.

For a moment you make eye contact with him, and it's a strange sensation, the way the two of you seem to talk with your eyes.

Arthur gives you a soft nod, a small smirk on his face and then he nods towards the saloon doors.

You give a nod in return and Arthur takes it as his que to leave discreetly.

It's only a moment later when you exit the saloon at a sprint, and Arthur holds his hand out for you to grab as he sits atop his horse, a black Shire.

You take his hand and he hoists you up easily, as if you weigh nothing at all.

The moment you're on his horse he takes off, the remaining guards rushing out of the saloon too.

It's only seconds after that, that the sound of the lawmen's whistles can be heard. One of the patrons must have reported the gunshot.

You hold onto Arthur for dear life, an arm around his torso and the other holding out your revolver.

"Nice to meet you mister! I take it you aren't exactly a friend of the government either?"

"No ma'am!"

Arthur laughs at the absurdity of it and keeps riding hard as the lawmen start to gather behind the two of you.

"Quick on your feet back there!"

He states, taking a turn down an alleyway that appeared to be just big enough.

"Thanks, you too, saw you reach for your gun!"

You chuckle to yourself.

"Don't exactly look the rich type. In fact, don't look like the Saint Denis type. I take it you might be in the uh...'bodyguard' business."

"If ya mean shootin' fools who deserve it, then yes, I am."

"Yeah, that's what I mean."

"Arthur Morgan."

"Y/N L/N."

"Nice to meet ya. Let's get the hell outta here."

Arthur did his best to do just that, out running the law as quickly as he could get his poor horse to go.

Finally after quite some time the two of you make it into the woods, just outside Saint Denis, the sound of the lawmen steadily fading.

You're nearly out of the woods, metaphorically of course, when a stump seems to have other ideas.

Arthur and you both go flying off the horse, and directly into the mud below.

It's dark as hell and Arthur has no clue exactly where he is, and you just barely do.

Both of you are covered in mud and Arthur's horse: Mayhem, is currently writhing on the ground attempting to right itself.

You sit up in the mud, scoffing and trying to wipe mud off your face as Arthur does the same.

"Christ Alive..."

Arthur groans, flicking his arm downwards, trying to get the mud off.

You do the same, looking at him with a look of disgust on your face, only for a moment, before you start laughing.

"Well, Mr. Morgan, how very kind of you to dump me in the mud like this."

"Well I didn't mean-"

You laugh and stand up, before you tear off your skirt, now soiled with mud, to reveal your pants underneath it.

"I needed to get that thing off anyway, I was about tired of it."

You reach your hand out, and Arthur takes it, a sort of sheepish grin on his face.

"Well, glad ya ain't too mad at me."

"Nah...you ain't crossed the line just yet cowboy."

Arthur laughs this time and pulls his hand away to run it over his stubble in an attempt to try and get the rest of the mud off.

"I'll be stinkin' for weeks with this stuff, even if I take a damn bath at the hotel."

He sighs and takes his hat off, wiping mud off the brim.

He looks up at you.

"So...Miss L/N...You...sure seem more than capable of takin' care of yourself...I assume you got somewhere you can hide out for a bit until the law gets off you?"

"Course I do."

You laugh and step closer. You take the hat from his hand and gently place it back on his head, pressing your hand to his chest in the process.

"All worried about me there, Mr. Morgan?"

"Worried? No. Curious? Yes."

You offer yet another chuckle and then step around him, letting your hand travel over his shoulder, gently taking it away as you step closer to his horse, and offer it an apple from your bag that had been hidden beneath your dress.

"Well Mr. Morgan...if you're so interested, I suppose you'll have to bump into me again sometime soon, won't you? After all you did save me back there...even if you threw me into the mud afterwards."

"Hey I said-"

"So defensive."

You tease and step back towards him, you flick his hat, making it tilt upwards slightly.

"Send me a letter sometime Mr. Morgan...I could use someone like you for some of my...endeavors. If you're willing that is."

"Depends...You ain't gonna make me dress up and sing the can can are you?"

"No, I wasn't but...now I might."

You laugh and look towards Saint Denis' in the distance.

"Well...Mr. Morgan, if you could do me a favor and drop me off near Rhodes...I think I'd be forever in your debt."

Before Arthur could really register it, that's exactly where he was, stopped in front of the Rhodes train station, holding something you'd given him as he watched you climb onto the train.

A heavy locket, sat in his palm, as well as a handkerchief you'd insisted on giving him, with your initials sewed into the corner of it.

You smile at him, and wave from your seat as the train pulls away, and something within Arthur tells him that it won't be the last time that he sees you.

He couldn't quite remember exactly how he'd managed to end up here. In all complete honesty, the only thing he really knew for certain was that you were....something, that was for sure. Spitfire and kick to you.

He'd see you again. he'd make sure of it.

Okay, so, like I said, this is slightly different than what I write, not by much, but it is a little different, so I hope it was good, and I hope that you enjoyed it! As always, I'm always happy to rewrite something if it doesn't hit the spot just right!

[alienaiver]

Catch and release

Komori Motoya x Chronic Pain/Disabled GN!reader but reader is described wearing skirts

content: It's Komori's birthday and you wanted to dress up nicely for the dinner party. Just your luck that your planned outfit and your disability decides to have a playfight. It's a good thing you have your high school sweetheart to cheer you up when navigating the new world of dynamic disability.

tags: fluff, sfw, birthday fic, post-timeskip, disabled!reader, body positive and poc friendly reader, canon compliant, no use of y/n, sweetie + my love + baby as petnames, sappy and supportive boyfriend, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, childish/cheeky komori, chronic pain/disability condition is not mentioned/left vague on purpose but reader does need a cane (type of cane not described either), genderneutral reader, unbeta'd but proofwritten twice, sakusa's there too but only to suffer the humor of literal kids

wordcount: 1.1k

notes: guess who learned something new today about cane usage and long skirts! 🙋🏼‍♂️ its a journey! luckily i have some soft, comforting boys to maladaptive daydream about taking care of me 🥰 i hope you enjoy this little work of mine! either as a disabled person or as an abled interested in learning something new!!!! im smooching u all, have a lovely evening! i also know im a ✨ little ✨ early about komori's birthday but who doesnt think about him 24/7?

also happy disability pride month ✨

"you ready?" Komori calls from the entrance, where his keys are circling his finger, making a jingle sound. It's his birthday, and you're going to a restaurant with his parents for dinner. Sakusa's even agreed to stop by.

He hears you hum from the bedroom before your steps sound through the living room, a little uneven but with your usual speed. He whistles when he sees you, but his eyebrows still raise at your choice of clothes.

"You changed." he states blankly, unsure what else to say. The outfit was important to you today, and you took great care in planning it last night, which is the reason he sends such an apparent statement your way.

You avoid his gaze as your lips draw a thin line, "yeah, don't worry about it," you say hastily, clearly eager to end the subject as you pick up your shoes from the rack. "Don't get me wrong sweetie, you look amazing. But I thought you wanted us to color match today?"

From the bench where you're tying your sneakers you glimpse at him for a split second, but it's long enough that Komori notices the disappointment you're trying to hide from him. He sighs and bends down in front of you, "what happened, my love?" his thumb grazes your cheek before it drags a sliver of hair behind your ear. From this angle he sees your small pout more clearly. He puts down his keys to let his other hand hold your head as well.

You sigh and lean forward. He meets you halfway and revels in the contact of your foreheads touching. He's always loved being close to you.

"I need the cane today."

Ah.

You recently learned bitterly that long or airy maxi skirts and canes don't match up. It's not like they tangle extremely and directly cause you to fall, but it changes the pressure in which you need to pull and move your cane for your next step if it's windy, which can cause mishaps. You haven't fallen because of it yet, but you've decided you don't want to risk it.

And then you need your cane on his birthday, where you'd planned such a skirt. He winces and you sigh. There's a distance of walking from the train station to the restaurant, so he can't offer much of a different solution than your own.

Then he kisses your nose, "I'm sorry, baby. Is there anything you need?"

You close your eyes and try to relax in his closeness. His left hand has traveled down to rub your arm, and you don't have the heart to tell him that his touch aches today. Not on his birthday.

"No, it's... It is what it is, right?" you ask and he nods hastily, "I know it might not help on the disappointment, but I still think you look absolutely amazing. And I'm glad you're listening to your needs and doing what you have to, even if it sucks major ass."

You snort and shake your head at him. He prides himself in the smile he won from your lips before he claims them with his own, sighing at the contact. He's needy today you notice, before you kiss him back with the same energy, trying to push away the negative thoughts clouding your mind. Today is about him.

When he pulls back he looks so lovestruck that you can't believe that you're high school sweethearts. Who gets this winded from a simple kiss from someone they've been with for over 10 years? Slowly and little by little, warmth and light fills you up again. He comes back for a quick peck before he gets back up and smiles down at you, flustered.

"Which cane would you like today? Personally I think the blue one with flowers would match your blouse perfectly!"

He turns his back to you as he opens the entryway closet, and you hum behind him thoughtfully, "maybe the grey one will garner less attention. I still feel awkward being both dressed up and so visibly disabled."

You're still getting used to using canes publicly, embarrassed and afraid someone will see you as a fraud if you're able to walk a few steps without it or if they suddenly deem that you're using it wrong. You know it's irrational, but it's taken you great courage to accept the dynamic part of your dynamic disability.

Komori's been supportive and understanding in every possible way, never batting an eye at any need you're voicing. He only complains when you hold back needs or lie about how you're feeling when you're out doing something together. You'd be, too, if the roles were reversed so you're glad he always lets you know while you learn to navigate being a burden - and being okay with burdening the people you love.

You admire his back. Broad, reliable and secure and always ready to support you. You still can't believe that you've been so lucky with him, grateful that your distasteful joke about his eyebrows he overheard in your second year somehow made him interested in you. You still cringe when you think back on it but he tells the story with a joyful and prideful expression every time.

He turns around with the grey, foldable cane and starts unfolding it for you, doing a little shimmy of a dance for you while doing it. You throw your head back and laugh, "so the birthday boy's the one giving a show this year?" you joke and he smiles cheekily at you, the expression making you flustered. Maybe you're just as bad as him, with the lovesickness. Sakusa will roll his eyes today, surely.

"Well... My favorite entertainer is indisposed, so if my lying hips can delight and beguile my audience, I'm happy to shake things up a bit."

He leans down with the cane, offering it as a sword to a knight. You snort and receive it just as gracefully, before he reaches a hand out to help you up, "I'll order your favorite from the menu and give you half of it if you kiss both my cheeks and my forehead in front of Omi."

You're busy laughing at his childish antics getting up, so you miscalculate your balance and fall into his arms. He catches you easily, like he always has and always will. You bite your lip, "then I'll order your favorite dessert if you do the same to me."

His antics may be childish, but they definitely match yours.

"Happy birthday, Motoya. Thank you for always catching me and helping me release the tension." you say and kiss him, hoping your emotions reach him. The smile he can't hold back against your lips tells you he might've gotten the memo.