#whatever now have this cause I was possessed *slaps art*

[v10l3tz-thmblr]

I think Hatsune Miku possessed me. It's either her or these two.

Satbk Espilver as the KING cover.

It just fits them and I saw the vision 👹👹

[You can find the designs of my au here and here if you're interested!]

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Broken trust, pt.5

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four  

Summary: Meeting at the fold, Aleksander has a choice to make and this time, his anger threatens his control.

Warnings: angst (my apologies), fluff sprinkled on top, indicating smut

a/n - This one is the last one before the finale, I’m sure this time.

========================

Darkness stood before her, utterly filled with terrors spoken of in every tale in Ravka. Y/N stared at the fold from a distance, remembering the first time she had seen it. 

It unnerved her in the past, the unknown playing with her imagination to fashion something much worse than reality. She was no fool, Y/N understood the gravity of what she wanted to execute. This fold had taken countless lives since its creation – her parents as well. 

Exhaling loudly, she placed a hand over her chest as she closed her eyes. Whatever possessed Aleksander to create the fold couldn’t excuse the lives lost or the orphaned children who grew up the same way she did.

“Are you sure?” Mal’s voice is heavy, nearly pleading for her to give up her plan. She glances at him, not with uncertainty but with unwavering determination.

“I have to do this. You know this.”

Reaching for her hand, Mal’s fingers slip across her open palm, intertwining with her own. “It’s not too late to change your mind. This burden doesn’t have to be yours.”

A heavy sigh passes her lips, but it does nothing to relieve the true weight inside her chest. “I will never be free of it if we leave now.”

“Of him, you mean?” Mal frowns, his lips pressing in a thin line she wished she could turn into a smile. “You’ll never be free of him.”

“You could have been on that ship”, she reminds him, gently stroking his cheek. “If I wasn’t in that tent and I didn’t meet him, you’d have been on that ship with no survivors.”

Looking up at the sky, he sighs, “It would be better.” His eyes meet the surprise in hers, “I wouldn’t be sending you off into the darkness without any control over what will happen.”

“I’ll come back”, Y/N musses. “I always do”, she smiles softly, sniffling.

“You better!”

Slapping Mal’s arm, Y/N frowns, “I’m kind of insulted how little faith you have in me!”

Fingers running down her spine had caused shivers run throughout Y/N’s body. She chuckles, hiding her face in the crook of Aleksander’s neck.

“Don’t hide from me”, Aleksander complains. Trying to untangle himself in order to take control once more, his throaty chuckle furthers her need to cling to him.

Her arms wrap around him, pulling him closer as if he’s the air she needs to breathe. “I used to daydream about us.” Her small voice freezes him, his lips twitching with her confession.

“In what manner?”

Rolling to her side, Y/N glances at him only to shake her head. “It’s silly.”

Cupping her cheek, Aleksander leans in, close enough for their noses to touch. “Tell me.”

“I imagined how it would feel like to wake up and see your hair disheveled or how your lips would feel against mine”, her eyes flicker to his lips, causing her to lick her own. “Just about how I’d fall so hopelessly in love with you.”

“So you’re in love with me”, Aleksander raises an eyebrow, teasing her.

Wide eyed, Y/N blushed deeply with his heavy gaze upon her. He never blinks, never stammers or stumbles – Aleksander is a work of art and she couldn’t believe she blurted her feelings out  for such perfection in a foolish daydream ramble.

“I wanted to tell you I love you without making a fool of myself, but that didn’t work”, she huffs, turning on her back. Staring at the ceiling, she wished she could hide now. A man as serious as Aleksander must find her so immature after her display of childish behavior, but she couldn’t face him.

Instead, he propped himself up on his elbow, his face obscuring her view of the ceiling. “I find it adorable”, he whispers almost wistfully and Y/N couldn’t understand why. 

What is he longing for when she’s right there, under him? She didn’t miss the lack of a love proclamation on his behalf, but she could wait a while longer to hear him say it. After all, she’s the one he’s meant to be with.

“So you won’t run for the hills, screaming?” She kinked her eyebrows, beaming at his silent determination.

“Takes far more to frighten me, Sunshine. I’ll always be there for you.” He leans in, pecking her forehead. “For you”, he adds as his body presses her into the mattress. Staring intently in her eyes, his knee pushed her thighs apart. Resting his forehead on hers, Aleksander’s hand moved up her forearm until his fingers intertwined with hers, holding her hand tightly in his as he pushed inside her.

A moan escapes her, eyes closing as he whispers into her parted lips, “And inside you.”

Aleksander never wanted to leave his Sunshine. He wanted to spend the rest of eternity with her unraveling under him each and every night. He still loves her more than anyone else could. All he could think about is how it might need an eternity for him to make things right with her, because in time he believed she’ll see reason and understand he’s right.

But she fell in love with him as he is, temper and wicked plans and horrible notions of what love is. She knew that about him before she ever learned of who he is. She looked past everything he had done, Aleksander couldn’t figure out what’s so different about this.

“General”, Ivan stops at the entrance of his tent, out of breath. “Someone is spotted at the outskirts of the fold. The men believe they mean to enter the darkness on their own.”

Standing, Aleksander straightens his back. His eyes narrow and his jaw unclenches long enough for him to speak, “Who is it?”

“A woman and a man”, Ivan responds, swallowing thickly as he takes note of the general’s flared nostrils.

Forming fists, Aleksander lifts his chin. Despite the end of their relationship, Aleksander didn’t forget Y/N’s promise. He knew she’s brave, far braver than any Grisha he’d ever met. Aside from him, that is. 

His Sunshine had a persisting quality about her, one he used to appreciate before. She would defy the devil himself if he stood in her way and it used to bring a smile to Aleksander’s lips. This time around, he and the fold are her devil.

“STOP THEM”, he orders. “She had never been in the fold before!”

His booming voice surprised even him, but it terrified Ivan who nodded and ran out as if he would cut him in half right then and there. To make matters worse, Aleksander wasn’t sure he wouldn’t.

Looking at his hands, he could have sworn he caught a tremble in a usually steady right hand. “What are you planning, Y/N?”

Fingers grazing Y/N’s, Aleksander felt a tingle run up his arm and to his heart. He always felt like shadows clouded any chance for happiness. Somehow, through it all, he saw where the shadow ends and there she stood. He trusted in her light, the one he could see even when she didn’t conjure it to the surface. She was Sunshine incarnated, his saving grace.

“I’ll never be strong enough”, she croaks, turning away from Aleksander.

With a frown etched on her forehead, Y/N swallowed thickly. She didn’t expect Aleksander to slide a finger under her chin, tipping her face up to his. He smiles, the gesture lighting up his eyes, enough to lock her breath in her throat.

She wondered how many were as lucky as she is to see those dark skies hang stars to lead them out of a storm.

She hoped none did. Selfishly, she hoped to be the only one who knows how gentle, how kind the Darkling can be.

“You make me proud, you know that?” His words are honey, his lips set in a genuine grin as he brushes his nose against hers. “You are the strongest person I know.”

Biting her lower lip, she looks into his eyes briefly, but long enough to know he won’t judge her. 

“Could you hold my hand?” 

He had all the understanding she sought in his dark hues, a tenderness she always prayed to find in someone. There was no doubt in her mind she could trust Aleksander.

As his hand embraces her smaller one, she can’t help but look up at him with a look he wasn’t used to.

She looked at him with hope, with expectations of something he wasn’t sure he’d be able to rise to, but he was determined to try.

“Can you tell me more about you?” It felt vastly important to see the change in every line of his handsome face as he remembered the past and she didn’t want to miss a single word, expression or look he could bestow upon her. He felt more important to her than anyone and this wasn’t just a story, it was his story.

If he were honest with her then, Y/N knew she’d have forgiven him. There was no shadow of doubt about it as she stared at the fold mere inches before her. She could see what true darkness is and she never saw it in Aleksander. That’s when the guilt appears, taunting her. If she stayed with him, could she have managed to change his mind about it all without ever spending a day without him? She still missed him far too much, more than she should.

“Stop!”

Looking over her shoulder, she flashes an uncertain smile that disappears just as quickly it came to be, fading to give way for her tear-filled eyes to glisten like stars in the moonlight. She should be angry, she should be running away from him, yet the sight of Aleksander riding toward her only rooted her.

“You can’t stop me”, she remarked, her eyes brimming with tears as he frowned, his forehead forming a few worry lines she’d normally tease him about because their age difference is so vast despite him looking so young, but she reveled in knowing he actually cares enough to worry about her. 

Unless it wasn’t worry for her, rather the fold.

“You can’t possibly do this, Y/N! Even if I wanted to help you destroy the fold, I’d never send you in so soon with so few preparations!” He smiles, but the gesture is empty, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll fail.”

"If you really thought I couldn't do this, you wouldn't be trying so hard to stop me", she snapped, "to distract me!"

For one instant, she feared she’d gone too far. There was something, a flash in his eyes, an expression that flitted over his face that locked her breath in her throat. But then he relaxed, not completely, but much of his frightening tension - battle-ready tension - seemed to flow out of him.

"I'm trying to stop you because you're going to kill yourself trying", he replied. "You begged me to let you go and I did, but look at you now.” His frown deepens, “You’re standing at the edge of certain doom and you have no one to guide you."

“So guide me!” Lifting her chin, she struggled to draw breath and forced herself to shrug as she looked away. “You said you'd always be there for me, with me”, she pauses as she remembers he also promised to be inside her. And he was right, he’s inside her, just not in a pleasurable way. He courses through her veins like a disease, an infection she can’t eradicate. ”So how did this happen? Why weren't you here?”

She wanted him to say something – anything. She wanted him to fight for her, to say he couldn’t imagine life without her and to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness which she’d give…even after everything, she’d give him the forgiveness and love he seeks.

The way her tears fell had grabbed onto his heart and squeezed it tight, those drops of salt filled with emotion had reached him too, tearing through him unforgivably.

“If you go in there, I’ll have no choice but to hurt you.” His voice is shaky, his resolution weaker than the words he’s using. “Don’t put me in this position.”

“So you really think I can’t read you? That I don’t know when you’re lying to me?” A meek smile appears on her dry lips, “Didn’t you promise me you’d never lie to me again? Never to hurt me?”

“Y/N”, Aleksander raises his voice as a warning, yet her smile refuses to falter as her eyes hold his gaze captive.

Her lips part, her mind screaming with every step she takes backwards toward the fold, yet she never felt more at peace. She didn’t know what is stronger – her need to run and save her heart from heartbreak by staying in his arms forever, or her determination to destroy the fold. Yet with every step, she’s more convinced that both those needs are one of the same.

“Don’t”, he holds out his hand once she turns away from him, a step away from the fold he created.

Looking over her shoulder, she knew there was no choice at all. The need to save herself from heartbreak and the need to destroy the fold both require her to save Aleksander from himself.

Pushing his hair back, he dismounted, taking a few steps closer to her. 

“Come on, love. Draw your invisible swords. Stop me”, she challenged, seeing the anger she evoked once his shadows began pouring from around him. 

He ignored her words as he advanced, his dark eyes growing darker. He bent over her, took her defiant chin in his hand. She tried to pull away but he held her fast. He kissed her, roughly at first but then his grip and kiss became gentle, deep – a proper lover’s kiss.

Y/N felt herself drifting. The pleasure of his hand on her cheek, his kiss, it weakened her resolve. He pulled away from her and looked deep into her eyes, the warm and glowing fire behind them setting his own light ablaze. All thoughts of hatred were gone from them, yet his darkness surrounded them slowly.

Narrowing her eyes, Y/N stumbles back. “No. No”; she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her lips quivering. “You can’t just kiss me and make it alright.”

“You’re my weakness”, Aleksander admits, “the one thing I lack power against. Whether it’s loving you when you’re near and driving me absolutely mad or feeding your memory after you were gone. Letting you go was the hardest thing I've ever had to do.” He narrows his eyes at her with a simmering anger burning in them, “It’s just not in me to do nothing and let you slip away again.”

Scoffing, Y/N stands her ground, “We could have made it work. If you loved me, you'd have fought for me. You'd have listened to me and abandoned the foolish notion of power you seek. But you didn't, which means I loved you more than you loved me.” 

"I FOUGHT FOR YOU! You didn't let me win. What was I supposed to do, huh? Force your hand and drag you to Little palace by the hair?” Gripping her arm, Aleksander pulled her closer, her hand resting on his chest with her palm open toward his heart. She’s not a heartrender, but her touch does possess the ability to make his heart explode. 

“Should I have taken you by the throat until you submitted?” He speaks lowly, his voice darker than she had ever heard it before. “Did you expect I'd want to see your hatred for me every single day if I made you stay? Tell me, WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?!"

Swallowing thickly, she was rendered speechless. She didn’t know what to say without provoking him further. A part of her wondered if she should fear him, if he would kill her if it came to it.

“I fucking need you more than I need to breathe.” He says through gritted teeth only to release her from his bruising grip. If she was anyone else, she’d be a corpse by now. He knew it, but so did his people. Soon enough, they’ll lose respect for him. People will stop fearing him if he keeps allowing her to defy him.

"You make them all think you're a heartless murderer, but you're not. I know you're better than that." Her voice is raspy and devastatingly painful. Y/N takes a few steps back, her eyes no longer holding back tears as they spill down her cheeks.

His heart is desperately flailing inside his chest as her grief overcomes her features and he can’t touch her again, he can’t make it go away. Time and time again, he’s the cause instead of being her cure.  

In her pain she sees him as the bad guy, yet in truth he’s drowning in a sea of uncried tears too. 

When you hurt a woman you love, most of them can’t even look at you, not even turn to you. But what does a man do when the woman he hurt, the woman he loves most in the world, stares right into his soul as he shatters her completely?

What can a man do when her teary eyes hold his with such bravery, such complexity as she crumbles and he has to bear witness? When he’s the perpetrator and sole witness of her fears and sorrow?

There isn’t a single thing in this world that breaks like a heart does, Aleksander knew that now for in this silent exchange between their souls, the silence has never been so deafening.

"But I am a murderer." His jaw clenches as he raises his chin, “If you take another step, I will prove it to you.”

Eyes narrowing, Y/N nods to herself. Averting her gaze, she pursed her lips before turning around so quickly Aleksander didn’t have time to react.

She held her breath once she entered the fold, moving left on instinct.

Covering her mouth, she looks up at the thundering clouds that seem to be the only light in the fold. Merely seconds after she moved, a knife like substance crossed into the fold, slicing the air where she once stood and a gasp escaped her.

She looks back, finding no trace of Aleksander, but she wasn’t a fool – that was meant to be his gift to her for defying him.

Swallowing thickly, she shakes her head at the devastating thought. Is he past saving? Would he truly kill her?

Part 6/finale

[mando-abs]

AHHHHHH congrats on 100 my dear abs - you are the sweetest kindest soul and I love you very much.

May I request some more Din? Your nose job one shot is still one of my all time fluffy din one shot favourites, so more fluffy domestic Din please! 😩

I'm thinking maybe din enlists the help of his little gremlin to put together a surprise for the reader?? Maybe it's her birthday?? But really - whatever you feel like my babe, I trust your beautiful mind 💙

Ugh, LILS! You good ol softy, thank you so much ToT Oh boy, Lils. I may have gone a bit overboard on word count for this request. I don't know what possessed me, but here we are. Hope you enjoy!

A Mandalorian Birthday Surprise

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Din x Reader, no usage of y/n

Warnings: major fluff, mentions of Cara Dune (yuck, i know, sorry)

A/N: some of the food I mention on here is actually from @raiikensmandaloriancuisine , so go check out their recipes here | General Masterlist | Taglist

Sometimes when Din knows you're fast asleep, he likes to search you up on the holonet to see what shows up. Not that he’s looking for reasons to dump you off in the next space port. No, he’s just curious about what information he can find out about your life before joining him and Grogu.

It’s not until he pulls up a minor traffic violation from Coruscant’s police records when he notices your date of birth. Din never really paid much mind about your birthday in the past, different planet rotations made birthdays a bit tricky. However, he never thought to look up your birthday on the Galactic Standard Calendar. And now, your galactic standard birthday is practically slapping him in the face.

Maker, he thinks, it’s today!

Just his rotten luck. As he sits in the cockpit chair, he glances over at you sound asleep in the passenger seat, making snores so soft even his sensors are having a hard time picking them up. You look so peaceful for someone harboring such a personal secret. Din looks pretty statuesque himself in his armor. While normal, the cause this time is from being frozen in horror at the fact that he has nothing planned for your “big day.”

Zip. Zilch.

Why would I make it such a big deal? Din reasons with himself. Obviously, it’s not something you’re concerned with, never mentioning birthdays. I haven’t revealed mine. Why does it matter?

Din sighs quietly. He knows exactly why.

You matter to every rim of the galaxy in his eyes. Every day, it’s like you wake up and make it your personal mission to brighten up Din’s spaces and make his newly found clan whole. You are the missing piece Din never knew he needed. It’s not a question of if it matters, but rather, “is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Din taps in a new set of coordinates, careful not to disturb you. Luckily, the destination isn’t more than a few hours away. As he issues a few “urgent” messages through his holopad, Din feels a gentle tug on the end of his cape and finds Grogu rubbing sleep from his Krugga doe eyes. The kid makes hushed coos.

Din picks up Grogu and stands up from the seat, cradling him. “Shhhh,” Din hushes, “don’t wanna wake buir.” He stealthy skirts past you and climbs down the cockpit ladder to whisper a bit more freely.

“It’s a good thing you’re up, ad’ika. We’ve got things to make.”

Grogu frowns and murmurs.

“Yes, that includes snacks.”

For the next couple of hours, Din and Grogu both work on their secret birthday projects in their respective corners on the hull. For Grogu, Din sets the child (along with his newly acquired Mantell mix and juice pack) on a bundle of blankets and brings Grogu his meager art supplies. “Go crazy, kid. But remember, think thoughtfully this time.” Grogu doesn’t pay him any attention as he zones in on the crayons, already having a picture in mind.

Din then saunters off to the cargo hold of the hull to the ship’s nano-cooker. There, he prepares a covert celebration classic, Uj’alayi. It’s a dense cake he and his fellow mandalorians-in-arms used to eat on special occasions (for the most part, but when the sweet cravings struck…). The cake itself is composed of whatever preserves and spices you have on hand: chopped nuts, dried fruit, flour, assorted hand-me-down spices from Din’s covert, and (most importantly) the spiced syrup of uj’ayl.

Once the cake is done baking and cooling, Din carefully stashes it away in a nearby empty crate. He quickly puts on a kettle of his usual jana’caf (spiced caffeinated drink, his specialty) to hopefully mask the smell of the cake. When all of his cooking is complete, Din checks up on how Grogu’s progress is coming along. Despite his size and lack of maturity, Grogu makes quite a few wonderful drawings, even a few decorations of his own. But this artistic expression comes at a price. Grogu has trashed his workspace and is now covered in his work and causes Din to frantically clean up after Grogu and his messes.

As soon as Din has gotten the last of the glue off of Grogu’s face, he hears you stirring in the cockpit above. In a flash, he gathers all of the drawings, decorations, and supplies and throws it in the crate alongside the cake. When you descend the ladder, Din resumes wiping off Grogu’s face to cover up his previous actions.

“Hey,” you say groggily, still dressed in your sweats. “What smells so good?”

“It’s probably the caf waiting for you on the hot plate.”

“Oh, thank you.” Din nods your way. You try to focus your eyes on the kettle across the hull as you shuffle closer to it. You get out your mug and pour yourself a cup. It’s not until after you sigh in relief from the first taste of caf that you speak again. “Hmmm, no. I’m smelling something more bread-y. You make bread, Djarin?” You look at the nano-cooker for any signs of baking.

Din panics only a little at your suspicions, but he has been rehearsing this fib since the cake’s cooling. “I made some, what do you call it, pancakes for this one here. I did make you some, but this green gremlin ate them.” Grogu crosses his arm and grumpily babbles at Din for the false accusation. “We’ve run out of ingredients, so I set coordinates for Nevarro to pick up a few things at the market.”

You gulp the cup of caf and set it down. “Sure. Well, good luck trying to avoid speaking to Karga. I’m going to clean myself up.” You make your way over to the fresher but pause in the doorway to look smug at Din. “Oh, you missed a spot, by the way.” Din turns to find he’s been mindlessly moving the cloth in circles on Grogu’s already clean cheek. Dins sighs as you chuckle to yourself as you close the fresher door behind you.

He looks in the kid’s eyes. “You think your buir bought it?”

“Eh.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Din has you off on the supply run as he “runs a few errands.” You think to yourself, that’s exactly what I’m doing! He’s been acting really strange since the moment you woke up. When it comes to things that matter to him, Din is terrible at hiding his emotions. What could have gotten him in such a twist?

You mull over all the possible options as you skirt your way over to Greef Karga’s offices. Din can avoid others all he wants, but you try your best to keep in touch with what few allies you have.

You don’t even look straight into his office as you come in since you’re used to these visits. You nearly drop the sack of flour when everyone shouts at your arrival.

“Surprise!”

To your astonishment, you find familiar faces staring back at you: Din, Grogu, Karga, Cara, even that mythrol whose name evades you. Surrounding them are a bunch of hastily put together decorations and lovely child-like artworks plastered on the walls. Desks have been moved to the side as tables of food and drinks have been scattered across the office. The one table they’re huddled around has a sugar-dusted cake filled with nuts and candied fruit front and center.

You can’t believe you’ve forgotten your own birthday, losing all track of time traveling with your Crest companions over the months. What you can’t believe even more is the unexpected dedication you see before you. You stand frozen at the door in content shock.

“It would have been a lot nicer if helmet head notified us sooner,” the mythrol butts in. Cara jabs him in the side with her elbow while maintaining her smile. Din moves from his position by the table to grab your hand in front of you.

“Happy Birthday, ner kar’ta.”

You smile up at Din, and he stands there for a beat before leading you over to your party patrons. Karga beams at you while holding an equally joyful baby in his arms.

“See! I told you Mando had gone all soft on you.”

You continue to look mildly glossy-eyed at Din. “You came up with all this? But I didn’t…”

“You didn’t have to. Besides, I was looking for excuses to treat you anyways.” Din clears his throat, the hard-shelled liar.

“Well,” you smirk at Din, “in that case, I think you’ll find at the top of my treat list is the admission of your own birthday.”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves here.”

That gets a laugh out of everyone.

Greef Karga chimes in. “Alright, are we just gonna stand here and talk about our wishes or are we going to dig in and relish in them?”

You drop the supplies you were holding in your other arm only to be quickly caught by Din. “Of course! I could eat an entire bantha.”

You spend a good chunk of the day on Nevarro eating and drinking, having a surprisingly relaxing time celebrating your birthday. Din’s cake, amazing. You had your silent reservations about the heavy, fruity, and nutty cake; but the combinations perfectly compliment one another in a sweet earthy way. You make sure to save a large helping of your meals for Din to savor later. You swap crazy mission stories with the company much to Din’s embarrassment (you can tell, his hands can’t keep still). You also carry Grogu around the room to give praise to his wall of artwork as he tries to explain to you the reasoning behind the pieces. You nod, though half of the time you have no idea what you’re staring at. But you cherish the gesture nonetheless.

By the end of your visit, Din speaks to you off to the side of the office. “You enjoy the rest of the party. I’ve got to go take care of something for real this time. See you back at the Crest, mesh’la.” He holds the side of your face before walking out into the streets of Nevarro. When you turn back to the company, everyone (minus the mythrol, who decided to bail after he received the food he was promised) is lined up with gifts. Karga and Cara wiggle their eyebrows at Din’s response. Karga loudly whispers to you. “See...soft.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. What’s this?”

“Surely you know no birthday party is ever complete without gifts.” Karga sticks out a small rectangle of paper to you. The card is a non-expiring coupon for one free couple’s massage at the Twi’lek healing baths. You look confused at him. “For when you figure out when his birthday is,” Karga responds. You awkwardly chuckle at the bizarreness of the gift, but you accept it in hopes to at least convince Din to have a trip there soon. You move on and Cara hands you an expertly crafted yet sturdy dagger. “To keep you safe on those wild missions,” she tells you. You nod and smile in appreciation. Finally, you crouch down to Grogu who’s got his hands behind his back and can barely contain his excitement. You beam at him. “You’ve got more?! I thought the art was your gift.” Grogu giggles and shakes his head. He abruptly sticks out his arm to show you a sealed packet of blue cookies. His gift shocks you the most out of the three. This kid never offers up his food. “Your secret stash? Buddy… Tell you what, how about we split the cookies later and you show me how to fingerpaint like that. Deal?” Grogu nods furiously and runs up into your arms, hugging as much as he can with such little wingspan. You hug the little squirt back as you pick up him and the cookies.

You gather your gifts and food to take back to Din, say your thanks and “see you soon”s to Karga and Cara, and head back home. You greatly anticipate your much needed rest from such an eventful day.

When you open the hatch to the Crest, Din is standing in front of the opening (how long has he been standing here like this?). “Your birthday’s not over yet, mesh’la.” You set down Grogu and your items on the floor of the ship and close the hatch behind you. You notice he has his arms behind him and flash him a coy smile. “It’s not?”

Din responds by handing you a bouquet of a beautiful assortment of wildflowers. You soften at the sight of them and take a deep breath at its fragrant smell “They’re wonderful, Din. Thank you.” He tilts his head off to the side and rubs your hand. “Look closer.”

You examine the bouquet closer and notice what holds the flowers at the stems. Pulling around the flowers, you find a chain bracelet made of the familiar pure beskar silver sheen. In the center of the bracelet, a small mudhorn charm shines back at you.

Din breaks the silence between the two of you. “I know how much you hate necklaces getting in the way when you tinker away at the ship. I uh - also asked the Armorer to leave a few extra spaces to maybe add charms of your own… If you ever feel like it. But, don’t tell her I didn’t give this to Grogu, this technically counts as a marriage proposal in a handful of parsecs. And -” You whip your eyes back up to Din’s nervous gaze, suddenly tearing up at the generous gesture. You cut Din off by wrapping your arms around his neck, still holding the bouquet in your hand.

“It’s perfect Din,” you say, muffled by burying your face into his neck. You break your hold on him slightly to place a kiss on the exposed skin underneath his chin. “Thank you.”

Din processes the notions and holds you back. He sighs in relief and melts in satisfaction behind his helmet. “Of course.”

“Happy birthday, ner kar’ta.”

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yanois - Second Impressions Can Bring Misfortune

Read Part One here, or check it out on AO3!

Though their first meeting could have gone better, Illinois might be a little fond of the mystery prisoner. Let’s just hope his famous luck doesn’t run out…

Warning: There is an instance of deadnaming under the read-more. It’s accidental, but be mindful if that might cause a little upset. (I promise this doesn’t end on a bad note)

Word Count: 2,448 (sorry, it’s four hand-written pages)

-

After his encounter with the brash prisoner, Illinois found he couldn’t get the other man out of his head. It was hardly an attraction (no, shut up! It wasn’t!), but he accepted that there was a level of interest in the unknown. Perhaps it was the prisoner’s standoffish attitude, or how he seemed utterly disinterested yet keenly focused. He didn’t heckle during the lecture, so he wasn’t there for the sole purpose of causing trouble.

But the question that plagued Illinois was painfully simple: what was the prisoner’s name? He hated how badly he wanted to know. Ah, the curse of the archaeologist - insatiable curiosity! With no starting point, Illinois took inspiration from his work and fetched his laptop to start the research.

Most prisoners were from Texas, but not all. The stranger’s accent suggested he was potentially from New York, so Illinois decided to sieve through articles that made reference to a transferral to a Texan prison first. His abundance of good luck meant that it only took an hour to find a result that was most fitting. The article was several years old and discussed the outcome of a rather tragic case. The information was put to the back of his mind - Warden Murderslaughter always said to never talk about an inmate’s crime unless they bring it up first - as Illinois instead took the important information. The photograph used of the criminal was old, but it matched. Which meant… He had a name! All he had to do was wait until the next time he was set to visit Happy Trails Penitentiary.

-

As luck would have it, he merely had to wait a week. When he wasn’t travelling as part of archaeological trips, Illinois would volunteer two Saturdays a month to teach the inmates. Unlike his history lectures, these consisted of smaller groups of prisoners undertaking a short course on several points in history; which would be rounded off with each prisoner completing a short research project on something that interested them in the course. All he needed was to put his possessions in the room he used for classes, and then he would be free to find the right prisoner if he arrived earlier than usual. The inmates followed a set schedule with minor variations depending on when their work shifts were. He had been volunteering long enough to know when one of the crossover periods would take place. It would be easy to find him!

The rec yard was fruitless, as was the library. But it was upon leaving the chow hall that Illinois spotted the man of the hour. He seemed in a hurry as the prisoner dashed toward the hall.

“Ah! Can I have a moment?” Illinois called out. The tattooed man screeched to a halt, bemused once he realised who wanted his attention. Unfortunately, no one else was around, so it had to be him. 

“Sure. Fine. What?” His eyes didn’t stay on Illinois, but instead darted to the clock.

“I know this is likely a bad time, but I’d like a chance to talk. We got off on the wrong foot last time.” Even Illinois knew it didn’t go well. “Are you free after your shift?”

“U-uh…. Yeah?” Thrown by the turn of events, it appeared the bold prisoner was willing to cooperate. “I know I’d never hear the end of it if my friends heard I refused. They’s is always singing youse’s praises. ‘Sides, second chances is always a good thing, right?” He looked as though he was about to say something else, but decided against it. Regardless, Illinois was elated.

“Excellent! In that case, I’ll be in the classroom just opposite the library until seven this evening. Call by when you’re free. Even if there’s a class going on, sit in on it anyway.” The prisoner nodded and hurried past once he knew he was dismissed. Before the other disappeared into the chow hall, Illinois belatedly realised he should be more polite about this. He guessed the other might be swallowing his pride in accepting the invitation to chat, given their first meeting. The least he could do was show some manners.

“Thank you! I look forward to chatting, █████!”

Whatever progress had been made was instantly thrown aside. The prisoner froze in the doorway. Though his back was to Illinois, the archaeologist could see that the other was rigid. It wasn’t a reaction Illinois associated with hearing one’s own name…. Unless it was a name they didn’t use anymore.

“O-oh my God, I’m so sorry, I had no -” For once, Illinois found himself stammering in a frantic attempt to get an apology out. It was to no avail, as a fistful of his shirt had been grabbed and he was slammed against the wall.

“I don’t know what sorta shit game youse is playing,” the prisoner hissed, “But if youse is gonna act like youse is better than me by being such a sly bitch…. I really wanna beat the shit outta youse, but I don’t wanna get in trouble.”

“Yancy! That’s enough!” The prisoner - Yancy? - dropped Illinois without hesitation and didn’t struggle when two guards rushed over and restrained him. “Bring him into th’ chow hall to calm down. I’ll speak to him in a sec. As fer you…” Yancy was led away by the guards, and it was hard to ignore how withdrawn he seemed compared to minutes earlier. With heavy guilt, Illinois pulled his attention away to finally acknowledge Warden Murderslaughter, who had been the one to stop the disaster in its tracks. His lips were pursed and his arms crossed as he shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Illinois. Out of all our volunteers, I thought you would’ve known our most important rule better than anyone else: don’t provoke th’ inmates with topics that are touchy fer ‘em.”

“But I didn’t know -” Illinois’ head turned toward the chow hall’s entrance. “I only wanted to get to know him. I didn’t mean to…”

“Who told you that name?”

“No one?” He looked back at the Warden with confusion. “I read it in an article covering the trial online.” The Warden pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh.

“Son… You could’ve saved yourself a whole lotta bother if you’d thought to ask someone here, even over the phone. It isn’t like you to mess up like this.” He put an arm around Illinois’ shoulder and began guiding him toward the staff breakroom. “The name you used is correct, if you go by legal documents or the press, but it’s not the name he goes by. Everyone calls him ‘Yancy’. See, his birth name has links to pretty painful memories that I don’t think he’ll ever recover from, and he’s been striving to prove he’s a better person as ‘Yancy’. So to turn ‘round and use th’ wrong name is like a slap to the face and a surefire way for him to hate you. Now, I know you had good intentions and it was an honest mistake, but you need to be more careful. Next time you see him, give him a good, proper apology. Just know he’s probably gonna be frosty toward ya. I’ll go talk to him and check if he’s okay, let him know you didn't mean to use the wrong name.” The Warden threw a glance over his shoulder with a hint of a smile. “Yancy’s a good kid, despite how he acts sometimes. He’s been through some rough times, but his heart’s stayed in the right place. If he can have a friend outside the prison… I think it’ll do him some good. Now, get yourrself a coffee before you start classes.”

Illinois blinked, genuinely surprised to realise they had arrived. Murderslaughter gave him a hearty slap on the back of the shoulder (Illinois had learned long ago the art of hiding the wince from the strength of such actions) before making his way back to the chow hall.

---

In the chow hall, Yancy was a mess. He sat far away from anyone else who might have been there. A cup of water had been given to him, but it was used more as a stress ball rather than a drink. He didn’t know what to think. How could someone act like they wanted to be a friend, then turn around in the same breath and say something that implied the complete opposite? Why remind him of what he did long ago? The cup was put aside so he could slump across the table with a defeated groan. █████… Was that all he was ever going to be to the outside world? Would the attempts he has made to be a better person forever go unnoticed under the large, looming shadow of his crimes? Then again, prisoners like him were locked away to be forgotten about by the world.

His form tensed the moment he spotted the Warden sitting opposite him. This was it - he was going to be scolded and sent to Solitary, and probably lose other privileges on top of that. How dare Yancy lay a finger on the visitor everyone worshipped!!

But it was nothing like that. Murderslaughter checked if he was okay. They sat in silence for a few moments so Yancy could try and collect himself without anyone else approaching. Then, the Warden praised him for not completely lashing out, but then took time to explain Illinois’ side of things.

“- He’s not like the reporters or anyone else who comes to ‘visit’ you. He was a moron who didn’t ask th’ staff for your name. It seems like he wants to try an’ be friends…. But it’s fine if ya don’t wanna see him today. An’ if you’d rather go lie down instead of working, that’s fine too.

“N-no… I’d rather work. Don’t really wanna be left alone with my thoughts just yet.”

-

Yancy spent the rest of the morning washing dishes. The work wasn’t ‘busy’ enough to keep his mind distracted, but it was labour-intensive and he could work out his frustration on the crockery. By the time he finished his shift and lunch, he returned to his cell with an idea - he needed to get rid of the White Jaguar model. It had to be the source of the blame.

But just like a blasted boomerang, the clay figure kept returning to him in ridiculous manners throughout the afternoon. Yancy dropped it in the trash on the way outside, only to be tapped on the shoulder by another prisoner who thought it was dropped by mistake. Trying to gift it to anyone in the Gang had them refuse - Bam-Bam had initially accepted, but changed his mind when he held the tiny model and handed it back to Yancy with the excuse that it ‘belonged’ to him. He then hid it in the long grass in the rec yard. When no one immediately found it, he went to the bathroom, returned to his cell… And was greeted with the terrifying sight of the White Jaguar sitting on his pillow, staring at him. Overcome with frustration, he decided to simply break it. He threw it at the wall with all his might. Instead of smashing, it ricocheted off the wall and toppled his radio that had been on his bed, before landing neatly on the pillow. Yancy picked it up, he swore there was a look of smugness on the Jaguar’s face, which reminded him of… Wait.

He could simply return it to Illinois and ask him never to speak to Yancy again. It would solve two problems at once.

---

“Come in!” Illinois’ voice was upbeat as he tidied the classroom after a day of workshops. The guilt from earlier had been put aside in favour of professionalism. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all. However, that professionalism immediately slipped the moment he saw who entered.

“Yancy!” The name was blurted out with relief more than pleasantry. Whatever Illinois had been putting into his briefcase was unceremoniously dumped as he gave Yancy his full attention. “Before you say anything…. I want to apologise for this morning. I made the mistake of not checking with the staff what name you prefer to go by. It was careless of me. I know I upset you, and I am truly sorry. You don’t need to forgive me, as I know it’s something that hurt you… But I just want you to know I didn’t mean to use that name, and I’ll never use it again, Yancy.”

Yancy was dumbfounded. No one who deliberately used that name apologised. They never cared that it made him uncomfortable and upset. Emotions stung him for the second time that day, but polar opposites to the anger that had nearly consumed him in the morning.

“I-I, uh… Thanks. For apologising, I mean. Takes balls to admit youse was wrong ‘bout something. But it means a lot that, y’know, youse said sorry. So… If it’s okay with youse, we can consider it forgiven and forgotten.” Yancy looked ill at ease, but Illinois couldn’t blame him. It would be better to find a new topic to talk about before Yancy decided to swiftly dismiss himself. At that moment, Yancy adjusted his stance, drawing Illinois’ attention to his hand.

“Is that the White Jaguar model I gave you?”

Yancy blinked and looked at his hand like he didn’t know it had existed until that very moment. He opened his mouth, only to snap it shut with a quick shake of his head. When he did speak again, there was the faintest hint of a smile.

“Yeah, uh… Had a few people asking ‘bout it, but I don’t remember shit from that talk so… Is it too late to join one of these class things you is doing?” Yancy mentally slapped himself for doing the opposite of what he had intended, but it wasn’t met with a cocky reaction. Instead, Illinois’ face lit up like the Fourth of July and invited Yancy to the desk so they could check if there was a class that would fit neatly into Yancy’s schedule. There was a hint of awkwardness between them, but Illinois was optimistic that this could be the start of a better chapter for them.

However, he did get a little ahead of himself and winked at Yancy just before the prisoner left. Yancy rolled his eyes, but the dismissive look had a trace of amusement in it as he left. Once the door closed, Illinois found himself staring at it for several long moments.

Okay… Maybe there was a bit of an attraction toward Yancy after all.

[birdwonder]

headcanon the joestars on how they would react to an artist s/o like always painting, drawing and giving them like a painting of them they worked on?? thank u 💕

|| I don’t do part 5 or further requests yet, and I’m taking Joestars as in the Jojo’s, but I think I know Giorno somewhat enough to throw him in ! Also, cuuute request.

Part 1-5 Jojo’s | Artist S/O Headcanons 

Jonathan Joestar

- As one would expect, he is incredibly supportive of your talent! All of your family/couple portraits are hung up in the hallways and even a few landscape ones too to keep things looking lively. His favourite above all favourites would go above the fire place however, which is probably a painting of the two of you that you had gifted him on your anniversary.

- He cherishes it more than most possessions he owns, and when he’s warming up by the crackling flames, he can’t help but smile at it. That’s your hard work and your effort up there, and any house guests will know it as soon as he shows it to them. 

- Honestly, he doesn’t want to request anything from you as he feels as though anything that you gift him that comes from your mind and heart alone is far more valuable to him. Besides, he wouldn’t really know what to ask for aside from another portrait of you to hang somewhere that wasn’t taken up.

- During the spring and summer seasons, you take the time to set up an easel, canvas and paint set in the garden to have some fresh air and gather new inspiration. Even if you haven’t even gotten far into the piece, Jonathan will eventually come out the house with two cups of tea and stand behind you, bending down to lightly kiss your temple as he’s afraid anything more passionate would interrupt your creative process or cause your finger to slip. He would then ask for you to take a break and sit with him at a table to enjoy the view together, so the two of you can talk about your future painting plans and how his studies in archeology are going. Mutual respect for each other’s interests is an essential ingredient in any relationship.

- “Oh, look at your hands! No matter, we’ll just have to wash them once we’re inside,” is something he says before you realise that a tea cup you were holding had been smudged with a variety of green’s and blue’s from your fingertips. You apologise profusely in which he shakes his head at with a chuckle. “It’s alright, my love. I think it makes them look far more unique now! No china set in the world could look like this.”

- Skip 100 years into the future and your paintings may be in a gallery with a small “to Jonathan” written in the corner.

Joseph Joestar

- Definition of “Paint me like one of your french girls.~”

- Definitely suggests a nude painting of him. Or you. Or the two of you together, whether it be a joke or he’s somewhat serious.

- He’s amazed by your talent! Including your patience. He probably wouldn’t be able to sit still for long enough to even paint an abstract tree, so he has nothing but respect for your artistry. 

-If you were to ever gift him a drawing, he’d be stunned. Does he even deserve to own one of your pieces? Was this a declaration of love? Because he’s accepting it with a hard kiss to your lips and a string of ‘thank you’’s and compliments.

- One day, you had a serious artist block and had no idea what to paint leaving you stumped and staring at a blank canvas in despair. The lack of spark in your eyes that you usually had when painting hurt Joseph, so as a foolish attempt to help, he grabbed a bottle of one of your haunts and squirted it all over his hand.

- You gasped in response, about to scold him on the price of the paints when he suddenly slapped it smack middle of the canvas. “Joseph! Those cost a lot!”

- “Yeah but it’s fun! C’mon try it! Get your creative juices flowing or whatever you art folk say!” Taking your hand, he squirted a different colour onto it which made you giggle cutely as the cold sensation. He then guided it next to his bright hand print, pressing your palm down.

- It looked adorable and gave you an idea.

- With a smile, and a promise from Joseph that he’d buy you more paint later, the two of began to spread more paints onto your hands and continued to cover the canvas mindlessly with your prints.

- By the end of it, the two of who are laughing and even smearing paint on each other’s faces, leading to some squeals and hilarious facial features. 

- Sure, it wasn’t want you had initially wanted to go for, but with a carefully painted on “Joseph and [F/N]” written underneath the first two handprints that were made, you knew that the sentimental value of the piece was far greater than anything else you could have made.

Jotaro Kujo

- He has no reason to be against your talent and doesn’t have enough words and facial expressions to his name to show how impressed he is with you.

- Though that slightly changes when you hand him your sketch book one day, a bashful look on your face as you fear for the worst reaction from him.

- Inside are a multitude of sketches and even fine lined pieces of him, some with and without Star Platinum if you can see him, all carefully and accurately drawn in your own style. You even remembered to add the pin on his hat and his earrings...

- Jotaro could only blush brightly and cough into his hand to compose himself. “It’s good... I like it.” An understatement really, because if you let him keep even a page, he’ll be sure to keep it safe somewhere but no where obvious so his mother or grandfather don’t tease him for it. 

- If you ask him to pose for anything, he’ll want to decline and might even do so the first few times, though with some begging he may do some poses in your home, with the assurance that no one will barge in. Only casual ones though, so he doesn’t have to strain or embarrass himself.

- Buying presents for you is considerably easy as there’s always some sort of pen or paint set he can get to add to your wide range of media, all of which you are grateful for and gush over even though you tell him that buying them is unnecessary.

- “Have you considered doing an art major?” If you say yes, he supports you completely but warns you of the stresses and the harsh reality of the art world when it came to work.

Josuke Higashikata

- Ooh, is he going to show you off.

- “Yo Rohan Sensei! Sure you can draw that manga of your’s but can you draw THIS?”

- He might get killed or have his destiny rewritten by a certain stand user, but he knows it’s worth it when it comes to you. Have you seen your own art? It’s incredible !

- Most likely, he finds out by seeing you doodle in class and his jaw completely drops that your maths work sheet was instead covered in drawings of amazing bodies and plant life. If you insist that they’re nothing and “they’re just sketches,” he will personally shake you senseless and talk your ear off telling you that they are amazing. 

- Gifting him any kind of artistic media makes him overjoyed. Josuke shoves it in Okuyasu’s face, much to the delinquent’s dismay, and hugs you to death for the gift. “Aw babe, you really didn’t have to!”

- If you’re ever stressing over the quality of your work, he reminds you that you are amazing at what you do and that everyone has their own style, so that comparing yourself to others just wasn’t fair on you. 

- He plays a personal game where each day he tries to guess how much pen or paint you have your hand by the end of the day. Usually on weekends, it’s a lot more.

Giorno Giovanna 

- There’s a good chance that you met because of your work.

- You’re in a particularly beautiful Italian city, either sitting on a stool or ledge with a canvas or book in front of you, your hand working away at the landscape before you.

- While he was on a relaxing stroll, Giorno stopped behind you and peered over your shoulder, his breath taken away by how accurate your piece was to every exact detail.

- “Bellissimo...” He whispered, causing you to jolt a little and quickly turn around to look at him, a flushed or embarrassed look on your face. Oh, you’re cute.

- Right after he apologised for startling you and praises you for your work, which only flusters you more that such a handsome boy was complimenting you, you offered for him to sit next to you. Perhaps for you to even draw him?

- He doesn’t refuse.

- Once you’re dating, he takes you wherever you want whenever he can so you can draw the scenery, and shows you more gorgeous places to draw and even suggests what sort of people to draw. He also supports you doing something out of your comfort zone, for example if you typically liked to only sketch, he’d suggest for you to paint or use chalk in another style to see if it improves your skill as a whole.

- When he’s a don, he asks for you to paint or draw him so that he can hang it somewhere in an expensive frame to make his work place appear more serious and clear that he was the boss.

- If you do so, he thanks you a hundred times and buys you anything you want and as much as you want. Giorno also makes sure to repay you physically with a night out and kisses with a goodnight cuddle. 

- He might keep a small sketch of the two of you in his inside jacket pocket or draw so that every time he took it out during work, he’d be reminded of you and how you met, which motivated him to get the job done quick so he could go home to see you.

[prongsisabadger]

TWP Chapter 31

I had never felt such fear. The suffocating sensation of having the weight of an entire ocean on my chest, pushing me down, swallowing me into the darkness that was true terror. I had never been so afraid. I had experienced grief before, had thrown myself in danger’s way to protect those I held dear, and had faced the enemy time and time again. I had spent the last two years trying to keep the war from breaking me, but now, as I sped through Khorm airspace, dodging fighters and shooting down droids, I could feel it finally taking hold on my soul. The comm had come in from the lieutenant on the surface, Commander Wolffe’s squadron had spotted the CIS’s assassin Asajj Ventress, and they were in pursuit.

No amount of frantic yelling could get through to him, a storm was jamming communications and command had lost track of them. It wasn’t that I doubted the clone’s ability to face her, on the contrary, I often forgot that it wasn’t normal for any sentient species to be able to keep up with a Jedi’s training. What worried me was the fact that not even Master Kenobi and Master Skywalker had been able to either capture her or kill her. Asajj might have not been a Sith, but she was a damned good assassin, and a force sensitive one at that.

It didn’t take too much arguing to get their last known coordinates. Admiral Zapal decided it was a good idea to question me at some point. He didn’t get the chance to say much after I promptly informed him that he would be in charge of the assault from then on. The phrase “Jedi business” always worked wonders for situations like that. Of course I would pay for my improper use of power sometime later, but right then, I had friends to save, and hopefully, asassins to capture.

Landing was not easy, all sensors were down, and so were the scanners. I had to trust my gut and the Force to be able to navigate in such a snowstorm. But if landing was hard, it was nothing compared to what greeted me on the planet's surface. I felt two life forms ahead of me, not too far. It wasn’t a good sign, Wolffe’s squad had at least twenty men. As I made my way towards the two life forms, I started coming by small piles of snow in my path. Only it wasn’t snow, it was dead clone troopers whose bodies were starting to be covered by the storm. If I hadn’t been on a planet that was already frozen over, I would probably have attributed the cold in my veins to the absolute emptiness in the Force where life had once been.

When I finally made it to where I felt the two life forms, I saw her. Asajj Ventress stood over the kneeling body of a man, who held one of his brothers to him, cradling his head. She was boasting, calling the clones “Jedi lapdogs” and basking on what she presumed was a clean victory. She brought one of her red lightsabers up above her head and then swung. Before the blade could meet the neck of the trooper, I intercepted it with my own. Ventress hadn't felt my approach, and my sudden presence there made her take a leap back.

I took the opportunity and looked back at the trooper, and what I saw froze both my body and my soul. It was Sketcher, and in his arms was his brother and Commander, Wolffe. Wolffe, who’s right eye had been cut off and had been bleeding so profusely he was most likely dead already.

It took all my strength not to charge at the assassin right then and there. It took all my training to not allow myself to be consumed in darkness, to punish her for what she had done, to kill her for daring to touch my friends, to avenge Wolffe’s death. Yes, I wanted to give in, I wanted to kill her, to hurt her, to maim her, to make her suffer for what she had done.

But right there and then -underneath the overwhelming urge to kill, kill, KILL- Sketcher’s force signature did not change. He had been afraid when I had arrived, but he was terrified as he looked up at me through the visor of his helmet. It wasn’t Ventress who was causing that. It was like a slap to the face, a bucket full of freezing cold water over the head.

I was scaring him.

I tried my best to get a hold of myself, to bring my anger and grief under control. I then took the vibroblade Wolffe had given me and threw it at his knees.

“If you see me fall, don’t look back, Sketcher.” I said before I turned to face the woman that had caused all that death, all that destruction. The woman who had taken him from me.

“That is a cute gesture, Padawan. But none of you are leaving this planet alive.” She said, her posture relaxed, unguarded, arrogant. “You see, even if that lap dog of yours can’t feel the Force, I can. You are not as good a Jedi as you might think. Embrace the darkness, kid. Pain and suffering are the only reliable sources of strength.”

“I realize we have never been introduced, Ventress. I am Kriari Foreas, Plo Koon and Obi-wan Kenobi’s Padawan,” Ventress smiled at the mention of Obi-Wan, like someone who had fond memories associated with the name. “and while yes, pain and suffering are strong motivators, there is much more power in healing trauma than there is in holding onto it.” I answered.

We started circling each other like two predators on the hunt, sizing each other up, trying to determine what kind of a battle this would be.

“You should follow your own advice, kid, the force is quite dark around you.” She mocked.

“Oh yes, I’m sure it is. But since you are still alive and in possession of all your extremities, I would call that a win.” I countered, struggling to keep my face straight and my head clear.

Come on, Kriari, you didn’t spend your entire life training to be a Jedi only to allow this asshole to get to you know. Pull your shit together.

“If I wasn’t about to kill you right now, I’d think you are flirting with me, Padawan.” She teased.

“If you hadn’t killed one of the people I care for the most, I probably would be.”

But banter was only superficial, and as much as she seemed to enjoy it, she must have realized, just as I did, that there were no more words to be said. The only thing left to do was fight and put an end to whatever that was. Oh, and fight I did, to the best of my abilities. I fought like I never had before with calm only found in motion and the skill of a lifetime of training. I fought with the Force, it was the only reason I lived that day, because if I had succumbed to the darkness, Ventress would have won. And she wouldn’t have had to kill me to do it.

…

Art was not going to lie and say he wasn’t terrified. He wasn’t ashamed of it, because fear meant he was not stupid, fear was a survival mechanism to all sentient beings, it should always be respected. He had trained the whole eleven years he had been alive, he was one of the most powerful, efficient and intelligent soldiers in the galaxy right after the Jedi and so was every single one of his brothers. But Art was terrified.

Kriari had engaged Asajj Ventress on her own.

Kriari, the wiry seventeen year old he had first met on Geonosis who decided their lives were more important than Master Mundi’s esteem, the fearless leader who had put their lives ahead of the mission, the friend who had tattooed every single clone trooper she had lost on her skin. Kriari, his closest friend and most trusted ally, had engaged one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy on her own.

He didn’t doubt Kriari’s skill as a Jedi, in fact he was of the opinion that she had been holding back the entire time he had known her. Kriari was the eye of the storm in a battlefield. She was calm, collected and made quick decisions with ease. Even if she did bottle everything up and let it out in the safety of the barracks, Kriari was the most reliable person to have by your side on the battlefield. He had never seen her lose her cool, he had never seen her truly panic in the face of danger or death, she had always been strong and determined.

But this time, it was different.

This time, Wolffe was dying.

Art wasn’t blind, he knew they had a special bond. Wolffe had always been a stoic, sarcastic bastard, but he had developed a soft spot for Kriari the second they met. Kriari’s insistence in protecting the clones at the expense of her safety had only reinforced Wolffe’s protectiveness over her. He had noticed.

It hadn’t taken Kriari too long to develop a connection to him either. She had always needed someone to ground her when things got hard, and there was no one in the galaxy who was more grounded than his brother. They were quite different in a lot of ways, but they were both skilled, stubborn and willing to do anything for the people they cared for. If Art hadn’t known about the Jedi code, if he hadn’t been Kriari’s closest confidante, he would have thought they were together. They were a fearsome sight when they were on the same side of a conflict.

And now, Kriari had lost the one person who could help regulate her emotions, the one person who anchored her to the here and now. Kriari had lost one of the people she felt safest with, and Asajj Ventress had been to blame. She had taken his friend’s pillars and was going to feel the ceiling of Kriari’s composure come crashing down on her.

Art wasn’t stupid enough to believe Kriari wasn’t capable of murder. The only thing his Commander valued more than her life as a Jedi was her attachments, as controversial as it was. She didn’t need to say it, he had realized long ago that the second the Jedi Order did something to jeopardize the safety of the people she loved, she would burn the entire place to the ground. He didn’t think her Masters realized just how protective of them all she was. Art didn’t think they knew her as deeply as they thought they did. If they had, they would have reassigned her long ago.

Kriari Foreas was dangerous, and Art was scared. He wasn’t scared of her, he was scared for her. He knew that if his friend decided to take the path to the Dark Side, she would regret her decision every second of the rest of her life. Art knew Kriari was capable of murder, but he also knew she was not a murderer.

Admiral Zapal had been going ballistic over the comms, talking of insubordination and reckless action and threatening us all with court martial. But not one member of the Pack seemed to care. Yes, good soldiers followed orders, but the best soldiers left no one behind. And if the Wolfe Pack was anything, it was the best. Commander Foreas had fought and sweated and bled for and with them, they were not about to abandon her.

So he did the only thing he could do: he organized all the troops they had on the surface and set off to look for their missing Commander. Only two teams remained with the med tent, where the medics tried to keep Wolffe alive in every way they could think of. He left Twitch in charge, and disappeared through the storm alongside his brothers without looking back.

[vannahfanfics]

Heroes Rising

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo

Hey, everyone! I’m super happy to present the piece I wrote for New Year, New Hope: A BakuDeku New Year’s Zine! It’s a free downloadable PDF, so I encourage everyone to check it out on Twitter to see all the wonderful art and stories that have been created in addition to mine. Enjoy! 

Izuku’s eyebrows slowly cinched as he drifted through the hazy twilight of half-sleep. As his mind wandered the lavender-gray fog of rising consciousness, his cheek twitched and wordless murmurs slipped through his slightly parted lips. His eyelashes fluttered open to reveal dull emerald eyes. They slowly brightened with lucidity, flickering left and right as awareness bled into his lagging brain. The pre-dawn hour greeted him, shrouding him in contentable gloom. 

Izuku smacked his lips a few times. The quiet noises echoed through the room; he narrowed his eyes at the strange reverberance of the sounds, as it didn’t sound like the acoustics of his bedroom. Upon sitting up and looking around, he realized that he indeed was not in his bed; he’d passed out on the common room sofa. He was surrounded by the rest of his peers. 

“Man… What a wild New Year’s Party,” he snickered under his breath as he kicked a throw pillow off his calves. It flopped onto Denki’s lap, and the boy immediately cuddled and curled around it while murmuring something about hamburgers. Careful not to trod on Mina, who was sleeping with half of her body under the coffee table, Izuku rose and stretched his arms above his head. His vertebrae decompressed with a series of satisfying pops, making him hum in relief as his slightly sore muscles unwound. 

Izuku tip-toed his way to the windows framing the wall of the living room, sneaking his hand under his shirt to scratch at his tummy. He stood before the sleek glass panes to gaze out into the night— or what was left of it. Red-purple had begun to bleed up into the horizon. The gray clouds became awash in lavender and rose, making them seem like tufts of cotton candy floating on the breeze. 

Wow. What a great way to start the year, Izuku thought absently. 

“Oh my gosh!” he hissed in the next second, hands slapping to his head to wind his fingers into his green curls. A few mumbles wafted over from the common area, prompting him to swallow the stream of nervous babble about to spill from his mouth. He whirled around to peer into the gloom at the clock; it was still a ways off from the predicted time for the first sunrise of the year. Scuttling as fast as he could through the sea of bodies dispersed on the floor, Izuku headed for the front door. 

If I hurry, I can make it!

The cold winter wind blasted into his face as soon as he threw the door open. He shuddered violently from head to toe as the snow flurries kissed his skin and dove into the crannies of his fleece pajamas, spreading numbing cold through his flesh. For a microsecond, he debated scurrying back into the dorm to bury himself in some nice, cozy blankets where the winter chill could not reach. He shoved that urge aside to steel himself, grimacing as he stepped out into the cold. Rubbing his arms through his pajama sleeves and kicking up the snow with his slippers, he trotted around the side of the building. On the west wall was a black ladder, trailing up the side of the building to the roof. 

“Perfect!” he breathed, and the water vapor instantly fogged. He rubbed his hands vigorously for a few seconds to get them as warm as possible before gripping the lungs of the ladder. 

He squeaked as the ice bit into his palms with tiny, razor-sharp teeth. He whipped around to look at the horizon, hoping he would have enough time to grab some gloves, but more color bled into the indigo sky with each passing moment. Oh no! I won’t make it! he dismayed and returned his focus to the ladder. Grunting, he climbed up to the next rung, and the next. 

He scaled it as quickly as he could, a burn rising in his hands with each time they slapped against the freezing metal. The snowflakes drifted into his tousled hair, settling into the strands like glitter. The little fogs of his breath ghosted over his freckled cheeks as he kept his gaze upon the edge of the roof above. Beyond it, pale yellow snaked through the clouds, making them shine silver. 

“Heh. Silver lining,” he joked quietly. 

The wind snatched at Izuku’s hair as he climbed over the edge of the rooftop. Body shivering and teeth chattering, he toddled to the massive air conditioning unit perched atop the concrete, using its metallic bulk to shield him from the brunt of the gale. He sank down into a squat with a quiet sigh, appreciating the way the reds, oranges, yellows, and pinks had invaded the night sky like wax melting into a canvas. 

“Gorgeous…” he whispered in awe. 

“What’re you doing up here, nerd?” 

Katsuki’s irritated growl bounced across the rooftop, and Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin, shrieking shrilly. Izuku whipped around to see the boy’s ash-blond spikes of hair ruffling in the persistent wind and his red eyes piercing the gale of snowflakes rushing past his slightly pink nose. Katsuki snarled as he mounted the ladder to step out onto the rooftop, rubbing his arms vigorously to stave off the chill as he stomped over. “It’s fucking freezing up here… What in the hell possessed you to come out here at the ass crack of dawn, Deku?” 

“Um… The dawn, Kacchan.” 

With a grunt, Katsuki looked to the horizon. The rays of sunlight speared heavenward like bright spotlights to shower the world in gold. Katsuki squinted at the rising sun for a few seconds, while Izuku fidgeted nervously, expecting some sort of scathing rebuke. To Izuku’s shock, Katsuki just nudged Izuku over with the toe of his slipper before squatting down beside him, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned back against the air conditioning unit. In silence, they watched the bubbling sun make her first peek above the skyline to greet the world in all her glory. 

“Aren’t we supposed to make a wish or some stupid shit like that?” Katsuki huffed suddenly, causing Izuku to flinch and squeak in shock again. His vermilion eyes flickered to him in slight disdain, before the irritation drained from the red pools to only look at him thoughtfully. “That’s what Pinky said, or whatever. That it was tradition to make wishes on the first sunrise of the new year. Is that what you were doing up here?” 

“N-n-n-no!” Izuku stammered, waving his hands as his nervous breaths puffed out in clouds in front of him. After a second his fingertips began to burn and go numb, so he shoved them under his armpits to warm them up. Looking back to the rising sun, he smiled contently, “I just wanted to see the sunrise. Now that you mention it, though, making a wish does sound nice.” 

The snow layering the top of the building crunched as Katsuki stood up. Izuku watched with knitted eyebrows, wondering what he was doing, then fell onto his side with a peep as Katsuki slid into a proud, challenging stance and shook his fist at the sky. 

“I’m not gonna make a wish; I’m gonna make a promise! This is gonna be the year I’m gonna surpass All Might!” Katsuki roared, face flushing with conviction. His booming voice bounded on the wind to carry to the city beyond. Though Izuku found Katsuki’s endless confidence and borderline egotism bracing, he felt sorry for all their friends who had just been jerked awake by the explosive boy’s rousing dawn proclamation. 

Grinning triumphantly, Katsuki shimmied back down and rubbed his hands together. “All right, ya damn nerd. What’s your shitty wish?” 

Izuku blushed as he was suddenly prompted. It was too cold for him to stand up in the howling wind, so he just looked at the sun, watching its golden liquid-like light splay over the distant buildings and trees. 

“This year, I’m gonna master One for All and catch up to you, Kacchan,” he vowed solemnly. “A lot has happened in this last year, and we’ve both grown a lot… But I’m not nearly where I need to be yet. I need to keep growing so that I can become a successor worthy of All Might.” 

When Izuku looked back at Katsuki, he was making a face and sticking his tongue out. 

“I asked for your wish, not a damn speech,” Katsuki chided, elbowing Izuku lightly in the ribs. As Izuku whined and rubbed at his bruised flesh, Katsuki’s lips curled up into a smirk. 

“All right, then. Let’s make those wishes— those promises— come true. I won’t accept failure from you, Deku,” Katsuki hummed, staring with lidded eyes as the sun ascended into the rose-gold sky. Izuku blinked at him, then turned to smile at the rising sun, too. 

“Of course. I’ll do my best!”

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[gagmebucky]

summary—

in which bucky retaliates against your public teasing. (includes exhibitionism, sex, dirty talk, and cock warming.)

(a/n—i’ve never written for bucky (or marvel at all) so please, please, please be nice!! this turned out way different originally imagined but i think it’s better? but feedback is greatly apperciated!! anyway, love you! thank you for reading! do NOT repost)

excerpt—

“Don’t fucking move,” Bucky growls. “You hear me? You move even an inch, and I will fuck you right here. I’ll rip this pretty dress off, and keep going and going until you can’t anymore. In front of everyone. Do you understand me?”

when the tease gets teased—

You’re the world’s greatest tease, according to him. But you argue you’re only as good as the object of your desire, that if he wasn’t so sensitive to you, so responsive with the lightest touch, half hard by the simple bat of your eyelashes, you wouldn’t be as successful as you are.

It’s your favorite pastime, the most thrilling game—provoking him in public: testing his limits until he’s so overcome with need, he’s got you in the nearest private space, fucking you with a bruising and delicious brutality. The look in his steely eyes, that flash of sexualized anger, the struggle against what you invoke in him, to not react then the way he handles you after; it’s addicting.

You don’t consider yourself the world’s greatest tease, you consider yourself his best tease. You know him well, to his delight and frustration, turned in into an art form. At any given moment, alone or in the presence of others, you know exactly how to spark the dark flicker of his eyes, cause that defined jaw tick and tick, make his capable hands clench and flex in waning restraint.

And nobody's the wiser.

Like today, perched on his lap, at a barbecue while he talks with his closest friends: your legs strewn across his sideways, your shoulder resting against his chest, your head nuzzled underneath his neck, close enough to hear the steady beat of his heart.

He has a possessive, metal hand on your exposed thigh, fingers still, the coolness nice underneath the beam of the sun. In his other, he’s nursing a condensated beer bottle, setting it down after downing the last gulp.

That’s when you make your move. He’s distracted, engrossed in a high spirited conversation. Other than a curious glance,  he doesn’t pay you any attention—something you’ll make him think better of, next time—as you grab his free hand in yours.

You’ve always had a thing for his hands, his organic and inorganic one. You can’t count the times you’ve fawned over the latter, completely eviscerating whatever insecurity he might’ve had about the prosthetic. But, you’ll admit, you’ve neglected his fleshy one—of the other, you’ve thoroughly appreciated the robotics, the craftsmanship ship, the way he uses it, but not this one.

And it’s a damn shame, especially given how sensitive his hand is.

You trace your fingers over his, clipped nails, digits long and proportionally thick, the faint twinge of redness in his knuckles. Languidly, you follow around the underside, prompting him to subconsciously flip it around. Except for that does he respond--only reacting on the lightest of levels. But you focus on his calloused palm, rough from hard work and heroism; a fact that makes you swell hotter.

While some may prefer softer, you don’t: the texture works wonders when the pads of his fingertips are rubbing you into a quivering mess. Dexterous, heaven when on you, inside you, feeling as if made just for you, times of such flit through your mind, heat flaring within the pit of your stomach.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, manipulating and kneading his hand, thumbs pressing into pressure points that make him attempt to shift underneath you. In the middle of his story, he stammers, quickly clearing his throat and laughing it off, but you catch the dark glance flickered your way.

A silent behave! and you almost scoff aloud. He can’t possibly believe you'll behave in public when he can’t do a damn thing about it, when you get off on provoking him like this. Especially when he’s been neglecting to give you the attention you deserve!

With no acknowledgement of him, you continue with those purposeful strokes, your soft fingers spidering along his. It’s funny how such an innocent act can create such a reaction. He’s twitching, a strain in his jeans that you thankfully hide.

You compare your sizes, palm to palm, enjoying how his dwarfs yours, reminding yourself (and him) of a similar comparison with his cock: a comparison you wish you were making right now. Your long lashes flutter as you flash big and wanting eyes, a pout to your lips, a shared gaze narrowing as your cupid’s bow nestles his fingertips.

“—later, Buck,” someone is saying, prompting his smile, though its forced, nodding as he watches them walk off.

Once he’s sure they’re gone, he’s grabbing you up, his hand closing around yours, metal tangling in your hair and yanking, a sweet stinging in your scalp. “You’re being bad,” he hisses, eyes thundering with all the filthy things he’d do if you guys were alone.

You don’t flinch, thrilled by the prospect. You run your tongue along your bottom lip, barely suppressing a saucy grin, mischievousness reflecting in your striking pools. “That’s implying I’ve ever been good,” you tease, leaning in so he can feel the fan of your breath.

He looks between your gaze and lips, tempted, and that pretty blue darkens a shade and narrows on you. “You’re good when I make you.”

“Then make me.”

His frustration suddenly wipes away, something wicked twinkling in steely blue pools, the corner of his lips twisting. “Okay,” he surprisingly accepts—or so you think, initially, not processing his intention until it’s done.

After a sly survey of the backyard, confirming no one else’s attention, he manhandles you in his usual effortless and firm manner, fixes you so you’re fully straddling him now. His hands clutch underneath your ass, yours splayed on his strong chest, the apex of your legs centered above his, your dress ruffled but still covering.

Following swiftly is the one handed unzipping of his jeans, in tandem, a palm slides up the inside of your thigh, two fingers hooking under your panties and pulling then aside. The realization begins to sink in as you catch a flash of his hard anatomy then—WHAM! A sharp jerk of his hips, and you’re filled, his hands on your flanks to force you down completely.

The visceral shock of being impaled, a shadow of smarting pain colliding with sweet relief, tears a cry from your lips. Thankfully, quick reflexes and all that, his hand clamps around your mouth in time to muffle your quivering, “Bucky!”

A shudder slams down your spine, spasming around the long and thickness that is him. As you attempt to get some ground on the fact that you’re sitting on his cock in the middle of a gathering of your closest friends, gasping, he tightens his hold: refusing any additional movement despite the ache in your belly.

It shouldn’t be possible to look so inconspicuous when he’s deep in your guts. To onlookers, it simply seems like you’re just a girl on her boyfriend’s lap, your legs dangling over the chair sides, your hardened nipples hidden by his chest pressing against yours, knee length sundress swaying in the wind yet no giveaway to other activities.

Your eyes are blown wide, and he fucking loves it, practically glows in satisfaction at rendering you boneless, finally flipping the script on you. “B—Buck—Bucky—” you splutter, trying to rock into him but his grip is a vice. “What—what’re you—”

“This is what you wanted. Couldn’t behave like I asked, and I asked very nicely, but you couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His fingers dig into your ass, voice a throaty growl. “Wanted to be stuffed full of my cock so bad, and now here you are.” To punctuate, he snaps his hips up, and you squeak, slapping a hand on your mouth, paranoidly checking your setting. “And you’re going to stay like this for as long as I want. You are going to behave, or else.” His words are law in your ear, deep and gruff.

Because you’re, well, you—you acquiescence then immediately disobey: you nod, then try to writhing on his lap. An action thwarted by him, prints surely to be bruised into your cheeks by the end of the day. “Don’t fucking move,” Bucky growls. “You hear me? You move even an inch, and I will fuck you right here. In front of everyone. I’ll rip this pretty dress off, and keep going and going until you can’t anymore. In front of everyone. Do you understand me?”

You can’t answer. How can you? A whine sounds at the back of your throat, but nothing coherent. A lack of verbal response doesn’t play well with him. In retaliation, he pushes you harder down, a swirling motion that has his pubic bone rubbing on your clit before abruptly stopping. A whimper escapes, inner muscles clenching and unclenching as he repeats, “I said, do you fucking understand?”

“Yes!” you finally manage, breathless, hoarse. “Buck, oh, please. I’ll be good, just please, please. . .”

He chuckles darkly. “Yes. You will.” And it confirms that he’s going to do this, he’s going to keep you seated on his cock for as long as possible while all your friends walk by, greet you, attempt to make conversation.

You bury your face in his shoulder, taking your birthday present between your teeth: of the same material of his prosthetic, a pendant necklace of his initial, a capital B. It’s strong, a perfect makeshift gag, because you honestly think you might scream.

Beyond your struggle, you can hear someone else coming up to talk with him. Unlike yourself, he’s perfectly controlled, maintaining his cool like you aren’t throbbing around him, like he isn’t ruining you right now.

You have zero clue how he does it. You can feel the vein along the underside pulsing in time with you, also in need of release. You run warm, but he’s scorching especially inside you, the outline of him will be engraved inside you for a long time to come.

God, you think with an unintentionally audible whimper, I need to come.

“Bucky, is your girl okay?” You recognize Sam’s mildly concerned voice, feel his curious glance on your back, and you’d smile at the care and show some flattery for it but you don’t have the strength to.

Bucky shifts, and you swear you can hear the resilient necklace crack underneath the force of your teeth. “Yeah, yeah.” His hand rubs soothingly up and down your back, his explanation teasing, “She’s doing good, just a little tired from late night’s activity.”

Sam laughs. “All right, then.” You can imagine him taking a step back. “There’s a guest room, if she wanted to lay down,” he tells you both like the good friend he is, hope aflutter in your stomach. “No one should disturb you.”

Bucky head tips down, lips at your ear, humming. “Princess,” he croons softly, taking pity and pleasure in your ruined state, “d’you want to go to bed?”

Finding strength in the possibility of actually getting fucked, relieving that painful ache inside you, you manage to lift your head. Eyes half mast, needy and dark, your gaze meets his. “Please, please,” is your gentle plea.

With a slow nod, he gives you a peck then looks back up. “Thanks, man,” he says and starts to move. His hands slide underneath the back of your knees, your legs clinging to his hips. He hoists you up as he finally stands, cock gyrating inside you. And you might come, oh God, you might actually orgasm with every undulating stride.

You’re practically panting when he reaches the patio door, suddenly stopping, his lips at your ear. “You’ve been good, princess. Don’t ruin it now unless you want a real punishment,” he warns. “You come before I say, and I’ll have you like this all night if I have to.”

[send feedback here / read my other writing here]

[twinfoxtails]

Coward

“... So what will it be, boy? Are you going to stop me?”

“I...!”

It was in forest at night, a path which not many people take, much less fly over.

A young kitsune boy, battered and bruised, stood his ground before his opponent. An insignificant boy, fighting before a woman who has slain youkai, demon, and monsters alike.

“Too slow!”

POW!

A quick yet painful kick was delivered onto the boy’s face, as he then flew a fair bit of distance away from her. In retaliation, the boy gritted his teeth and extended his hand towards his opponent, shooting a blue flame towards her.

A blue streak of fire, easily able to burn the human skin. That is... if it made contact. However, it missed.

Another shot was fired. But that too, missed.

And another. And a few more at once. But all of them, missed.

The woman was barely dodging them, not to mention his attacks were really easy to read too. After all, he was aiming for non-vital parts, like the forearm, the bicep, and even her hands in attempt to disarm his enemy. However, none of his attempts had worked.

... It didn’t take long for his enemy to be in front of him, before she crouched down and looked at him in the eyes.

“What’s wrong? Too afraid to fight back? Come on, hit me.”

Slapping the boy in the face hard, I’d expect some kind of attack in return, but... he didn’t fight back at all, but just covered his wounds instead.

“That’s... not how Miss Sakuya fights at all.”

Or even acts, sounds like, or her anatomy, blah blah. I heard this argument so many times from him, it’s already annoying. Hmph. Perfectionists.

With a snap of my fingers, the illusion I created has been dissolved into mist, leaving strands of my own hair behind.

Illusion magic. While still able to be used on it’s own, it’s most effective when a kitsune such as myself use a catalyst to create them.

“... Do I look like I care? What’s important is that you failed the test. Again.”

“Ngh...”

I’m Yuri Tomori. A powerful, yet beautiful six tailed kitsune. I met this two-tailed boy, Eri, for months now, and while he is extraordinarily gifted in the art of shapeshifting and acting, he is still a failure of a kitsune, much less a youkai.

“You’re not a human, Eri. You’re a kitsune. A youkai. A monster feared by many. One of the kami’s mistakes who were meant to be conquered by humans. As I mentioned, nobody’s going to hold your hand and have a tea party with you, no. You have to fight your way out, or die.”

“But... there’s always a way to reason with them... right?”

“Why would the strong hear the pleas of the weak? If you want to reason with people, at least be stronger than them first.”

All I could do was bite my lower lip over his words. I used to think like that. Most of us did. But the moment you show mercy, people won’t hesitate to turn their blade against you. A common story which all have experienced, really. But...

“I... don’t want to fight at all, if possible. Besides, danmaku is non-lethal, so... I-I’m sure I could challenge them to that instead...”

... his whining is making me hurl inside. He has been doing that for the past hour. Complaining, whining, trying to be a pacifist...

“And what happens when your friends aren’t around? What if you have to fend for yourself? What if you’re alone? Just die like that? Your prized acting and shapeshifting will be useless when your enemy knows who you are.“

... Nothing but silence from him. It was the truth, and he knows it.

This is why kitsunes have multiple tricks up their sleeves. Shapeshifting, Possession. Illusions. Kitsune fire. Learning only one skill out of many will cause more harm than good in the long run.

And shapeshifting... Shapeshifting is by far the worst skill to excel in. See, if you turn into someone, you will have the chance of being found out, while possession already inhabits an existing identity which people already trust. Years of shapeshifting practice is nothing compared to just a year of possession practice.

At best, it’s a nice party trick. Other than that? Not really much else.

...

If Miyu were still around, he would have easily wiped the floor with him. He’ll be a much better kitsune around his age, and he won’t be as timid as this... this... failiure.

“... Miss Yuri, I know you offered to help me, but......”

... But of course, it’s a waste of time. Still, he couldn’t think of anything else to say, still laying beaten on the ground. Not that I’m expecting any other excuse from him at this point. Who knows what’s going on in his head, but whatever reason he gives won’t be enough, and he knows that.

Well. I guess I might as well give him one last chance. Walking a few steps away from him, I looked at him in the eye as I adjusted my hair.

“... I’m going to give you one last chance, Eri. Shoot me. Right in the middle. No ‘disarming’, no ‘slowing down’. Put every single ounce of your magic into dealing a single, fatal blow. As hard as you can. Are we clear?“

“Miss Yuri...”

“I said ‘Are we clear’?”

“... Okay.”

Standing up on his feet, he looked right at me. Watching him take a few deep breaths, before he extended his hand forward.

... I could feel the energy around the forest gathering pulling towards him, although it was faint. The direction of the wind changed slightly, and what started as a small, blue flame on his extended palm, soon became a fireball in the size of a fist.

Even I knew how dangerous that looked. It was an attack which could fatally wound me should it hit directly. Eyeing the boy’s attack, I quickly muttered a spell under my breath.

“ᛋᚺᛁᛖᛚᛞ - ᚱᛖᛁᚾᚠᛟᚱᚲᛖ.”

And with that, a transparent layer of magic surrounded my body, protecting me from harm.

A bit of a spell with the kitsune tongue, but it would hopefully be enough. And just as I have done with my spell, Eri was done with his too.

“Get ready, Miss Yuri... fire!”

His blue flame was the size of a soccer ball. It looked like even he had trouble containing it, and if he didn’t let go right now, his own attack could kill him.

And so, he released it, as if he was shooting a gun.

Flying towards me as if someone threw a giant blue ball towards my face, it was definitely a fatal attack which could topple even one such as myself.

And it went closer... and closer....

BLAM!

...

......?

Nothing. I braced for an attack, but there was... nothing.

In fact, there was an explosion of flame, just right behind me. Thankfully, we were in this ‘Forest of Magic’, so it’s not like the forest could catch on fire, so the flames quickly dissipated.

It took me a few seconds before I realized what was going on.

“Tch!”

The boy missed. Again. His last attack has not hit me, but a tree instead. Even when I was standing still, he hesitated at the last second!

Watching Eri collapse on the floor, I finally snapped and turned away.

“Well then! That was a complete waste of time! Forget I took pity on you by giving you lessons, boy! Call me surprised if you manage to survive long enough to grow a tail!”

“M-Miss Yuri!”

“Good luck, coward.”

And all that was left there were the sound of the wind, and the cryings of a boy.

[peachyteabuck]

hungry for me, sequel to“survive the summer”

summary: a commission of a second installment of survive the summer, for @myhoneybeeheart

pairing: thor odinson x reader

words: 4,009

trigger warnings: praise kink, dubcon, mentions of arranged marriage, taking of virginity, degradation, oral (f recieving), shame associated with religious upbringing, light edging

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Somewhere – somewhere you know exists but also doubt is real – somewhere between right in front of you and a million miles away, you hear Thor calling out to you. You have to make a sizable effort to parse his words from the roaring of blood in your ears and haze of pleasure clouding your thoughts. You can hear him, barely, and can sense him - as if you were stuck in the bottom of an iced-over lake, if you were buried six feet under, if you were lost in a cave. Sometimes when you bathe you dunk yourself under the freezing water to quiet out all the noise, making all your siblings’ voices and animals’ screams sound garbled and, blessedly, muted.

Now, despite you being on dry land and nowhere near a body of water large enough to drown yourself in, it sounds the same – the beacon from a lighthouse, the beckoning home, the call to attention. It all sounds the same to you.

“Baby,” Thor coos above you. His voice is thick and savory like warmed molasses and pours into you just as smooth. Somehow you can feel it on you – flowing between your breasts and onto your stomach and pooling in your abdomen. It’s warm and creamy and gooey and makes you feel sunlit and beautiful and you could only stay in this feeling forever…“Come back, baby, come back to me. Come back so I can see that pretty face of yours.”

You don’t, can’t, say anything because now his giant cock is filling you and all you want to do is cry from the mind-numbing satisfaction and your whole body is on fire and also over ice and is it humid? You wonder if it’s humid because your whole body is covered in sweat and you feel like you’re suffocating and you’re gasping for air because the air is too tense to breathe. It’s when he slaps you lightly, grabs your chin and makes you look at him that you finally are able to think somewhat-rationally, logically, concisely…well, rationally, logically, and concisely enough to piece together whatever the man is saying along with the appropriate response.

“You good, love?” he asks. Somehow, you find enough energy and muscle control to nod. It’s faint and feeble as a last breath, but Thor sees, comprehends it nonetheless. He kisses at your temple before speaking again, nosing at your hairline afterward. The gesture is comforting, reassuring; especially given what he says next. “Good, ‘cause I’m just getting started.”

It’s enough to make you gasp out, grab at him as if that would tether you to some vague definition of reality. You whine as he pulls back from you, growling at you to stay put, to remain in your highly vulnerable position. Maybe out of fear, maybe out of anticipation, maybe out of a mixture of both – you accede.

Thor falls to his knees on the hardwood floor, hitting the worn circles laid there by years of begging for forgiveness with a heavy thud. It distracts you, knocks you off guard enough that the man can grab you by the ankles and drag you closer to him without so much as a protest. Before you could register what was happening, Thor’s gotten you folded in half – legs bent and pressed to your chest with one forearm pressed into the notches of your knees to keep you there.

You’re confused, eyebrows furrowed as you attempt to find your bearings on a situation so foreign to you Thor might as well be speaking a different language. “What are y-“

You’re soon interrupted by your whole body melting as his flat tongue presses to the crest of your center. You relax easily, body becoming lax quick as a snap. “Oh! Oh, Oh my God, I’m-“

The art of language, of coherent language, seems to wash away as you collapse fully onto the bed. If you had control over your muscles, if your brain would regain its rightful possession over your skin and bones maybe you’d pull at Thor’s hair, scratch his back, grip the sheets. Nothing of the sort is under your current ability, and you find yourself covering your face with flat, pliant hands. What you’re covering yourself from is not important – maybe you’re terrified your eyes will open and you’ll have to face the hand-painted portrait of your Father. Maybe worse, you’d have to face the man between your legs, the almighty whose stubble scratches at the stretch marks between your legs and whose mouth drinks at the most vulnerable part of you.

One of his thick fingers presses into you with ease, obscene slick sounds filling your bedroom.

“Oh God,” you moan just above a whisper. You’re sure you look possessed now – eyes rolled to the back of your head and mouth banging open and body moving on its own accord. “God, don’t stop!”

You can feel Thor smile into the skin of your sopping cunt, his tongue tracing your lips before slipping another finger into and pressing just so – each twitch of his fingers making nearly making you black out from how overwhelming good it feels.

It’s not long before your skin is hot and tight and you’re about to burst, and you can feel your entire body wrapping around a tight coil laid atop a hot frying pan and you just…you just need…you just-

You nearly kill Thor when he pulls away, his fingers receding away from that perfect spot inside of you. It hurts, it physically hurts and if you weren’t pissed as an ox you’d beg for him to continue.

With hair wild and cheeks red you sit up and grab Thor’s face with both your hands, your palms becoming wet with your slick.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” you hiss. You feel like a sopping wet cat who’s been dunked into a river by a hellbent child. With his shit-eating grin, the resemblance is uncanny. God, you want to hit him to hard the SMACK! is heard by the next town over.

“Just gettin’ you ready, love,” he says – syrupy drawl both beautiful and antagonizing. Whatever way he means it, you press your thighs together to trap his hand there. Thor makes no move to remove it, just smiling and glowing and looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Ready for what,” you say through grit teeth. You search his eyes (and the rest of his face, for that matter) for answers, for explanation. All you see is fire in his eyes and his bottom lip stuck between his teeth and him looking you up and down like a man planning on where to shoot a deer stuck in a bear trap and before you know it, Thor is on top of you and his cock is stuffing you full and you’re digging your nails into his back.

When your sisters and cousins would whisper and giggle about seasonal farmhands who bathed naked far up the river, who blushed when you complimented them and leaned against the rickety fences when they spoke, you thought that would be the kind of guy you’d lose such an important part of you to. You thought you’d wake up one day to find yourself promised to some boy who was skinny and sun-burnt and did as she told him and worked in the field.

This feels the exact opposite of the man above you, the man inside you. Large and sun-kissed and charismatic – he reminds you of a wild stallion, muscly and free and vicious and unstoppable and untamed and a challenge. You admire him the same way, are enchanted by him and his undomesticated, ruthless ways which are foreign and fierce to you and you’re simply breathless.

Thor stretches your legs up to your chest and soon you’re wailing, trying to grab at the worn quilt you’ve had since you were a child for a lifeline, a reminder you have control over some of your body, something.

“Oh,” you cry. You find yourself at a loss for words, the art of speech lost in favor of grunting and moaning and barely-intelligible “yes”s and “please”s and “don’t stop”s. Your legs are wrapped tightly around Thor’s waist, keeping him close; even if your legs were spread, though, it’s not as if Thor would want to pull away. It’s not as if the only thing tying him to you is the increasingly-weak hold on him, as if the only anchor is your nails leaving red, angry crescent-shaped indentations all over his back, shoulders, ass, sides. Just as your hands map each inch of his skin, his mouth does the same for yours – he pants, hot and open-mouthed, into equally-feverish uncharted territory. He tastes you, tastes the sweet-salty sweat that run over scars reminiscent of years of farm work.

Each time his teeth, tongue, lips so much as brush the gnarled skin the memories come flooding back, reminders of a life now considered “past.” The scenes from a life you no long recognize coat the pleasure, the present; they play behind your eyes as you feel yourself falling thousands of feet below.

His chin nudges the long one above your breasts you’ve had since you were a child and you were proving to your father you could be an archer – turns out the arrow was much sharper than you could have imagined.

He brushes your hair to the side and exposes a small, curled thing behind your ear – earned from a fight with a hawk that had broken its wing. Your father shot it, cooked it, and you knew that was the poor animal’s fate. Nonetheless, you stepped too close and scared the thing to pieces.

He bites at the one on your shoulder – the one you got when you were nicked by a sharpened stick on a trail ride. You were young and dumb as the stick was long and pointed. Ma says the only thing that kept you alive for the duration of the ride back was pure spite and adrenaline, a similar concoction to what flows through your veins now.

If you were a different woman, a woman with a strong will and even stronger arms, you’d push him away and repent for a chance at the old life you had planned for yourself. You’d throw him out of your house and fall to your knees and pray until your family found you there – lips and pads of your knees bleeding. You’d force him back onto the horse he rode in on and fall into hysterics until he left you by your lonesome to deal with this (whatever this may be) by yourself. You’d push him off and remind him you’re not what he wants – that you’re more than a cheap lay. (Of course, you’d let him in eventually – if he pushed and prodded at you hard enough. You’d let him mount you like he is now…just maybe after a ring and a dress and him knowing that you’re going to be with him until the end of time.)

Unfortunately, you are not that woman. You are weak, lost to the pleasure of him slamming in and out of you so hard you’re sure he’s leaving bruises on your inner thighs, ones that will last for days; lost to the feeling of his rough, wet thumb pressing at the crest of your center and making you wail. You’re absolutely drowning in it, and you have no intention of fighting to find land.

“Jesus fuck,” he hisses as you clench around him (an act you will play coy about when he asks you later, but do not comment on now). “This pussy is mine until the end of days, you get that? Do you understand me? I’m never giving you up.”

You groan out, unable to form something silly as speech. Like before, he grabs your face with the unoccupied big, calloused hand and forces your hooded eyes to meet his dilated pupils. Unlike before, tears stain your face. You’ve wept this hard before – when your favorite heifer died, when you realized your sister were so much prettier than you, when you got pecked in the side by a temperamental, murderous chicken. You’ve never, though, ever screeched and caterwauled and literally wept from pleasure.

(Your lips feel dryer by the second. You have a sneaking suspicious as to why.)

“Tell me whose pussy this is,” Thor snarls. His words are punctuated with thrusts, each one deeper and harder than the last. Surely you won’t walk away from this unharmed. No human was built to withstand such forces, to withstand this man. You feel like a poorly-built prairie house during tornado season - threatening to be reduced to bits any second. “Tell me who owns this beautiful pussy of yours.”

“Ah!” you scream so loud you’re sure the angels can hear you.  “Oh, God Thor, this pussy is yours.”

You can feel his wicked, satisfied smile against your shoulder, his teeth scraping at the skin there. “Say it again,” he tells you, so quiet you barely hear. Like some test or a prayer or a demand. “I want to hear it again.”

(In truth, he wants to hear you say it forever – but once more, for now, will do.)

The spool of thick thread weaves itself tighter and tights inside of you, and when you go to grab at the bedsheets once more you can hear the familiar sound of cotton sheets, ripping. “My pussy is yours, Thor!”

It’s then that the reel collapses in on itself – like the universe in the beginning. Is there a set of planets springing to life inside of you? Is the white-hot you see as you gasp for air a second set of heavens being born? You understand the Book so much better now, now understand why He had to rest; you feel as if you could sleep for a million years when you finally spiral down to Earth.

Thor, obviously, does not feel the same way. He does not pull from you, does not leave you lying motionless, heaving, desperate for cool air in your lungs and on your skin. Rather, he laughs – deep and pitted in his chest.

The bastard.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says between kisses laid upon your jaw. They’re hot, heavy, hard – sometimes you can feel his teeth scrape there. You wonder if he means to mark you so – determined to make an example of you and have you choose the dangerous fate of either parading around or shutting yourself in; or does he does this with no thought at all, barges into isolated women’s homes and shows them the greatest gratification known to man or God. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

You bear your teeth when he pulls back and meets your eyes again. It takes all your minimal willpower not to moan again, given that he hasn’t stopped fucking in and out of you. “Has anyone ever told you they wanted to punch you in the fucking face?”

He laughs again, same as before. “You’ve got a dirty mouth for such a clean woman,” he smirks as he pulls from you and flips you over with ease (your heart flutters – literally flutters, when your chest hits the sheets), knees bracketing you in. “Or, can I call you that no longer?”

Before you can snap back with a retort, he’s got you pulled to your knees by your hair – the follicles bunched in his large fist. You gasp loudly – the searing, sharp pain traveling up the backs of your legs, your spine, your scalp. It hurts, but it also feels so good.

Thor ignores you.

You remain there, tucked into Thor as he ravages you. One arm keeps you upright and tight against his muscular chest, slung across your stomach and tucked into your side so he can feel each bated breath – the other makes quick, small circles over the most sensitive part of you.

“Scream for me,” he whispers into your ear. “Let the whole world hear how good I make you feel.”

You follow his bellowed command, choked whimpers now shouts and cries and shrieks. In any other moment in any other time you’d be embarrassed, like before when you’d cover your mouth to stifle the sounds so no one could hear. Now, though, with no shawl or nighttime or cloak or hand to conceal you from the man you can’t look in the eyes.  

The hand around your stomach moves to the wall in front of you for balance, and you can feel his hot breath as his jaw hangs open.

You’re too far gone, now, to notice him grabbing at your hair again and pressing your cheek into the sheets. You scream each him his hips meet yours, his moans nearly as loud as yours.

“You feel so good,” he groans. “God, you’re so wet. Oh shit!”

He pulls out, blessedly, finishing himself with his hand while the other presses into your lower back. It keeps you there, floating in and out of consciousness but staying near-lifeless on the bed. The shirt he was wearing before – you recognize it from the column of buttons – cleans you off, the thick cotton soothing against your skin.

It’s not long before Thor joins you on the bed, collapsing from exhaustion just as you have. It’s hours before you wake up again, the pitch blackness outside meaning there’s nothing to distract yourself from the reality of the state of your life.

If your world hadn’t been shattered before, you are currently watching it go down in flames. You’ve never seen a barn being burned to the ground, but if you were stuck inside, it’d probably feel like this – you’d probably also be clutching the quilt that’s been haphazardly thrown over you but not Thor, grasping at the sun-bleached fabric as it will save you from destruction.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the ceiling and no one in particular. You still avoid looking at that damned portrait, keeping its aged frame in your periphery. You treat the man currently invading your precious personal space the same way.

Thor laughs next to you, deep in his chest. If you didn’t want to hit him then… “Should I be offended?”

You sigh, still avoiding his gaze. You can feel it burning into you like the sun on a bare back in the middle of July – you fear, if he looks at you too long, that you’ll be burned with his mark for the rest of time. You pull the quilt closer to you, hugging it to your body. “Not everything is about you.”

“I’d agree. Maybe not everything, but this,” Thor taps a few times between your eyebrows where your forehead has wrinkled. “Definitely is.”

He’s confident, so frustratingly confident and radiant and if your life wasn’t falling apart you would fuck him again – without hesitation. If you weren’t reconstructing a path you had mapped the day you understood what “future” meant for you, you’d force him down on the bed and do what you thought your wedding night would look like. It’s overwhelming, to say the least, to realize that you have been dethroned of the future you’d thought, you’d assumed you’d have.

You’re not a geographer, a cartographer, a topographer; you’re just a woman. A very horny woman, who is currently undergoing a crisis.

Thor moves closer to you, wrapped one of his massive arms around your bare waist and shifts so that his massive body weighs you onto the bed and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Love, what are you so worried about? Someone like you shouldn’t have worries like that running through the pretty little head of yours.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. Where do you even begin with him? “What am I worried about? I don’t know, probably the fact that I have to marry you now,” you sigh, eyes screwed shut in hopes you’ll open to find yourself in another bed, in another home, in another life. “That’s pretty fucking terrifying.”

Thor laughs breathily – unfazed. “One, you’re very rude. Has anyone ever told you that? It’s no wonder your father treats you in such a way. It’s a mystery no one else treats you that way. Maybe I should treat you a lesson, huh? Should I treat you to be nicer to the people who treat you nice as I?” he trails off for a minute or two, eyeing you up and down. When you make no move towards him, he continues. “Two, why do you have to marry me?”

You ignore his insolence, attempting to stick to the matter at hand. You fear if you veer off topic for even a moment, he’ll use that opening to pin back onto the bed and then this will be delayed even worse than it currently is and then this conversation will have to happen with even more of a threat of your family coming home before you can handle this yourself and…What were you talking about again? Right. Roping this man into marriage. No big deal. “You just took my purity, of course I have to marry you.”

It’s Thor’s turn to scoff. “That’s not how the world works, baby.”

“It’s how my world works, baby,” You bite back. If you were a snake, you’re sure the last word would’ve been coupled with the spraying of poison all over your companion’s skin. Knowing Thor, though, he’d walk away healthier than ever despite two precise puncture wounds.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, the smile that plays on his lips coloring his words as well. “Oh, really? Why can’t I just walk out of here and pretend none of this ever happened? Why can’t I move onto the next woman, and the next woman, and the next woman. You think I can’t just find a thousand other yous to fill my bed, huh? Why do you think you’re so special?”

You’re sitting up now, covering yourself as Thor lays there bare. He reminds you of a barn cat in the sun, eyes closed and muscles relaxed and tail flicking lazily; if you touched him, you bet his skin would be warmed – if you scratched behind his ears or under his chin, you bet he’d purr. Unlike your barn cat, though, you refuse to leave him be as he enjoys his leisure.  “Why do you think I’d just let you leave? Why do you think you can find another woman, let alone a thousand women even close to me? Sure, leave if you want to, but don’t think you won’t be crawling back to me the second you try and find me in someone who ain’t me. Nuh-uh, you’ll find yourself here, in the dirt, at my feet.”

There’s a long, thick silence that settles over the both of you as Thor sits up, too. His face is playful, but still look in your eyes for any ounce of insincerity. He finds none. “You’re a little spitfire, you know that? Feral little thing, you are.”

You leave the bed, wrapping yourself in a robe you find rumbled under the bed. You don’t know if it’s to protect yourself from the immodesty of walking around naked as the day you were born, or if you’re hoping covering up to prove to Thor you’re not just some hussy. As if whatever in Hell just went down doesn’t disprove whatever notions of modesty you’re hoping to project. Either way, it busies your hands and keeps your eyes from him. “Of course.” You don’t speak again until you’re at the doorway, back facing him with head turned to the side just so. Who’s the cat now? “Do you?”

You walk away after that, leaving to find food or water or maybe a gun. Thor neither knows nor cares. Either way, he allows his body to fall back onto the bed with a thud and listens to your footsteps padding on the floor. Once you’re out of earshot, he sighs deep and happy.  “I sure do, babygirl. I sure do.”

[keis-simping-disaster]

The Babysitter pt. 2

Hey, it's me. I'm sorry for the long ass delay

Warnings: I guess underage, starker, smut, mature language, whatever you might find offending? I guess I dont know nor care.

Let's get into it now

Link to part 1

_________________________________________

The two turned and smirked at eachother once the door closed, they had no prior knowledge of eachother but they knew in due time that they would have eachother somewhere in the apartment, having a real pleasurable time. However, neither Peter nor Tony knew when, they had the whole weekend to themselves since May went on her trip.

Tony looking around the apartment checking what there was to do and make for food throughout his stay, before turning to Peter. "So Pete, what would you like to do?" The first thing that came to Peter's mind was you but his mouth just spewed out the words, "maybe something to eat?" Tony nodded looking kind of disappointed but he would never let Peter know that. He then picked up his keys and motioned to the door, "let's get going then, because I cant cook to save my own life without it tasting like trash or being burnt that it's just ash." Saying this caused Peter to snort, which caused Tony to look at Peter who was blushing and covering his mouth, "alright, whatever that was Pete, that was adorable." Saying that cause him to blush even more that it went below his shirt collar.

______________

During their entire lunch at a diner, Peter and Tony talked about interests and dislikes. Tony mainly flirting wanting to tease and make him squirm in desire. When the two got home, Peter was rock hard in his jeans, luckily he wasnt to noticeable cause he wasnt too endowed in size in that department, nor did he really care, he was into dominant guys and rather bottom, which he had the best bubble butt for, but he never had a partner yet he knew what he wanted. When the two entered the apartment, Peter sensed the vibe around Tony had changed from the first time, it was more dark and hungry. When he turned to look at Tony, he only caught a glimpse of a big bulge in the ripped skinny jeans of the other boy before Tony's lips were pressed against his. The kiss was anything but sweet, it was rough with primal lust and the scratch of his goatee. Tony's hands started at his hips when Peter didnt pull away they moved to his ass that hes been eyeing since he met him. Peter, although shocked at first started immediately kissing him back just as rough, loving the feeling of Tony's facial hair rubbing his skin red. When he felt the older boy's large hands on his ass he moaned and pushed back against them, filling Tony's hands with more of that soft round flesh.

Tony felt how turned on Peter was by the way he was trying to hump his leg and press his ass into his hands at the same time. Pulling away from the kiss, tony murmured against his lips, "you want me baby boy? Cause I want you, gonna ruin you for anyone else with my big cock~" That practically had Peter moaning in want and almost rolling his eyes back, it was all so new, but he wanted it so bad. Just managing to speak, he looks at Tony, eyes blown with lust, "God yes"

With that, Tony picked up the 16 year old Peter, and carried him to his room, with directions. Once in the room he practically threw Peter onto the bed before climbing onto it over him. He pulled the push pink lips into another deep kiss and ran his hands under Peter's shirt, dragging his calloused pads of his fingers across the sensitive nipples. Causing Peter to gasp and arch his back, "fuck Tony, that feels good. Love your big rough fingers on my nipples." Smirking tony pulled away and pulled off Peter's shirt in one felt swoop, leaving Peter confused for a second before Tony starting kissing, licking and nipping and the boys sensitive buds. Once done with his administrations to both of them, he pulls away sitting up on his haunches. Below him he sees a panting Peter, hair messy from his own hands with hickeys on his chest, collarbones, and neck, his lips swollen and bitten and a deep blush down to his chest. Everything seemed perfect to Tony which turned him on more. He got off the bed to pull off his own clothes after removing Peter's pants and boxers, seeing luscious pale skin, practically hairless, a hard little cocklet leaking and pink, and perfectly kissable thighs he'd like to mark up a little later. Tony decided to tease peter by stripping unbearably slow, causing him to whine in need. "You need to use your words baby. Daddy cant possibly know what you want." Peter blushed impossibly more, and spoke gently but in need, "I want you to hurry up and fuck me daddy." Hearing peter refer to him as daddy made Tony even more hard if possible, and threw his clothes off as fast as possible letting his cock spring out before slapping him in the stomach. Seeing the length and girth of Tony's cock had Peter's hole clenching in want but his jaw went slack and eyes widening, "h-how big?" Smirking Tony replied, "oh just a nice 10 inches. I'll be gentle on you baby~" peter was left practically drooling and moaned just at the knowledge. Tony taking this as a go ahead got on the bed again and carefully turned peter onto his stomach and hiked up his butt so it was in the air. He saw his perfect bubble butt on full display, and pink virginal hole. Unable to resist Tony leaned in and gently bit onto the round mound of flesh and began sucking hickeys. After being satisfied with his art Tony decided to stop teasing a little bit and licked to Peter's hole, causing him to gasp at the new weird feeling of Tony's tongue against his rim. Moaning when he pushed his tongue in and exploring as far as he could.

After Tony deemed his hole was wet and stretched enough for his finger he pulled away and spit on his fingers, 3 to be exact, before pushing the first in. New to the intrusion, Peter gasped and moaned, he felt it be still for a moment before starting to move in and out and curling against his walls. Pretty soon after that a second finger entered Peter's little hole and he winced slightly at the small stretch but began moaning when the fingers thrust into him deeper and suddenly he let out a scream and came when Tony hit his prostate. Tony slowed his movements with his hand to keep him stimulated but not too much it would hurt, "such a good boy. Cumming on daddy's fingers" he smirked as Peter rode out his high. Once back in touch of reality Peter pushed back against Tony's fingers that were still inside him "keep going, p-please."

Tony still very horny kept going addthing the third finger slowly, he knew it felt good but wanted to make sure he didnt overstimulate peter. After a little while he felt that peter was stretched enough he lubed up his cock and lined up with Peter's hole that was clenching around nothing and slowly slide in, holding back on ramming in and fucking him like a bitch in heat. Peter let out a long moan when Tony's cock slide in with ease, immediately he knew he was addicted and practically drooled when he bottomed out.

Tony looked down at peter and saw a small bulge in his stomach showing just how deep he was in his boy now. Seeing it made him growl in possessiveness, "look at that pete, I'm so deep in your small body I can see it. I'll ruin you for anyone else~." Peter looked and blushed deeply seeing the bulge as well, "n-no dont want no one else." With that came a smirk from Tony who began to thrust slow but deep into Peter. Immediately peter clung onto the older boys shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist, loving the feeling of being full and stimulated. Speeding up Tony let out a groan of pleasure feeling how tight Peter was still around him even after fingering him wide open, he knew he wouldnt last long especially when peter was making those high pitched cute moans which gave away how close he was already too. Without warning peter suddenly came having been sensitive from his first orgasm a little bit ago, causing him to clench around tony tightly. Tony moaned loudly at the feeling and started to lose himself in chasing his own pleasure, he started speeding up even more and thrusting even harder into Peter's prostate hes been gently grazing the whole time. Screaming in pleasure Peter's eyes rolled back as well as his head as he arches his back off the bed. Taking his chance as hes fucking into peter as hard as he can he bites his neck to leave a dark mark of teeth but not breaking the skin and cums deep in the boy who came for the 3rd time with him. Slowly riding out their orgasms none of them said a word and just mutually kissed and caught their breaths. Coming to a stop tony didnt pull out just yet as he panted against Peter's bruised up neck, Peter brought a hand up Tony's neck and into his hair to pet him with praise, his voice too broken to speak. Tony slide out of peter after a couple minutes and laid next to him, sweat covering both their naked forms and glistening in the dim light. Peter was the first to speak after a long comfortable silence to catch their breaths, "that was really good." Tony agreed with a hum already starting to doze off from using all his energy, Peter then spoke again cuddling Tony by laying his sweat matted head on his chest, "I think I'm in love with you already." Tony took a moment to answer as he wrapped an arm around peter to bring him closer even if he was hot, "I love you too, you're gonna be mine forever." Smiling peter closed his eyes and they both fell asleep, happy and together as boyfriends.

[sworn-unbeliever]

04 - Clinch

((Another based on a true story entry based on a Nidhogg Ex run. Names omitted to protect the innocent, though I did get their blessings to write this story. Thank you very much! Also thanks to @abeat for some of Nidhogg’s lines! … which we just kind of did impromptu. Anyway, I apologise for the self indulgent entry here. :D~))

wc: 1,319

Nidhogg stood before Teremy, the dragon’s body completely engulfed in the fires of his own rage. Far behind Teremy, scattered in various places far behind him, were the still bodies of his unconscious allies. A single blast from Nidhogg’s Akh Morn was all it took for them to scatter, whether in a panic or their belief that Nidhogg’s attack had finished. By the time Teremy could run up to any of them, they all laid on the ground, barely breathing, leaving the miqo’te as the last one standing. He grit his teeth. To think that he had came to believe he could protect his party but as it turned out, he couldn’t protect them from everything. He clenched a fist and the handle of his gunblade. He had been naive to believe that he could protect them. From everything… anything…

A roar from Nidhogg nearly knocked Teremy off his feet, reminding the miqo’te of the threat that still lived. Teremy skidded on the ground and regained his footing. A powerful flap from Nidhogg’s wings shot forth powerful gusts of air to the sides, yet Teremy had already spun around Nidhogg to slash away at the dragon’s vulnerable front. Puddles dropped by Teremy’s feet, yet these too became nothing more than objects drawn on the pavement in chalk for a nimble child to skip around. Teremy’s body moved naturally. Effortlessly. Gracefully. A reminder that at the very least, Teremy still had the ability to protect himself.

The vile alone from Nidhogg’s roar caused Teremy to feel a wave so heavy, he felt pinned to the ground, unable to come back up. The pure bitter hate of Nidhogg’s ire alone made Teremy feel heavy, pained on the inside.

‘Is this how Nidhogg felt?’ Teremy wondered. ‘All that bitterness, rage and ire--’

He slapped his cheeks.

‘No, I can’t succumb to his feelings. So what if he feels like shit. He’s not the only one in the world who does. I, too, have a reason to fight whether Nidhogg likes it or not. I know exactly where I’m standing in all this. Like a little pain would be enough to get me to fall over.’

He eyed his surroundings. The bridge still held sturdy despite all the battle damage. ‘The echo is on our side. As long as I secure victory, then my allies will recover. As long as I’m still standing, I have a chance to turn things around. I have no time for ifs--if I won. If I managed to fell Nidhogg alone. I only have one option and that’s to fight. And win.’

Sensing danger, Teremy shielded himself with an aether charged bullet. His instincts had proven correct as Nidhogg swiped across Teremy without warning. Instead of knocking the miqo’te back, Nidhogg found his attack parried by the gunbreaker’s blade.

“Let’s make a deal,” said Teremy. “I win, I take one of your scales. You win, I’ll join my allies over there and you’ll have vented your frustrations on me. How about that?”

“As if a mere mortal could offer me anything of interest for something as paltry as a 'deal'!”

Taking a step back, Teremy spun his gunblade like a Paladin would spin their own blade and beckoned to Nidhogg with his other hand. “Then watch carefully. You'll learn something new today.”

“I shall grind you beneath my feet, mortal!”

Nidhogg dropped fiery orbs at the ground. Once the orbs’ energies gathered, straight lines of fire shot forth all aimed at Teremy. Once again, the gunbreaker’s nimble movements evaded the projectiles like a child dancing in the air. Teremy had never felt so honored, yet so attacked at the same time. Yet, as Teremy dashed forth to attack again, even Nidhogg found that the miqo’te’s movements were different than before. More purposeful. More aggressive. Each spin acting as a clear evasive movement and to slash and strike immediately after--a fighting style that shouldn’t work in practice, yet Nidhogg found his energies waning. At the same time, Teremy felt Nidhogg’s desperation. The dragon’s ire and rage, bearing down upon him. Heavy. Suffocating.

‘Can’t expect anyone’s ire to be quelled from getting their ass kicked.’ Teremy thought. ‘But he ain’t the only one who has something to lose. I can salvage this. I can save this…!’

And then, Teremy looked up to see Nidhogg charging his fiery breath. Exactly the same as before… what fell his allies. And now he had to take that damage all to himself. He readied a barrier in front of him. Nebula. He fired off an aether bullet to further shield him. Heart of Stone.

And faith that he would survive.

Pain like none other lashed upon him. Nidhogg’s rage spewed at him and shot forth to the heavens. Again. And again. And again. With each subsequent blast, Teremy felt Nidhogg’s rage bear down on him--a rage that hurt more than any fiery breath. He popped another aether bullet to create a gentle healing aura around him. Yet, Aurora could only slowly regenerate his surface wounds. Not the weight of Nidhogg’s world upon him. At the same time, Teremy looked up to see Nidhogg moving slower as well. All those cuts and burns from a fire-endowed blade had cause Nidhogg to hobble. Limp even. Teremy wasn’t the only one on his last legs; the dragon was as well.

‘One last bout will clinch this deal. It’s kill or be killed. I’m gonna give this one last attack my all!’ Teremy pointed his gunblade above him. He fired off an aether-charged bullet which summoned lightning under his feet. He felt his battle aura rising, churning more powerfully than before. Was it the skill? His own lust for battle? Or his desperation?

Whatever it was, he had no intention of backing down now.

“No mercy,” he said softly.

In the blink of an eye, he dashed at Nidhogg, his shoulder colliding with the dragon’s belly. One palm strike with his left hand shoved Teremy back into an ideal situation to slash--his martial arts habits lived on. Whatever fuel Nidhogg had left, Teremy ignored any kind of pain to continue his assault. A beam of energy slashing down upon the dragon. His blade fully charged with fire, Teremy spun around and slashed in a relentless assault against Nidhogg. Each attack slashing harder, fiercer than the other. Jumping in the air to attack--Gnashing Fang to slash twice across his belly. Jugular Rip to slash his throat. Now on the ground, an upwards slash of Savage Claw, chained to Abdomen Tear to finish the job in a downwards slash. Wicked Talon to follow up with a series of powerful, graceful slashes. And finally, Eye Gouge to stab his gunblade into Nidhogg. The blade pierced through Nidhogg’s belly just as the miqo’te felt the weight of Nidhogg’s world finally pin him down.

He collapsed to the ground, his hand loosening his grip from Nidhogg. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. He felt his consciousness grow weary with Nidhogg’s rage eating him alive.

But it wasn’t Teremy that had fallen.

“Slain twice by mortal hands…” Nidhogg uttered. And with that, the dragon raised his head high and screamed his last roar of rage before he vanished completely, leaving behind Estinien crouched, panting, remnants of his possession still lined on his face.

Teremy’s gunblade fell to the ground. With Nidhogg’s rage leaving him, Teremy’s body felt lighter. He rose to his feet and retrieved his gunblade. He had secured victory, but at what cost?

Bathed by the healing light of the echo, the fallen members of the party rose from their unconscious slumber. Slowly they rose to their feet and blinked, realizing what had happened to them from their ground position. They looked around and saw no sign of Nidhogg. Only Estinien… and Teremy, who stood still and quiet, looking at a single scale that once belonged to Nidhogg in his hand.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Starcrossed Losers V (Josh Wheeler xReader)

A/N: We get some interaction between Y/N and Angelica/Wesley. I hope that’s enough for you guys lmao

Words: 2,271

Warnings: This is basically a tutorial on how to not fix a severed finger. Blood and swearing. 

Previous chapter // Next chapter

“Hey Wheeler, stay with me,” I slap his face lightly to keep him alert, “c’mon dude, Angelica's coming.”

Alex was sort of right about me. I take care of my people. Not that Josh is exactly my people, but he’s the closest thing I’ve had to that in a long time. I’m aware it’s only been a day, but still, I don’t want him to die. He worked so hard to find Sam I think it’d be shitty if he doesn’t get to reunite. I’ll stay and help, so my departure has been delayed.

“I’m an idiot,” He mumbles half-conscious, “I’m an idiot with no index finger on his left hand”

And I try, I try so hard to avoid laughing cause this isn’t a fun situation. Josh is losing a lot of blood. I can see the bone and muscles of his finger. I try and I fail cause it’s so ridiculous. He got bitten and instead of asking he jumped straight into the “guess I’ll cut it” part. Now he has no finger, and he is an idiot, but I have to act like he’s not so he doesn’t feel worse.

“It’s ok, everybody makes mistakes from time to time,” I reassure him, “we’ll figure it out, we have to cauterize the cut and maybe we’ll have to sew it. We can fix it. Now be good and keep your hand high while I cut a piece of this.”

He obeys and I rip the lower part of my shirt. I wash it hurriedly on the sink to get rid of most of the dust and when I’m done I kneel in front of him again and press the tip of his finger tightly. He screams and I shush him.

“Don’t move your hand! I’ll take care of this, just don’t move.”

“I’m back!” Angelica’s carrying duct tape and bandages on her arms, she drops them in front of me, “we should get to work.”

“You must have a lighter on that backpack,” I tell her, “get it along with Josh’s sword. We have to warm it hot enough to help us stop the bleeding.”

“You sure you know how to do this?” She asks skeptically.

“Do I look like a fucking doctor? No, I don’t but we have to do something,” I push her lightly towards the exit, “Get your backpack!”

“Okay! I’m on it!” She huffs, running back out.

“Weren’t you about to leave?” His eyes are tightly shut and his voice comes out harsh from clenching his teeth, I shush him again.

“I can’t leave you like this, can I? That’d be shitty of me, considering you help me get supplies and all”

“I just brought you to the mall, you got all that on your own”

“Still, if it wasn’t for you we’d still believe this is Baron’s territory,” Angelica comes back and kneels beside me, she grabs the sword and puts the end above the flame of her lighter.

“You don’t have any kind of anesthesia on that magical bag of yours, do you?”

“Sorry, no,” The girl replies without looking away from her job, “and the pharmacy is on Eli’s side, those things are the only stuff I could find.”

“Eli’s side?” I ask, “He locked us up again?”

“No. Wesley locked Eli,” She answers, “I need something stronger than my lighter, this won’t cut it.”

“Didn’t you have a blowtorch or something?”

“Sorta,” She stands up again, “I’ll be back!”

“Well, we have to wait like, ten minutes for the bleeding to decrease anyway.”

“How do you know this stuff?” Josh asks, a bit reluctant. 

Because I read it on a fanfic once.

“You know... you don’t get bored during the holidays and google weird shit?”

“I-I don’t know, I guess?” He shrugs, then goes back to whining.

“Hey, crying won’t make it stop, tiger,” I tell him, “and it makes me nervous”

“I just fucking cut my finger, Y/N! I know crying doesn’t help but sure as fuck relieves the tension!” He snaps.

“Swearing is better, I can swear with you,” I offer, then look back at the blood dripping from the fabric, “Shit, I really fucking hate that you did this, are you out of your mind?”

“I just said I’m fucking stupid!”

“Are you swearing cause I told you to, or cause it’s actually helping?” I giggle, I do that a lot when I’m nervous.

“I think a bit of both?” He takes a deep breath, then screams at the top of his lungs, “FUCK!”

I laugh harder this time. This is surreal as fuck, here I am, holding Josh Wheeler’s severed hand, listening to his swearing concert while Angelica runs back to the bathroom with her blowtorch and points it to the sword, setting it off immediately. After the longest ten minutes of my life, Angelica let us know the sword is ready, or at least, she thinks it is. And she’s supposed to be the smart one so I trust her.

“Bite this, lover boy,” I pull the belt from the cutting board and give it to him, “cause this is gonna hurt worse than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life.”

Josh looks at me in panic and puts his belt between his teeth, firmly closing his mouth (and eyes) so it’s my turn now.

“Don’t fuck up what’s left of his finger,” Angelica warns me.

“Noted,” I say, taking the sword with shaky hands, “okay Josh, one...”

And I put the seething metal against his injury. I always heard is better if you do it without notice. There’s no way someone can prepare for the pain, to make a countdown for it is torture. 

Josh screams but his voice is muffled by the belt on his mouth. I wait six, seven, eight seconds to retreat it and I see that his flesh is burnt and ruined, but is not bleeding anymore. He faints right after that.

“At least he waited till the end,” I sigh, when I look back I realize Wesley is also there and is looking at me with terror in his eyes, “oh, hi. Can you give us a hand?”

“What the..?”

“Stupid Josh cut his finger cause a Ghoulie bit him and thought he’d get infected.”

“Is he, like, still alive?”

“Yup, he just needs to sleep for a while, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“We should put the bandage now while he’s asleep and can’t complain as much,” Angelica mentions, giving me the stuff.

“Right,” I nod, “uh, Wes, you think you can bring me a bowl and put water in it so I can wash his hand?”

“What?” He looks at me like he just woke up and then blinks rapidly, “oh, yeah. Sure, be back.”

“Good job,” Angelica examines Josh’s hand with interest, “is this the first time you do it?”

“Thankfully, yes. I’m not sure he’ll be fine or if I actually helped, maybe I just fucked it up even more...”

“Nah, he’s a lucky guy, I’m sure he’ll make it out.”

“Hope so.”

“I heard him say you were leaving,” Her voice is softer now, and I know she’s doing it on purpose, “are you leaving us even if Josh’s hand isn’t fully recovered?”

“No,” I grumble, “I’ll stay until I’m sure he’s better. It’s the least I can do.”

“Perfect!” She stands up happily, “so like, a month or so, right? That’s enough time.”

“A month?! Enough time for what-” I look over at her in confusion but she’s already turned her back to me and is walking out of the restroom, “Angelica, that’s enough time for what?!”

Wesley gets back and has a bowl and several small towels on his hands.

“I thought you might need these too...” He signals to the towels on his left hand, then he steps closer and puts the bowl under the sink, “so Y/N... I guess you must hate me too.”

“I don’t, Wesley,” I’m not looking at him since I’m trying to put Josh in a more comfortable and easy position to clean his hand, but I can hear the nervousness on Wesley’s voice, so I figure it’s a good moment to set the record straight, “Do I think you were an idiot back in Highschool? Totally. I hated how you washed your hands from your friends’ shitty actions; all that is over now, though. We’re not in Highschool anymore and holding grudges over something that happened back then would be stupid.”

“You’re the first one to say that to me,” He lets out a nervous laugh, I hear his steps getting closer and his hand appears at my eye level with the bowl and a towel, I take them silently and start to clean Josh’s hand.

“Well, I’m not the one you bothered the most at school, if things were different, maybe I’d still be hating you. I still hate Hoyles, for example. And Turbo is no better. At least you do your weird samurai shit without annoying others.”

“I guess...” He sits beside me, waiting for me to finish my work, “I don’t really remember you from Highschool if I’m honest.”

“But you knew my name,” I give him a quick look, “when I got here with Josh, you said my name.”

“Yeah, cause I knew you from my time with the jocks and Turbo. You were always around School, doing this and that, whatever it was that Mona Lisa asked you to do. And you never spoke much with others. I saw you walk away from some of the Football players that tried to flirt”

“I wasn’t very fond of any of them. I was there for survival only. Then I decided I would be fine on my own and left,” Josh mumbles something and I stop what I’m doing, however, he’s still asleep and I start to put the bandage around his hand, “the real question here is, why did you go? You were Turbo’s right-hand man, you had everything”

“I didn’t have my freedom,” He answers, “Turbo can be... possessive, with his closest friends.”

“That sucks,” I finish the bandage and look over for the tape.

“Here,” He grabs it from behind me and I take it with a soft ‘thanks’, “so what’s your story, then? You had no friends on Highschool or something?”

“What’d you mean?”

“Why are you on your own?”

“Oh. Well, I did have friends,” I’m careful to wrap the tape only around the bandage and not the skin, so it doesn’t hurt him when he has to pull it off, “I had plenty, but you know how it is when a group of friends is not united by some common liking or hobby. When they’re just your friends cause you like them and that’s all. They felt like our group was lacking some kind of essence. So they went to the tribes that felt right for them.”

“And you?”

“There’s no tribe that specializes in doing random teenager stuff,” I chuckle, “I liked art stuff. And I wasn’t a fan of the Kardashians or did sports, or farming, or knew about tech and games... the Cheeramazons asked too much... I had this friend, Alex. He and I were a team. Until he also left.”

“That sucks,” Wesley nods, “but hey, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want. Me and Angelica, cause Josh will flee as soon as he feels better.”

“And I will do too,” I reply, finishing my work and cleaning my hands with the towel, “thanks for the offer, Wes, but I don’t feel like joining any group. I just don’t feel that works for me anymore, you know?”

“Hey, I’m no one to tell you how to live your life,” He shrugs, “you’re free to do as you please.”

“Sure,” I smile at him, “you’re kinder than what I had originally thought.”

“Thanks,” He nods, “you’re cooler than I thought. Now let me help you with this obsolete boy”

We get up and together grab Josh by the arms and put each one around our necks to take him somewhere where he can lay and rest. Angelica sees us and tells us that there’s a bed inside the store on our right, so that’s where we take him.

“Now what?” Wesley asks me. 

I have no clue about what the fuck am I doing, and I’m not their leader, Josh kind of was. Isn’t it Wesley the one who should be telling me what to do now that Josh is out?

“I should be asking you that,” I frown, “Aren’t you like the second in command?”

“Fuck no, I’m not doing that again so soon,” He raises his hands, stepping back, “you’re the one who did all the curing, you know better”

“I know shit,” I reply, “I did what I think it could work to save him but if that doesn’t work someone has to take care of this cause Triumph might come back, or Turbo might still be looking for all of you and Angelica is your responsibility now.”

“Hey, I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Doctor House,” Angelica replies from her place next to Crumble who somehow got a hold of Josh’s finger and is practically drooling, “so don’t try to use me.”

“Fine,” I walk out of the store.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“I’m going to get Josh’s stuff from the bathroom and bring them here. Then I’m going to get my backpack and hammer and also bring them here. Let’s wait until Josh wakes up if he wakes up.”

Taglist.

@letsbloodmagic @hollywaterpls​

[nomnomsik]

Hear no Evil | Pt. 1

Summary: Two sets of tenants—both living and deceased— living together under one roof? Sounds like the plot of a romcom. Mysterious occurrences baffle the married couple as they try to enjoy their summer vacation in their new home, the cause of the disturbances being two dysfunctional ghosts in a love-hate relationship. So what disasters will the newly wedded couple face when one of the ghosts is not only a murderer but a creepy pervert?

Pairing: Chemist!Yoongi x Fem!Reader and Ghost!Taehyung x Ghost!Reader

A/n: A collaboration with @kimseokmomjins , cross-over between her one-shot “See no Evil” and @nomnomsik and her “To Catch a Dream” series. For the best experience, please be familiar with both works as there are many references, as well as small easter eggs from both stories! 

Word Count: 4.3K out of 9.6K

Trigger warnings: mentions of grief and guilt, smut smut smut smut (dirty talking), slight degradation, BDSM (shibari), ddlg, intentional pollution, dysfunctional relationships, cursing/profanity, and crackheadery. 

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Warmth.

A familiar, unforgettable warmth surrounded you as you lounged upon the windowsill, head tilted towards the sun. You desperately longed to be outside— to feel the sun’s rays as they kissed your skin, just like you did when you watched the sunrise with Namjoon. Now, the only respite you had was napping along the eastern window, as it was the closest you could ever get to the outside world.

Just as you felt yourself fall into a state of meditation, a violent shake startled your tranquility. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know the source of annoyance. “Leave me alone, Taehyung,” you groaned, forehead resting on the pane of glass. If you could see yourself, you probably looked more pitiful than relaxed.

“It’s urgent, sweetcheeks.”

“No, it’s not,” you retorted with hostility. Taehyung, being the selfish man that he was, often interrupted your alone-time by incessantly bothering you with his requests to paint you. Although you despised being the object of his affections, you reluctantly agreed to be painted, as it gave you something to do. But now, the novelty had worn off.

Taehyung shook you again, albeit this time with a bit more force. “I’m serious.” You opened your eyes with a huff, glaring daggers at the artist. “What is it?” Taehyung ignored your question and pulled you towards a window on the opposite wall, one that overlooked the parking lot. You peered out to see a young couple unloading boxes and suitcases from a moving truck, their playfulness reminding you of you and your husband when you first moved in.

You quirked an eyebrow in annoyance, “So?”

“So,” Taehyung began, pacing around the apartment, “these saps are gonna be moving in and disturbing our peace and quiet.”

“Again, I see nothing wrong with that, Taehyung. They’re just two newlyweds who want to start their life. Are you going to go and fuck that up too?” At your disinterested response, Taehyung grabbed your shoulders in a desperate attempt to convey his worries. “Y/N, you don’t understand. They’ll change everything about this place, about our home.”

“This isn’t our home, this was mine and Namjoon’s home!” You shoved past Taehyung, ignoring the endearing pucker of his bottom lip. “Baby, don’t give me the cold shoulder.” Before you could scold the artist, the front door swung open, the couple entering excitedly.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

“Wow, the inside’s gorgeous! This is incredible!”

“I know, yours truly picked it.” Yoongi boasted proudly, a gummy smile on full display.

“Yoongi~” You cooed, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re so amazing! I love you so so much~” You gazed in awe as you scanned over the first floor. Your husband shot you a smirk, acting smug with his chest puffed out and his eyes closed as if bathing in a wave of glory. You ran ahead of him, your eyes looking at each corner of your new home.

The house was absolutely gorgeous, with its oak flooring and its foundations dating back to its original time period when it had been constructed. It was no surprise when you had heard Yoongi had gotten the deal, outbidding all the other offers for it. With his wallet, you weren’t surprised by the things he was able to accomplish. The location was incredible, at the heart of downtown, with cars always passing by through the streets.

A smirk had graced your lips, feeling pride swell in your chest when Yoongi had nonchalantly picked up the keys. What less did you expect from a couple whose families both came from money? You two worked hard to finally get whatever you wanted on a silver platter, yet the two of you were never regarded as pompous or stand-offish.

Much of the furniture had been left by the original tenant after having to leave abruptly, or that was what the realtor had told the two of you. As you eyed all the beautiful pieces that filled the living room, you walked back into the hallway, staring at the stairs that seemed to tower high above. The towering bookcase stood proudly, organized in alphabetical order, built into the staircase that led upstairs.

Your eyes widened as you stood in front of all its glory. As you brought yourself closer, your eyes scanned the many authors that lined up the shelves. A certain type grabbed your eye as you pulled it out from its slot, careful of the books to the right that sagged and on the verge of toppling over.

The Remarkable World of Crabs… You flipped it open, giggling at the cute crabs that were drawn on the cover page and on the dedication page. ‘To my wonderful fiance, to whom I love with my entire soul. Thank you for sticking with me despite my crab addiction.’ The ends of your lips curled up as you read his dedication, deciding to close the book and put it back on the shelf. Author, Kim Namjoon.

You marched upstairs, seeing Yoongi’s figure in the hallway as he pushed the moving boxes into the office room. Yoongi looked up, giving you a small wave, his face covered with a surgical mask in an effort to fight against the dust. As you entered the bedroom, you noticed the beautiful vanity that stood off to the side, with carvings that were carefully etched into the wood. However, as you moved closer, you jumped, seeing a shadow from the corner of your eye as you quickly turned around.

Your back collided into Yoongi as he sped walked in, duct tape in his hand, mumbling something under his breath, something about no space. As he slammed the closet door open, he glared at the sole box that sat there. He grabbed ahold of the box, tons of art supplies stacked on top of each other as he taped the top shut.

You followed and watched him in silence as he carried the box out of the bedroom and near the staircase. He threw the box down the stairs, watching it roll on the ground, closer to the entrance. With a quick slap of his hands, he brushed the dust off, sighing in accomplishment. He slipped off his black surgical mask, tucking it into his pocket.

He then turned his sights on the next room. You followed Yoongi as he entered the office space, his arms crossed staring at the furniture. Clutter was littered everywhere, with boxes and bags filled with trash.

“Who uses record players anymore?” He muttered as he neared the desk. “Whatever.”

You walked closer to the items, inspecting each one with a sort of thoughtfulness as to what the previous owner was like, owning all these possessions. Yoongi turned back to you, staring as you stood hunched over more garbage. With the record player in your hand, you turned around, only to meet Yoongi’s fixed stare. His eyes trailed down from your face, looking down at your peach-tinted lips and dreamy eyes. He hid his growing smirk, taking big strides over to you. You cocked your head to the side, looking at him confusingly before he swooped you into his arms.

“Ah!” You yelped, your feet coming off the floor as the record player stumbled onto the floor. “Y-yoongi…!” You whined, gently tapping his chest.

“Shh... I was going to give you a kiss, kitten.”

“I didn’t ask for one~” You retorted, your bottom lip jutting out.

“So you won’t accept one?” He pouted in return.

“No, I will~”

The two of you giggled as you tilted your head back, receiving Yoongi’s wet lips. He tasted like peaches with sweet vanilla mixed in, his hair tickling your skin as he carried you out of the office. The two of your lips moved in the bedroom, Yoongi’s arm inching closer and closer up the bottom of your thigh.

“We still have to finish unboxing our things, Yoongi…” You gasped as he broke away from you. Yoongi found it amusing that you wanted to reject him despite your flushed cheeks and wet lips, the look of your eyes only wanting more. Your breathing was rough and your body trembled in his grasp. Maybe he would humor you for a bit.

“Can’t that wait?” He pleaded, his eyes needy as they stared back at you.

“N-no” You whimpered, fighting his grip. With an overwhelming amount of strength, you pried yourself from his arms, running out of the bedroom and down the stairs, your feet thumping loudly on the wooden surface.

“Hey! Y/n!” Yoongi called, following you down, a smile on his face.

Laughter and stomping filled the house as Yoongi chased after you, his arms reaching for you but missing each time you were within grasp. As you turned the corner, Yoongi lunged at you, trapping you in his arms.

“Got you~” He cooed, kissing your neck. He successfully resisted your attempts to break free, tightly gripping you by your stomach. With a devilish grin, he brought his honeysuckle colored lips down to your ear. “Now we can continue, right kitten?”

You huffed, struggling to cross your arms in front of your chest. “You’re so horny. It’s a problem.”

“Since when was that a problem?” He joked, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“It’s always been a problem because you’re so.” You stated as a matter of factly.

“And why’s that?” He acted dumb, toying for a moment longer. “Hmm? What’s wrong? Is it too embarrassing to say out loud?”

“You’re so annoying, Yoongi.” You blushed, trying to hide your face.

“Is it cause… I’m…. roug—”

Suddenly, you released a screech, your arms attacking both of his sides, tickling him. You took the opportunity to slip out, running back up the stairs in such a hurry that you’d probably win a 100-meter race. Yoongi recovered from your attack, his head snapping up as he climbed up the stairs again.

“Is it because I’m rough?!” He shouted from downstairs.

“Lalalala I can’t hear you, I have sunglasses on with airpods!” You countered.

“Come back, my love!” He yelled, imitating one of those cheesy k-dramas you used to watch.

“Shut up!” You yelled back, closing the door to the bedroom. Yoongi barged open the door, tackling you with his body. The back of your legs bumped into the mattress as you looked behind you and back at Yoongi. Yoongi grinned, boasting proudly.

“Seems like we’re going to be busy…”

You sighed, shaking your head back and forth. “If you insinuate one more sexual thing I swear…”

“Hmm? What’s wrong, my precious baby?” Yoongi cooed, wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t tell me you’re shy already…” Yoongi smirked, watching as your body jumped at his touch. You turned your head in the other direction, however, the blush on your cheeks gave you away. “Why don’t we have some fun, hmm?”

“Y-yoongi!” You blushed harder as Yoongi laid you until you were flat on the mattress. Yoongi gave you long kisses, both of your mouths moving together as you held onto him. As Yoongi’s hands roamed farther down your legs, he halted.

All of a sudden, a loud crash echoed throughout the room. You looked up confused, Yoongi joining in the confusion as a broken glass dish found itself on the bedroom floor.

“What the fuck.”

“How…?”

Yoongi sighed, standing up from the bed and walking toward the broken glass. He hopped over the accident, picking up a dustbin from the closet and sweeping the glass shards up. He descended down the stairs and into the kitchen, throwing the sharp pieces of glass in. You followed him as he carried the trash bag, his legs kicking several boxes out of the door.

He slapped on a black surgical mask dumping all the items onto the pavement before heading back inside of his apartment. You let him pass through into the home as you stepped out, ready for what was about to transpire. Shifting the worn out boxes so that they were sitting next to each other, you took a seat on the steps of the door, far away from the boxes.

Yoongi stepped out, his crisp white lab coat fluttering behind him in the wind and his safety goggles secured onto his face. His mask covered his mouth and in his hands, held a 72-pound flamethrower. From it’s full and sleek body to the intricate black detailing, the thing looked gorgeous.

“Let’s get toasting.”

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Both you and Taehyung studied the couple carefully, trying to figure out what kind of people they were. It was abundantly clear that the female was more observant— you noted that she found Namjoon’s first-ever published book, The Remarkable World of Crabs, and took an immediate interest in it. Your heart clenched slightly at the memory of Namjoon proposing to you in the book dedication. It was priceless, and you would surely be hysterical if the new tenants threw it away. Thankfully, she placed it back on the bookshelf, relieving you greatly.

The man, Yoongi, as you quickly learned, was much less benevolent than his wife. He was much too brusque and showed little regard for your possessions. You would be lying if you weren’t a little peeved at the fact that he insulted your vinyl collection. But Taehyung, on the other hand, was absolutely irate with the “disrespect” Yoongi had treated his art supplies with.

“Taehyung, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Did you not see how he threw my stuff down the stairs?” He sulked, following the pair as they chased each other around the house. “I’m gonna give them a taste of their own medicine.” He spoke in a matter of factly, smirking devilishly.

“Not on my watch you’re not. You’re going to leave them alone.”

Taehyung entered the bedroom with the air filled with intense sexual tension as the pair looked at each other, with the woman slowly backing down. He watched with excitement as the man pushed the smaller onto the bed, their lips caressing. As he turned around, he met your emotionless face, contrasting the way his brown eyes shined in elation.

“Why haven’t we kissed yet, baby?” His legs bounced up and down as he pointed at the pair like a child. He gripped each side of your shoulder, moving his face closer and closer to your lips. Your face twisted in disgust as you pushed him off you, your legs carrying you downstairs. Taehyung pouted, turning back to the bedroom as the pair now exchanged heated breaths and flirtatious looks.

As you came back upstairs, Taehyung immediately jumped back on you, his arms outstretched as he chased you in the hallway.

“Don’t you dare, Taehyung!” You seethed, trying to shove his body off. “Let me go! Ugh! Taehyung! Lemme go!”

“No! Please, toots. Just one kiss?”

“Enough!” You screeched, throwing a glass dish at him to which he dodged with ease. The glass shattered, breaking into sharp pieces as the pair broke out of their heated trance. They both looked over, shock and confusion laced in their faces. From the way their eyebrows knotted to how their eyes looked around in curiosity, Taehyung sighing at their lackluster reaction and your rejection.

“C’mon, don’t be such a bluenose,” he sulked, glaring Yoongi as he swept up the remnants of the shattered dish. “I wanted to see more, stuff was just getting hot and heavy.”

“You’re unbelievable sometimes.”

With as much elegance as a bull, the man roughly shoved the boxes out of the apartment and into the hallway. “Wait! What’s he doing with my stuff? Hey!” Taehyung whined, trailing behind the pair. You reluctantly followed suit, watching as the petite woman stacked the boxes together. There was a wave of relief as none of the boxes contained any of the things you and Namjoon had left behind. Maybe they too understood the importance of items left behind by another newly wedded couple.

You head turned back to the door as the older man stepped back inside, only to come out a few seconds later with a bulky item in his hands.

“Is that what I think it is—”

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

You clapped from your seat, watching as Yoongi pulled up the sleeves of his coat, showing off his build. His long veins popped out at you as you shamelessly stared at them, your mouth slowly watering. His arms carried a bulge of muscle, that tightened and stretched as he held and aimed the weapon. You watched as Yoongi tinkered with the flamethrower in his hand, clueless to his complex system of steps. Your chemist lover pulled several flaps on the device, checking the tank on his bag as the line was secured, before pointing the weapon at the boxes.

In a huge blast, flames poured out of the device, 15 meters in front of him until it caught the wooden boxes. Flashes of red and orange burst out in the open air, excreting a huge heat wave that warmed the atmosphere around them. Yoongi let out a laugh of joy, watching as the boxes broke down in an enormous flame. Your eyes widened in awe as you excitedly clapped in excitement.

“Hey!”

A voice came from the other side of the apartment, the owner of the whole complex.

“Are you trying to set this whole neighborhood on fire?!” He shrieked.

With the corner of his eye, Yoongi sent him a dirty glare, shutting off the flamethrower as the heat slowly died down. Yoongi put the weapon down, blowing the small embers out before staring at the owner. “So what if I did?” He shrugged nonchalantly in a cocky manner, brushing off the ash on his clean lab coat. “My wallet could handle it.”

“You crazy motherf—”

“Yoongi!” You cheered as he looked at your adorable posture on the steps. With your knees tucked into your chest and your two legs together, he suddenly forgot about his confrontation, reminded by just how cute you were. He gave you a triumphant pump in the air but soon had to redirect his attention back to the owner, his gaze hardening.

“What are you going to even do, owner?” He mocked, tilting his head back as he judgingly stared him down. “Who’s going to even buy this home anyways after all the news of the husband who murdered his own wife? You should be thankful to us.”

With that, he walked away from the speechless man and toward the burning flames that began to slowly die out. Yoongi looked over to you and you nodded, running inside the door and throwing a large red object at him. He caught it with both hands, pulling the pin and squeezing down on the handle that shot the contents of the fire extinguisher out. As he emptied it completely, he walked away from the pile of ashes, the wind blowing them out and far away in the air.

As Yoongi walked back to you, he undressed the blotched lab coat, completely covered in ash, shaking it in the wind. You walked inside with Yoongi, one of your hands locking with his as you quickly tottered down the hall and back into the warmth of your home. Yoongi threw his shoes onto the ground with a loud clap, rushing into the bathroom as he immediately started the shower.

You embarrassingly watched from the side as Yoongi lifted his shirt over his head, his hair fluffing out as he undressed. He turned back at you, tilting his head to the side and giving you a lopsided smile.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his arm reaching into the shower as his fingertips judged the temperature of the water.

“A-ah…” You blushed, looking at the tile flooring of the bathroom. “Is it okay if I join you as well? I’m a bit dusty…”

Yoongi’s smile widened as he giggled. “Of course you can. You always can. Come here, baby.” Your expression brightened as you threw your top onto the ground and quickly undid your pants, throwing everything onto the ground. Yoongi kept the shower curtain open, allowing you step in, your body shivering as you first made contact with the pouring water.

“Is it too cold? I can always adjust it.” His arms steadied you as your back met contact with his chest.

“No. I’m alright…” You gave him cute doe eyes as you turned around to look up at his face. You pushed your lips together, smiling, with your eyes scrunching. Yoongi grabbed a bottle of shampoo, squeezing the plastic container in his hand as he dozed a reasonable amount on top of your head. You giggled as his finger scrubbed into your hair follicles and swept loose strands behind your ear. Everything was soapy, from your head to his hands, Yoongi playfully wiped soap on your cheek.

After Yoongi finished up, you instructed Yoongi to bend his head down to do the same. As the water rinsed out all the soap, Yoongi’s fingers came to your chin, tilting your head up to connect your lips with him. Water poured onto the two of you as Yoongi slowly pushed you farther and farther closer to the shower walls with both of his hands coming up to your hips.

“Y-yoongi, not here…” You mumbled, thankful for the water to cool down the growing heat from your cheeks.

“But why not?” He whispered, connecting with your plump lips once again. “We did it before back at home and you didn’t seem to have a problem then…”

Your voice muffled in the intense passion of Yoongi’s kiss before breaking it off and panting. “That’s because…!” You started, clearing your throat. “Our home is different… There’s more space! A-also, you’re the one who got me all hot and bothered!”

Yoongi grinned, licking his lips as he approached you again. “But you let me, didn’t you? Who was the one that was begging for more, that was crying and whining like a slu—”

Suddenly a loud beep echoed in the bathroom, causing the two of you to jump.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite get that..”

The loud female voice of SIRI popped up, interrupting Yoongi’s advances as you both were taken aback.

“Did you-” You started, looking at him confusingly. He shook his head, wondering the same thing as you. His eyes darted left and right as he tried to devise an explanation for SIRI going off. As Yoongi dove into his thoughts, you took the time to slip out of the shower, drying your body off and sliding into comfort pajamas.

A few minutes later, Yoongi joined you in the living room, taking a seat next to you as you were snuggled with the pillows on the couch.

“Do you maybe think the shower set SIRI off? Or maybe, SIRI misheard one of our voices saying her name?”

You shrugged, not really thinking too hard about it. Yoongi brought you close to his chest as the two of you sat on the couch together, your head resting on Yoongi’s chest. Both of your legs locked with each other as a calming ambiance surrounded the two of you.

With your bodies close to each other, the fading scent of shampoo and soap caught onto the two of you. When the two of you finally did fall into a light sleep, you were both surrounded by each other’s warmth. Nothing had ever felt better than being wrapped in each other's embrace.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

“O-oh m-my—” Taehyung dropped to his knees as he stared at the dying flames that had just incinerated all his precious memories and mementos.  You let out a snicker which was lost on Taehyung, who was too stunned to even react. At least they didn’t touch any of yours and Namjoon’s things. Ah… Namjoon…

Nevertheless, you were puzzled by the couple. You were positive they were absolutely insane— selfish, deranged idiots who clearly never thought of the consequences of their little fun. Not only were they irresponsible, but ash blew everywhere as the winds carried it high. Environmental pollution would only further contribute to global warming.

“They’re crazy…” You muttered under your breath as the girl chucked a fire extinguisher, her husband securing it in his arms. “And who the hell even owns a personal flamethrower?”

Taehyung banged his head against the wall, bemoaning the loss of his mementos. “Forget the torch thing… That bastard just destroyed all my stuff! It was clearly art!” You lacked a single modicum of sympathy as you nudged Taehyung with the toe of your foot, assuring him he’d get over it.

The couple returned, ash covering them from head to toe. Despite them behaving like total lunatics, you found their domesticity oddly endearing, the joint decision to shower together making you smile fondly, recalling your own marital memories. With their affectionate speaking, eye contact, and gentle touches that you noticed lingered longer than they normally were, you felt as if your dead heart warmed up at the sight of the couple.

The moment the shower started, Taehyung perked up almost immediately, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Taehyung—” You warned, giving him a stern glare, which he returned his cheekiness of his own. He moved closer to the shower. “Taehyung! Don’t you dare think about watching them shower, you perv.”

“But sweets,” he huffed, fed up with your constant scolding. “I want to see~”

You stood your ground, unimpressed. “You’re so gross. No.” Taehyung leaned his ear against the door in concentration, attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation— or, intimate conversation— between the couple. He recoiled, disgusted at the filth Yoongi had whispered. “Why is he so crass? He should be poetic when he makes love to his woman, like for example I would talk about the suppleness of your—“

“SIRI how can I kill myself and make sure I don't reincarnate?”

An iPhone went off in the nearby bedroom, triggering SIRI to awaken and respond to your voice. The showering pair halted in their tracks, looking suspiciously around the bathroom, water pouring over the two of them.

Luckily for you, their intimate moment was interrupted, successfully giving you the necessary peace and quiet as the couple canceled all plans, preferring to cuddle in each other’s warmth on the couch.

[Part 2]

[nottheripperjack]

Still rising towards the dark, don't care what's down below 'Cause no one can see me and no one has to know The atmosphere is lonely and beautiful I don't miss a thing I used to know, I used to know

TASK 001 FOUND BELOW CUT....

~~JACK’S STORY~~

MANNERISMS:

What words or phrases do they overuse? 

Jack fucking uses ellipses in texts like her life depends on it. She also swears a lot. Probably too much.

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

Jack is pessimistic by nature after her sister’s death. She’s striving to get better but that’s a bitter pill to swallow. 

What bad habits do they have?

What bad habits DON’T they have? She drinks a lot, or rather, she used to. She’s trying to overcome her alcohol addiction but that will... Take a lot of heavy lifting.

What makes them laugh out loud?

Honestly? It could be literally anything. Whatever it is, it has to be her type of humor. Which, let’s be real honest, is all over the place. Just like her. 

How do they display affection?

Jack is a very touchy-feely person. She calls people ‘babe’ no matter who they are. She’ll hold your hand or hug you. Hell, she’ll even snuggle her friends.

Do they make snap judgments or take time to consider?

Snap judgments only happen when its matters of herself or the lack of self-worth she believes she has. When it comes to anyone else? Hell no, you better sit down and think about all the pros and cons. 

How do they react to praise?

Cockily on the outside, not believing it on the inside. 

How do they react to criticism?

Taking it to heart and working on how to irradiate that behavior or thing that is being critiqued. 

What is their philosophy of life?

Life’s short, go fuck someone. (This has since changed).

When was the last time they cried?

When they realized their addiction had gotten the better of them. 

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

Ask her on a good day, Jack would say something about her addictive behaviors. Ask her on a bad day? Jack would say that she wishes she could have taken Vic’s place.

What is their obsession?

At the current moment? Animal Crossing.

What are their pet peeves?

Snoring, loud chewing, people butting into the conversation, the list could go on. She has a lot.

FRIENDS & FAMILY:

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of?

Her family is that stereotypical American family. Consisting of her mom, dad, younger adopted brother, and herself. Extended family is all on the east coast so she doesn’t see them much. Her father is Adrian Novak, a well-known author for his mystery crime novels. Her mother is Katrina Novak, a high-school English teacher.

What is their perception of family?

She maintains constant communication with her parents and brother. Unfortunately, she doesn’t talk about her sister much at all. Jack sadly thinks her family blame her for her sister’s death but in reality, its just been her blaming herself for all these years. 

Do they have siblings? Older or younger? 

Her late sister, Victoria, was her best friend growing up until she died in a car accident when Jack was fifteen and Victoria was seventeen. She has a younger adopted brother named Bryan, who is just now entering the fifth grade. He has CP. 

Describe their best friend.

Jack has several best friends but the one she considers to be her closest confidante just so happens to be Tara Chapman. She’s her kindred spirit, her better half, and someone that she looks up to in all of the ways that she still wishes she could do with Victoria. She’s not a replacement for her late sister by any means but... She means a lot more to her than Tara probably fully realizes.

Do they have any pets?

No but they want to get a corgi and name it Bread Loaf. 

PAST & FUTURE:

What was your character like as a teen?

Before shit hit the fan? Jack was in sports. Volleyball and martial arts took up the majority of her time when she wasn’t trying to focus on school. And she really, really hated school. 

Did they grow up rich or poor?

Due to her father being on the New York Times Best Seller’s list... She grew up in a pretty good financially stable home. 

Did they grow up nurtured or neglected?

Jack definitely came from a nurturing and loving home. After Victoria she disconnected with her family more than she’d admit. She mentally distanced herself from them and shut down. 

What is their greatest achievement?

Becoming a paramedic.

What was their first kiss like?

Jack was kissed by a boy named Stephen in seventh grade. Let’s just say that the second his lips landed on hers, she slapped him so hard he fell into her parent’s swimming pool.

What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved?

Jack believes that it’s her being responsible for Victoria’s death since it was her volleyball game that she was driving towards. However, the worst thing they’ve probably done to someone they loved was let their own shit get in the way of their happiness. It happened with Ben when she didn’t believe her about the drunken kiss. And it almost happened with Riley when she chose to ignore her feelings and pretend like she didn’t care about her more than that for four years. 

What are their ambitions?

Be a mom one day. Own a corgi. Build her own home. 

What advice would they give their younger self?

Don’t go to that damned volleyball game.

What smells remind them of their childhood?

Campfire smoke, cinnamon, and Japanese Cherry Blossom perfume.

What was their childhood ambition?

They wanted to own a video game store. 

What does their five-year plan look like?

They don’t have one. Other than don’t be dead from a work-related incident.

LOVE:

Do they believe in love at first sight?

No. Jack’s far too cynical for that. She believes in lust at first sight. Or rather, she did. 

Are they in a relationship? Are they in love?

Yes, to both. Jack is in a committed relationship with Riley Sawyer, a highway patrol cop. They’d been friends for four years and finally decided to bite the bullet they’ve been dodging for that whole time.

How do they behave in a relationship?

Previously? Not well. She didn’t do relationships and the one that she had in high school wasn’t remotely healthy. Now, Jack is learning how to relationship. 

When did your character last have sex?

Last night.

Has your character ever been in love?

Twice. Once with Ben, her first love. Second time is now with Riley. 

Have they ever had their heart broken?

Three times. First was Victoria, second was Ben, and third was by herself.

Are they crushing on anyone now?

I mean. Hey boo @sonderbound​

WORK & LIFE:

What is their current job?

Paramedic at Los Angeles Fire Department

What do they think about their current job?

They love it. They are currently on suspension from March 27th to April 27th due to alcohol abuse. 

What are some of their past jobs?

Barista, pizza delivery girl, EMT. 

What are their hobbies?

Dungeons and Dragons, video games, playing guitar and singing, sketching out her future home.

Educational background?

Associates Degree. Jack tried college but it wasn’t for her.

Do they have a natural talent for something?

Helping others.

Do they play a sport? Are they any good?

Volleyball. Yeah they went to state four years in a row and won. 

MISC:

What is in their fridge?

Well, used to be alcohol. Now it’s full of food and coca cola. 

What is on their bedside table?

Alarm clock, watch, iPhone charger, change.

What kinda car do they drive, and is their car messy or clean?

Her name is Lyla and she’s a Kawasaki Ninja Crotch Rocket. So uh... She keeps that motorcycle very clean.

Do they carry a purse? What is in their purse or wallet?

They carry a wallet. It’s a tyvek Mighty Wallet that’s got a bisexual colored symbol of Wonder Woman on it.

What is in their pockets?

iPhone, gum, keys.

What is their most treasured possession?

Her sister’s silver snowflake necklace. 

~~Jack’s Jams~~ FOUND HERE

In A Nutshell

Work Out, Sweat It Out

Time to Feel Like Shit

Good Times Gonna Come

[hopefadeskg]

How do the hype house AU girls react to having a crush/someone finding out they have a crush?

A/N: Ohoho ;) Get fucking ready for this shit, boiii. It’s time for a rollercoaster ride

HYPE GIRLS REACTING TO HAVING A CRUSH

KATSUMI:

Katsumi is gonna have some difficulty coming to terms with developing a crush

She’s definitely a romantic, but due to her status and her job she doesn’t know if it would be a good idea to act on it

At first, she would most likely avoid you to try and let the feelings fade over time on their own

However as time passes, she’ll realize it at the most inopportune time

She’s on stage, midway through a song she wrote when she realizes she can’t get her mind off of this one person. This one, stupid person.

It’s not until after the concert when she’s on her way back home that she realizes

“Fuck. I’m in love.”

This girl would die for you, okay

She’ll be spending all of her time buying whatever you likes

If you look at it with the slightest bit of interest while you’re out out, she’s going back by herself and buying it regardless of the price

She would probably stay quiet about her feelings for the most part, not wanting to risk losing a friendship if you were to reject her feelings

But, of course, people make mistakes and her biggest mistake was getting drunk at an afterparty

Everything was going fine until she looked over and saw her coworker practically rubbing all over you

If looks could kill, that poor coworker would be dead

Katsumi would stomp up to them and drag you over to her side while possessively hugging your arm

After a long staring contest between the two, the coworker would leave with a scoff and a few choice, bitter words

Katsumi lazily watched as the blonde stomped off with steam practically pouring out of her ears, a sense of pride swelling in her chest having just won that contest while drunk. With a hum, she lifted her head to look up at you with an endearing smile, her hands trailing up your arms to your shoulders and her body leaning into yours to help keep her upright.

You stared down at her with a sense of confusion and burrowed a frow, but felt your heartbeat pick up once she leaned a bit too close into your personal space. She giggled softly and pressed soft, drunken kisses along your jaw and cheek as her fingers twirled around in your hair.

Before she could do anything she might regret, you firmly placed your hands on her hips and put a couple of inches of space between the two of you. You stared down at her with worry and concern, scanning her face for any sign of anger or sadness. She never did that before, she was always so carefree and went with the flow of everything.

“Katsumi, what was that?” You said softly, your voice above a whisper as if anything louder would break her. “Why did you do that?”

Her response was definitely not one that you would forget. She practically flung her body back onto yours and buried her face into your chest, arms wrapping around your torso tightly while she breathed in your scent. 

“Because (Y/N)! She wanted to steal you away from me~” She spit out with a grin, voice slightly muffled and words slurred from the alcohol. “I couldn’t let her do that, I love you too much… I want you to only kiss me, to only touch me.”

It was like your heart stopped in her chest when she looked back up at you with doe-like eyes. The pure and raw emotion in them caused your stomach to do flips. She looked helpless and scared, as if she was terrified of her own feelings. With a breathy whisper of your name, she leaned up and brushed her lips against yours.

“Is it selfish of me to ask you to love me back?”

SUKI:

Hoo boi, uh

We’re gonna age this girl up to like seventeen because that seems reasonable

Suki would be the kind of person to unintentionally break hearts because of her oblivious nature

She wouldn’t even realize she had a crush herself until her older sister explained it to her one night

Afterwards, she’d do everything to make sure that you were spoiled and did her best to make you fall in love with her

She would go from getting you VIP spots to her sister’s concerts, to asking her sister on how to make cookies, to even offering to tutor you even though she was failing in her own classes

She would be hopelessly in love with the person who caught her attention and she wouldn’t even try to hide it

It’s better if you know anyway, right?

However, after months of doing whatever she could to get you to like her back, so suddenly felt like giving up

You didn’t do anything in response to all that she did for you

So, with teary eyes and an angry pout, she would stomp right up to you

You stumbled back with a grunt as Suki firmly shoved you with tear-stained cheeks. She looked completely devastated, the sight alone tore at your heart. You reached out to place a hand on her cheek and winced when she slapped it away, only to let out a soft sob while she wiped her tears away.

“You’re such a jerk!” She cried out, voice quivering with each word. “I did so much for you and you don’t even care!” Taking in quick breaths of air, she furiously rubbed her eyes before shoving you once more. She was much stronger than you thought.

“Say something, you idiot!” It sounded more like a plea than a command. You stared at her with wide eyes and stood there, frozen. You didn’t know what to say. What could someone say when the cheery and bubbly person everyone loved was sobbing in front of you. 

Taking in your silence, she let out another heavy, painful cry and hid her face in the crook of her arm. You snapped yourself out of it and hurriedly yanked her into a hug by her arm, ignoring the way her claws dug into your back and how your shirt slowly dampened from her tears. You lifted a hand to card through her messied hair and quietly shushed her, firmly holding her in place while you listened to her sobs slowly quiet down.

After what seemed like hours had passed, she heaved out a sigh and pulled away to rub her eyes once again. Looking up at you, she felt her lip quiver again just at the sight of your face.

“Why couldn’t you like me back?”

RIKA:

Rika.exe has stopped working

Much like Suki, she probably wouldn’t even realize it at first

She’s just so caring and kind and would do anything for the people that she cares about

She’d probably realize when she notices that she pays more attention to you than anyone else

Is probably v awkward after coming to accept it

Will most likely end up not paying that much attention during your “therapy sessions” as she’s too busy admiring you than listening to you

Immediately feels bad when you realize she isn’t paying attention

Offers to make it up to you by taking you out for lunch or something

Super, super nervous

Doesn’t know if she should act on it or not

But after a pep talk from Katsumi, she thinks it’s about time to say something

“Hey, (Y/N).” Rika said softly, you almost wouldn’t have heard it if you didn’t break out of your thoughts at the sound of the door opening. You had been staying at the Hype House for the weekend due to your roommates family visiting. It was nice, but it got a little too chaotic for your choice.

Smiling, you close your book after marking your place and set it down, scooting over a bit to offer the seat next to you to her. She seemed to hesitate before accepting it, sitting with a flushed face. She made sure to keep a good amount of space between you, always mindful of your boundaries and your comfort. She looked as if she was having a war in her mind, eyes glazing over when she got lost in her thoughts.

You reached out and grabbed her hand with a reassuring smile, nodding as if to tell her everything was alright. This seemed to shake whatever doubt she had out of her mind and she grasped your hand desperately. You opened your mouth to speak, but out of a sudden rush of confidence, she leaned forward and caught your lips with hers. 

Heat rushed to your cheeks as your heart skipped a beat, eyes widening while you watched her pull away with a shy and sheepish smile.

“(Y/N), I’m… In love with you.”

RENSAKI:

Absolutely refuses it at first

“That’s impossible. They’re stupid”

Stupidly ADORABLE

She would definitely be a little pissed off that she let herself catch feelings

“Fuck”

“This is gay”

“Are you fucking kidding me-”

Would be inspired by you to make a ton of art

Catch her staring you down to get your proportions just right so she can make a new masterpiece

Doesn’t know how to handle emotions so one day, she just-

Today was a strange day to say the least. It started with a text from Rensaki, telling you to get your shit together because the two of you were going to the store for supplies. Most of the time you two only ever hung out because you were close friends with Katsumi, but as time passed you found yourself going over to the Hype House to talk with Rensaki.

Now, you sat on her bed in her room while she rummaged around in her art corner, leaving you to your own devices. You had taken your coat off and relaxed completely by the time she reemerged behind the large canvases and curtains that hid away her current projects from the naked eye. She had one hand behind her back and the other was scratching at her chin as if she was deep in thought. Glancing over to you, she rose a brow.

“Sit up.” She commanded, voice level and steady. You being used to her behavior listened without issue and sat at the edge of her bed, watching as she approached carefully and quietly. If it were anyone else, you’d be unsettled at the way she eyed you as if you were a mouse just waiting to be caught in a trap. 

Without another word, she grabbed you by the front of your shirt and pulled you up to your feet, lips pressing firmly against yours. It had lasted only a second, leaving you to wonder if it had actually happened. Soon enough, she shoved you back down onto the bed and revealed her other hand to you.

It was… you. A mini you. She made a small sculpture of you with every tiny detail imaginable. 

“Take this if you want it. You’ve been my muse for a while and I thought I should thank you.”

ASPEN:

I’m sorry, how does this work

Would not know what to do

Ends up just staring at you a lot

Would probably buy you flowers but forget so by the time you get them they’re already kind of dead

Really bad at emotions so they kind of just

Gives you a thumbs up if you ask them

You glanced over towards Aspen again to see them hurriedly glance away, practically panicking until you look away. One, two, three… You looked over once more to see Aspen staring at you just like they have been for the past thirty minutes. With a huff, you approached them and put your hands on your hips, staring down at them.

“You know, you should take a picture! It lasts longer!” You said, though there was no real malice in your voice. Only teasing and a slight hint of annoyance. It was obvious about how they felt if the staring wasn’t enough, the horrible gifts they gave you confirmed your suspicions. You didn’t mind, though. You loved that they were trying.

Aspen seemed to panic once more and hurriedly shook their hands while shaking violently, eyes going wide.

“I-It’s not like that! You’re just--! Your hair! It’s.. messy!” They stumbled over their words while pitifully trying to come up with an excuse for their excessive staring. Moments have passed, maybe even a couple of minutes, but to Aspen it felt like hours. You sighed heavily and flopped onto the couch next to them.

“I want you to be honest with me, okay?” You asked, not bothering to wait for their answer. “Do you like me? And I mean like-like me.”

The two of you fell into another heavy silence as they debated on how to answer your question, though eventually their hands lifted up to give you a thumbs up and they gave you an awkward smile. 

You sighed.

They’re lucky they’re cute.