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panic-in-the-multiverse · 1 year

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Everybody Dies

Pairings: Rick Grimes x teen!reader, Daryl Dixon x teen!reader, Carl Grimes x teen!reader, Michonne Hawthorne x teen!reader, Aaron x teen!reader, Negan x teen!reader, Rosita Espinosa x teen!reader, Eugene Porter x teen!reader, Sasha Williams x teen!reader (all of them are platonic)

Requested by: @leahsbasement may i request a teen or child g/n reader that’s really close to the twd group and during the lineup they’re one of the people chosen by negan to yknow- receive the glenn and abraham treatment💀 and like we get some reactions from the group from it🧎 i apologize if this sounds really morbid but i am dire need of some good angst and i love your writing sm it’s amazing <3

Warnings: reader death, angst, a tad bit of fluff (definitely not much), mention of character death, description of Negan doing what he did to Glenn and Abraham, blood, mention of a brutal way to die, idk what more I guess you have all seen twd so you know what might be in this. Not proofread

A/N as usual the gif is not mine, found it somewhere on the internet. This is not proofread, well half of it is.

Now I tried to do a reaction with all of the people at the line up so sorry with Sasha I guess bc I don’t like her so found it a bit hard to write her as a character that’s close to the reader, and once more thank you for the request, it gave me an excuse to write this

Anyway idk what I think of this, wrote it in the middle of the night because I couldn’t sleep, so anyway hope you like it.

Everybody dies a little when the brightest soul disappears.

A sea of red water mixed with the gravel and mud on the ground. The trail of blood — that had gone its own path from the puddle it was previously in, could be followed towards two bodies. One of a hunched man, who racked with sobs through his entire body. His hands grasped towards the body before him. Blood still oozed from the head. Or what someone would once have called a head, as it was now just remains of smashed bones and brain goo. The once familiar face was unrecognizable to anyone. No one would ever be able to pinpoint who the body belonged to, because the head atop of it was gone. It had been smashed into a puddle of goo. No one would ever be able to see your smiling face, or the mischievous smirk that pulled at your lips whenever you wanted to rebel a bit. Nor would they ever see the sparkles in your eyes whenever you talked about the things you liked.

No one of the group surrounding the three bodies wanted to acknowledge what had happened. How could they. They’d all just seen three of their family members die, because of their actions. Because of them. The teenager in which the hunched man had taken a tight grip of their hands had warned them about the attack. That nothing good would come out of it, that it wasn’t who they were. Rick had been wrong like everyone else to ignore the teenager’s warnings. In the end it was what cost them your life. Their choice of actions had been the beginning of your end.

Rick couldn’t let the image out of his head, he couldn’t even look at your body as he held you tightly. His eyes stared into the distance at nothing in particular as his mind tried to register what had happened just a few hours ago. His cries had stopped only for his eyes to glaze over once more with tears. He couldn’t help but to think that it was all his fault. He had the final vote on what to do, and his vote caused your death. It caused Negan to seek them out. To line them up. To smash your head with his goddamn wired baseball bat. His goddamn Lucille. He swore to kill Negan if it was the last thing he did, whether you would want him to or not, he needed to. Rick wanted nothing more than revenge. Nothing more than justice and revenge brought to you, Glenn and Abraham.

Not soon after Rick had stopped crying his son had walked over to you and him. His eye was bloodshot by the tears that rolled down his red cheek. And his hand went up to rub his eye off the tears as he tried to control himself, as he sat beside his father. Same as everyone else at the brutal scene he couldn’t let go of the events. How everyone got a look of dread and fear on their face as Negan announced that he’d had to kill two more because of Daryl’s little outburst. Carl had glanced at his father to see that for once under this meeting he held actual fear in his eyes when Negan’s bat had landed in front of you. It was deadly quiet as all of the group watched you stare dead into the eyes of Negan who looked at you with a scary face, gleaming with excitement as he noticed everyone’s reaction.

Negan had watched with glee as everyone went into submission after Lucille had stopped in front of you. He’d felt kinda sorry for you. He didn’t usually kill teenagers but something about you annoyed him so greatly. Maybe it was the way you didn’t look with fear into his eyes, how you held your own, even with the knowledge that you would soon be dead. He didn’t know what it was but he had decided to kill you, well he decided in a way.

Maggie who had lost her husband and father to her child, stared with emptiness at you. She didn’t know if she’d be able to take it if you died as well. She had tried to fight the man holding her down, but to no vain. Her already bloodshot eyes had filled with tears and sobbed had shook through her body as soon as she saw Negan start to swing his bat. She didn’t want to lose you, she couldn’t. But her silent prayer came to no good end.

Rosita was no better than Maggie. Since the first time you met when you and Glenn together with Tara searched for Maggie the two of you had gotten close and she as everyone else got flashes of your lives together. Of all your good and bad memories of everything you had survived. How you’d found an apple tree that hadn’t been destroyed at a random location in the forest and thrown apples at your companions heads as they hadn’t stopped when you told them to. Or how you’d draw drawings with the kids in Alexandria or help hunting and scavenging for food. Getting stuck in a building while a herd of walkers walked past. The blood and the gore of every kill. All of them comforting you while you cried yourself to sleep, all the cuddles you forced them into, especially Rick and Daryl. How you forced them to take a break so that they wouldn’t overwork themselves while doing the exact same thing. Needing help from others to make sure you actually took care of yourself and not just everyone else. It just made them all get to the brink of breaking even quicker as they thought of all your moments together. Not only did memories flash inside your head, nor only Rosita’s they flashed through everyone. You had always looked out for them and what had they given you in return, nothing but death.

Sasha wasn’t especially close to you but the previous death of Abraham and Glenn and now you had her at her breaking point. She might not have known you well but you were a good kid, you helped and knew how to survive. You didn’t take unnecessary risks and you’d helped her through her losses. So she tried nothing more than to break herself away from reality as she heard the bat make contact with your head. It reminded her too much of the other two kills and she couldn’t look through another one, not again.

Eugene only stared at the distance as sobs racked through his body not being able to watch you die. He couldn’t even bring his eyes to look at you afterwards, he’d never be able to erase the short scream of pain that had left your lips. He was at a loss of words and he wouldn’t be able to really function in a few days, much like everyone else. He was scared shitless and he didn’t know for anything in the world what to do or say in the hours that came after.

Negan had looked at everyone, gauging even the slightest reaction out of them. Michonne had watched helplessly at you, she’d tried not to flinch everytime the bat hit you among a sound she’d never wished she ever heard ever in her life. The only thing on her mind was how she taught you how to sword fight or when you hunted a deer together and accidentally fell into a puddle of mudd getting every inch of you covered in it.

Arron, who had been right beside you, wanted to crawl away as your blood splashed onto the right side of him. He remembered all the times you’d gone over to him and Eric to eat pasta not wanting to socialize with the rest of Alexandria. You’d always go to him or Daryl.

Arron felt sick as he felt your warm blood on his cold cheek, and he felt even more sick as he made a glance at Daryl who didn’t do anything else but staring with regret and anger at your body who now laid lifeless on the ground. When Aaron dared a glance at you his throat became thick and a sob threatened to come out but he didn’t make a sound instead he stared at you before he looked with fear, numbness, anger and defeat at Negan.

But it wasn’t until Negan had looked at Rick Carl and Daryl did he notice that he sure as hell picked the wrong one to kill, deep inside, he knew that he’d just started a war. A war that wouldn’t take too long to brew over to the real fight. However he was filled with glee over getting a few peaceful weeks at reveling in his power and control over Alexandria. Maybe that would make the war something never to come, how wrong he had been on that thought.

Daryl felt nothing but guilt as he looked at you and it was all he thought of when he got loaded into the car and the Saviours drove away with him. He regretted having lashed out. Regretted ever getting angry. Daryl knew more than anyone that he’d miss you when you were gone. Like Beth, he’d miss you, even more so than Beth.

Carl had held a strong front, but on the inside he was breaking he lost his best friend and the only kid that had been with him since the beginning of the disaster they now lived in.

Now in the present Carl placed his hand on Rick’s shoulder as everyone surrounded your body (except for Maggie, Sasha, Rosita and Eugene). The two Grimes hugged each other as Carl dug his head into Rick’s chest. The older Grimes, having stopped his crying once more, tried his best to comfort his son while he himself was still breaking.

Rick, like Carl and Daryl, had held a shield with spikes as defense against Negan, as they had all starred with the same thought of killing Negan running through their heads. They had let a numb shield cover them while their enemies still surrounded them. They hadn’t let go of the shield until their enemies were gone. (Or in Daryl’s case until he was alone in the cell he was placed in at the sanctuary).

That day, the day you died, was the day everyone in Alexandria died a little with you. You were the brightest soul in most of their lives and to lose you was one of the worst things to ever happen to any of them.

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prolix-yuy · 3 months

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Beautiful Release

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an agreement. Simple, clean, easy. But not this time.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, IT'S PEGGING DIN TIME! Anal sex (m receiving), rough sex, sex toys, fingering (m receiving), handjob, frottage, blowjob, swallowing, cumshot, mentions of oral sex (f receiving), mild dubcon (Reader isn't aware of Din's mental state and stops the session to re-negotiate boundaries), painful sex, sex as self-flagellation, hurt/comfort.

Notes: Welcome to my addition to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Event 2024! This idea had been bumping around in my brain and this gave me the perfect excuse to write it. Thanks @wannab-urs for organizing this event, making the gorgeous banners, and giving me a chance to live my fantasies after S3 gave us the most delicious kneeling restrained Din image. I will never forget it, it's burned into my brain forever.

Set after S2 and before The Book of Boba Fett.

Cross-posted on AO3

He’s come to you before, but never like this.

Din always treats your encounters like serendipity, but from the first time you’ve known how far from the truth that is. He finds ways to drift into your path, tilting his helmet like he never expected you to be at this spaceport, which you prefer for its discretion, or in this cantina, which serves a hell of a barium fizz. The niceties always devolve into the silent request, which you never fail to fulfill.

But now, there’s a holomessage blinking on your control panel.

Send me your coordinates. Usual encoding.

It’s brisk, cold, mostly to protect you both, but even then something’s off. He’s never admitted to seeking you out. Something stirs deep in your stomach, consulting the encoding slug he gave you ages ago in case you ever needed him. Funny, the first time you’d use it would be because you think he needs you.

Your winding relationship with Din Djarin began at the business end of a blaster, but you can’t fault him for that. The ship you were flying then had all the hallmarks of a slaver vessel, but when he found your crew of rebel sympathizers he lowered his weapon. One escort and a few short-lived conversations later, and you’d forged a razor-thin alliance.

Your paths wound their way across and through each other for over a year, and in that time Din warmed to you. He gave you his name, his allegiances, his contacts if needed. In return you forged documents and built jammers for his ramshackle ship. Mutually beneficial, and after a time pleasantly warm. His laugh always surprised you, a low chuckle when you turned a phrase just right on him.

And the kid! The curious little gremlin that had been accompanying him more in recent times did help to smooth the rough spots. Grogu’s presence always brightened your days, brief moments of pure joy from his tireless antics. Din seemed to be ever the exasperated protector, but when he tucked Grogu into his arm his aura glowed.

However, the times when Din “stumbled” upon you with seemingly no purpose had little to do with play dates or trades. Well, maybe only in the most euphemistic sense.

It was on a cargo run - cargo being more frightened people fleeing under the guise of your fake shipping business - that Din first encountered what would bring him back to you time and time again. There was a man among the stowaways who took an interest in you, the feeling mutual. He wound his way around like a lothcat in heat, and when you whispered how you might be able to pass the time he enthusiastically agreed.

You weren’t much of an exhibitionist, but the ship wasn’t meant for privacy. So when Din happened upon you bending the man over a cargo crate, your strap slickly splitting him open as he moaned behind your clamped hand, you did feel some mild embarrassment. You weren’t sure how long he watched you thrust into the other man, but the little cough that alerted you to his presence made you turn and take him in.

He was clearly affected, hand gripping his belt as the other clenched by his side. Fascinating. The Mandalorian had surprises in store.

The man garbled about sucking Din’s cock, letting the Mando cum on his face while you pounded his tight hole, but you stuck your fingers in his mouth and picked up your rhythm again. You’d met other Mandalorians in your travels, but Din’s particular religion was much stricter than most. He might take hefty offense if you assumed any of the armor could come off. Instead you let him watch without comment as your companion came all over the side of the cargo crate, soothing him through the aftershocks. As you cleaned him up you noticed your audience fled, and you determined never to speak of this.

It would take two months for Din to come to you.

“People like this?” he asked when you showed him your strap and assortment of attachments. You shrugged, picking out the one you secretly thought he’d enjoy.

“Some do, some don’t. It’s just one of many things I like,” you said, leaning against your bedroom wall as he filled the small space with restless energy. “I’m sure you like plenty of things too.”

There it was. The little roll of the shoulders and flex of a hand that told you Din wasn’t as inexperienced as some would believe.

“Never tried something like this,” he mumbled, and you smiled under the knowledge that he was nervous. Din Djarin, feared throughout the galaxy, and dearer friend than you ever expected, had something he wanted and didn't know how to ask for.

“Would you like to try it?” you said, taking the last barrier away. He tilted the helmet down, fingers restless on his hip.

“Yes.”

That first night you didn’t fuck him, though by the end he was so close to begging you almost came from the sound. Instead you opened him up with your fingers, got him used to the feeling of fullness and how to connect it to pleasure, while he laid on your bed and gripped the sheets so hard you thought he’d rip them. His pants bunched across his thighs, you got to admire the cords of muscle rippling as you made him shake and choke. His cock, velvety and weeping on his stomach, made your mouth water, but you only offered to suck it when he was just on the precipice. Your hot mouth wrapping around his head, two clever fingers stroking his prostate, tipped him over into bliss as he shouted his completion. Pride swelled in your chest at his belabored breath, chestplate heaving and thighs quivering on either side of your head.

When you returned from cleaning up he was already dressed again, despite your protests to wait and let you ease him down from this new experience. He thanked you, awkwardly, and left quickly. Lying in the same bed that night, still smelling of him, you reasoned with yourself. He probably had a lot of feelings to sort out, both around his pleasure and the fact that you gave it to him. You hoped he trusted you enough to know you’d be discreet. And, as your fingers slid into your underwear, you hoped he’d seek you out again.

It was only a week before you were at the same spaceport again, his heavy boots clanking up your ramp. You tried to hide your own nerves, but when Din stood before you and let the visor drag up and down your body, a delicious grin crept onto your face.

“Ready to try more?”

Indeed he was.

He enters your ship without preamble, a brief flit of concern clouding your features at how quickly he disarmed your security measures. You weren’t expecting him for another hour. He must have jumped to get to you.

It’s thrilling, to know the Mandalorian’s need is so great.

But when he enters and closes the door behind him, the energy is…off. Not seductive, teasing, edged like the other times. No, he’s holding his body so tight and so still. There’s nothing aggressive in it, but you glimpse why his enemies fear him. Without a face, and with so much obscuring the flesh beneath, you’re not sure when he’ll strike.

He catches you rummaging through your drawer, the strap in your hand. Assessing, you give him a gentler smile than usual, hands visible, softening your stance.

“Hello, Din.”

He nods, quickly, unbuckling his belt and yanking his cape free. Both fall to the floor carelessly. You press on.

“How about you tell me what you want?” you say, watching him carefully as he opens his pants plaquet. The mouthwatering strip of skin you covet peeks from beneath his top.

“Just need…need this,” he says, and while naturally a man of few words you’d taught him to be more vocal in this respect.

“Okay, Din. How about you kneel on the bed and we start there?” Your voice lowers into a soothing register, reaching for his arm.

“No,” he almost shouts, startling your hand back. He recovers. “No, I want…” You can practically hear him licking his lips on a sigh, slowing himself down. “Can you sit against the headboard?”

Brows raised, you nod. He’s never ridden you before, always preferring to let you take him from behind or on his back. Pulling the strap-on over your leggings, you settle against the headboard and wait for him. He doesn’t take long, kneeling on the bed briefly in contemplation before swinging over your lap. Shucking his pants half down his legs, you can’t resist a giggle.

“Might be better to take them off,” you tease, letting your hands lay featherlight on his hips. A huff crackles through the vocoder but he doesn’t move to disrobe further.

“I’ll open you up a bit first,” you say, one hand reaching for lube while the other snakes its way to his hole. You encounter surprising slickness, but he’s nowhere as warmed up as you get him.

“S’okay, I took care of it,” he mumbles, both hands coming up to grip the headboard above your head. Slicking lube on the dildo, you move to finger him enough to ease your way in.

“Just a little more…”

“I’m fine.”

The curt retort snaps your face to the helmet, now more of a cowled chin and shining halo of beskar above your head. There’s something bubbling uncomfortably under the surface, something you feel the need to drag out by the scruff of the neck, but it’s Din. You never talk feelings with Din. Frankly, you barely talk at all during, or after, any of your nights together.

“Sorry,” he breathes, forcing relaxation. “I’m ready. Please.”

Your eyes linger for a moment longer, then you circle the base of your cock in waiting.

He descends slowly, gritted breaths and sharp blasts of air from his nose echoing above you. You watch the strain in his thighs as he sinks and sinks, his cock only half-hard against his stomach. Leaving a hand on one hip, you stroke soothing paths up and down his lower back, watching for discomfort. Instead he’s marble around you, coiled, body not releasing as usual. Normally when you fuck him he dissolves, rolling his hips back onto you and choking out praises of how good you feel.

None of that comes. He meets the base of your cock and immediately slides back up at an almost punishing pace. He can’t be that acclimated yet, and his pained hisses and grunts only make that more apparent.

“Din, slow down,” you request, hands firmer on his hips to try and even his pace. If he heard you he says nothing, now slamming his hips down on your cock. “Din,” you beseech again, nails starting to dig in. His grunts grow to growls, something from the heat of battle, your headboard creaking from his crushing grip.

Clarity overtakes you, the shudder of his stomach and forceful downstrokes only getting more intense. There wasn’t pleasure in this. Something is eating up Din inside and he’s trying to fuck it out of himself. And he’s using you to do that.

“Din Djarin, STOP.”

The echo of your voice, strong and steely, finally brings Din to a stop with your cock buried deep in his ass. His chest heaves in front of you, limbs quivering from the exertion, but he’s as still as he can be. Gripping his chestplate, you push him back enough to look him in the visor, your anger righteously reflected back.

“You don’t punish yourself with my cock,” you order, teeth clenched and seething. “Do you think so little of me, that I’d just let you rip yourself to shreds without a word?”

Din freezes, but this time you know it’s shame. If you were in a clearer headspace you might have tried reassurance, or asked him to lay beside you and talk about what’s destroying him, but you’re just too upset.

“Is that all you come to me for?” you spit out, knuckles aching from gripping his armor. He’s silent for long enough that you consider throwing him out before he speaks.

“Something happened. And I just want to…be empty. To not think about it every moment.” He leans forward and your visage warps as he presses his forehead to the crown of your head. The anger thrums but starts to ebb as he folds around you. “I didn’t know where else to go. You’ve always taken care of me. More than I deserve.”

The sadness in his voice is palpable, and even with your mouth still sour from his deception you find the compassion to wrap your arms around his middle. The chestplate presses into your cheek, a metronome for Din’s slowing breaths.

“If you have any care in your heart for me, don’t ever do that again,” you grit out. Din’s breath catches.

“I care for you,” he says, and a door in your heart you never realized was cracked widens for Din’s admission.

“I care for you too, you karking asshole, which is why I want you to say something instead of trying to hate fuck your feelings out.”

Din’s chest begins to shake again, but you’re sure it’s laughter this time. You manage a giggle of your own, letting him lean back and look at you again. The motion shifts your cock in him, and his sharp sigh arches your brow.

“If you wanted to forget, you could have just told me,” you say, rolling your hips sensuously up into his clenching hole. Din’s head drops back, grip tightening on the headboard again as you grind into him.

“Please,” he begs, so soft and vulnerable you can’t help but give him what he needs.

Slowly you press up into him, guiding his hips to rock on your cock. You love the feel of his ass in your hands, well muscled and perfect for grabbing, manhandling him just enough to show he can let go. He follows your direction reluctantly at first, but as you plant your feet and start thrusting with more range he loosens. You can feel it in his arms, holding on to the headboard for dear life, and the building rhythm of his hips meeting yours. For a man whose life is violence, you never want to bring that into your sessions. But a light swat on one asscheek pulls the most delicious moan from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, bearing down on you even more. Tilting your hips, you arch his back enough that you’re sure to hit his prostate on the next thrust.

“Maker!”

There it is.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. Waiting a moment, you zero in on that perfect spot inside him and hit it with every one of your thrusts. “Do you feel that? Feel how good I’m fucking you?”

“Yes, fuck,” Din curses, one hand flitting down to squeeze the base of his cock. He’s at full attention now, head bobbing against your stomach. You swell with pride that he’s having to stave off his orgasm so quickly, but you’ll be the one to make those decisions now.

“All I want you to think about is how good you feel,” you purr, tugging his hand away and replacing it with your own. You long for his skin against yours, so you pull up your shirt to skim the head of his cock against your soft belly. He chokes, stuttering away but he’s trapped between your hand and thighs.

“Wait, Maker, I’ll cum if you…” he garbles, but his body keeps meeting your grinds. You shush him gently, stroking from base to tip and smearing precum over the head.

“You will, but only when I let you. You know I’ll make it good for you, make nothing but this pleasure you’re feeling fill that head of yours.” His rapid nod almost knocks you in the head with the beskar, but he manages to tuck into your neck instead. The helmet is a shocking cool against your skin, but the act of burrowing into you must be rewarded. Bringing your arms around him, you press along the length of his body, trapping his cock between.

“I’m gonna pound into this tight ass until you cum all over us. You like that?” The wail Din lets out shoots heat to your cunt, wishing more than anything that you’d opted for a toy that gave you a little stimulation too. Instead you hammer fast and hard, barely pulling out. Your hips and thighs burn with exertion at his bulk on top of you, but he’s frantically bouncing back and rutting his cock into the wet mess your bodies make.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, and you’re not sure if it’s the vocoder but you think his voice sounds watery. “Please, cyar’ika, don’t stop.”

Cupping the back of his neck, damp with sweat, you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

With a handful of final pumps you’re coated in his cum, sliding around your belly as he seizes over and over. Pressing deep, you hold strong against his shuddering body as he finishes. Each weakening thrust draws him down on you, heavier and loose-limbed.

The armor makes it hard to find the soft spots, so you take to kneading the back of his neck and palming his spine. Before his last aftershock, you urge him higher on his knees so you can slip your cock out - slowly, so as not to shock his jellying body. Easing him down, you hold his head in the crook of your neck and settle him on your lap. His hands slide down from the headboard to your shoulders.

Then you hear it. A tiny sniff, then another. You can’t pretend you didn’t notice them so close to your ear. So you gather the broad man in your arms and hold him. His hands don’t know where to rest, finally winding loosely around your lower back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you tell him again, and the sniffing starts to recede. His body, however, slumps against yours, and it takes all of your strength not to start giggling.

You fucked the Mandalorian right to sleep. Bravo to you.

When Din finally stirs, a deep rumble in his throat, it’s been almost an hour. Your toes are half numb and you’re dying to shift into any other position, but much like a lothcat falling asleep on your lap, you couldn’t bear to move Din. Especially when he started snoring, one of the most endearing and hilarious sounds you’d ever heard him make.

In the time he slept you wondered what happened. What terrible thing hollowed him out and haunts him. Something keeps him up at night, if the depth of his sleep is any indication. Recent, possibly. Traumatic.

Your breath caught in your throat. If something happened to Grogu you know he would have told you. You ask after him all the time, teasing that you’ll be his Auntie (Din always says he has plenty of them across the galaxy).

Had you seen the Razor Crest fly up? Where was that old bird anyway?

What happened in the time since Din last saw you?

The cycle of possibilities always ends the same. Maybe he cares for you in some way, but not enough for you to ask. No matter how much you want to.

A shift on your lap alerts you to Din waking, kneading his shoulders and neck lightly to alert him to your presence. He’s never slept with you before, but it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that he’s quick to draw at unexpected circumstances. Of which this one definitely is.

“What…” Din croaks, and if not for the helmet you would have offered him water.

“It’s okay, you’re on my ship. You’re okay.”

It takes Din another minute to realize what’s happened. Him, half naked on your lap with your strap pressing against his ass. You, covered in drying cum beneath him. In a flash he’s swinging his leg off your lap, attempting to stand but obviously they’ve gone as numb as yours because he stumbles and crashes out of sight.

“Oh kriff, are you…?” you start to ask, but as quick as he’s out of sight he pops back up again, tugging up his pants and tucking himself away.

“Sorry, that was…I didn’t mean to…do that.”

All of the heaviness and anger and lust fizzles away to laughter as you try to suppress the ridiculousness of the moment. After a moment of indigent head tilting Din’s shoulder also shake, chuckles fuzzing out of the vocoder.

“Oh Maker, what an understatement that is,” you sigh, wiping your stomach with the edge of your bedsheets. Din visibly cringes, hands on his hips.

“Sorry for the mess,” he apologizes, but you wave it off.

“I’ve had much worse, believe me,” you shoot back. Clean enough, you sit on the edge of the bed and look up at the inscrutable man.

“Want to talk about it?”

Din’s stance shifts, helmet tipping down for a moment before coming back to your face.

“...Not yet.”

You hum and nod. “Well, you know how to find me if you do.”

Din nods. “Thank you.”

As he picks up his effects you shimmy off the harness at the foot of the bed, mentally ticking through the steps to clean everything. Din watches you set it down, stilling until your eyes come back to him.

“It gives you pleasure as well?” he asks, which raises one of your eyebrows.

“I mean, about as much as rhythmically hitting your hips against someone can do.” His posture changes into something hard to decipher, so you continue. “I’ve got a few that do more for me, but it depends on the person I’m with. Comfort, boundaries. As you’re well aware.” You gesture to the armor, his chin tucking down to look at it.

“So you’ve never cum with me?” he asks, and a sudden feverish heat blooms under your skin. Din has a sex appeal you appreciate, but have never acted on beyond what he’s asked for. Now, something’s changed so dizzyingly fast you’re scrambling.

“Well, you’re pretty spent after our sessions. And you leave quickly. I don’t ask for more than you can give.”

Din takes a step towards you, putting his belt and cloak back down.

“What do you ask of other people you fuck?”

Your heart hammers in your chest. How can he turn the tables so quickly and spectacularly? Trying to gain the upper hand, you pull a confident face on and speak as breezily as possible.

“Most can’t get it up twice after I fuck them within an inch of their life, so fingers, tongues, toys, any and all of the above are excellent ways to repay the favor.”

He’s even closer now, and the facade is barely holding up. It’s like the vulnerability he showed you can’t possibly be returned.

“You’ve never asked me,” he says, and you can’t believe there’s a note of regret in his voice. The bed hits the back of your legs, and you steady your voice even though those words make your pussy throb.

“I didn’t think it was allowed.” Your voice drops low as Din steps into your space.

“Difficult, but not forbidden.” Din’s hands come to your shoulders. “Sit down, please.”

Your knees fold so fast you bounce on the bed, looking up at him. He joins you on one knee, hands coming to rest on your thighs.

“I broke my Creed. I would do it again, for the exact same reason, but now that makes me an apostate.” His hands come to the helmet, thumbs tucking underneath the lip.

“Din, what happened?”

He pauses, and you swear you can feel his gaze through that smoky visor.

“Close your eyes.”

Darkness surrounds you, then a hiss and a thunk.

Then the voice of a man you care for, unfiltered and bare.

“I’m not ready for anyone to see my face. But I want this, with you. If you can forgive me.”

You could be dreaming still. It would make just as much sense.

“I forgive you, Din. But just this once,” you sneak in at the end just to hear how melodic his laugh sounds. Then his hand splays over your stomach and urges you to lie back.

“I hope you don’t mind teaching me this. I don’t have much experience,” he says, fire licking through your body as he tugs your leggings and underwear off.

“Don’t worry, you’re a quick learner,” you say breathily.

And when he finally kisses you, sweet with your musk on his tongue and your orgasm dripping from his fingers, you teach him how to do that as well.

END

"I need some distraction Oh a beautiful release Memories seep from my veins Let me be empty Oh and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.

Sarah McLachlan, Angel (yeah I know I used the sad dog song)

#PMAMC 2024 #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #prolix fics

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essycogany · 26 days

Text

Hot Take! Nine’s Redemption Arc Was Rushed

I’m usually positive on this blog, but I believe it’s important to have a balance. This’ll be my longest post yet, so buckle your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Quick Positive Points

I like the idea of an antagonistic Tails. Nine’s amazingly voiced by a VA I recognize. His design is awesome. His attitude and sarcasm can be entertaining. Nine saving Sonic’s skin when dealing with the Chaos Council was nice. The scene with Nine and Mr.Doctor Eggman talking about Sonic is one of my favorite moments. The thought of creating robots who look like the other characters as if Nine still wanted friends was neat. (even if he tried to kill with them) And despite my grievances, I thought Nine’s hug with Sonic at the end was adorable. The animation is what helped with that.

Introduction

While I do like Nine, I’m going to talk about my glaring issues with his character development. I can see both sides of the argument, but let me tell you why there’s more proof of Nine not being well written. I will implore you to think for yourselves regardless of what I have to say. We all have our opinions and I’m only here to share mine.

Nine’s Characterization

This is how the fox carry himself throughout the show and why most of it isn’t written well. I’ll state my issues with Sonic in certain moments too.

Season One

Nine’s reasonably defensive at first when Sonic came to his home out of nowhere. He became annoyed by Sonic’s immaturity yet concerned for him once they’re captured. After they meet the Rebels, his sassiness begins to show. Replying “You’re welcome,” after saving Sonic by taking control of Rusty. Having a direct and harsh tone when advising others to take the Chaos Council’s shard. And not seeming to care about the rest of the group who gets trapped with Mr. Doctor Eggman.

Nine: “Sonic we have to get to the core!” “You heard her come on!” This I understand because Nine doesn’t know them, so they don’t really matter to him. But then Nine dismisses Sonic’s feelings even after he asked “are you okay?” Because he noticed the hedgehog was a little off.

-Because Sonic started remembering the events that happened to him before he broke the Paradox Prism.

After Sonic realized the prism shattering was his fault Nine says, “Snap back to reality! Grab that shard and we’ll sort the rest out later!” Then when Sonic stated the original Tails told him not to touch it Nine states, “Well, I’m telling you the opposite! Now grab it and let’s go!” Not realizing if Sonic is the reason for the prism being small, his original variant might’ve known touching it was a bad idea. I also can’t forget about these lines.

Sonic: “If there’s anyone who’s got the brains to put it all back together, it’s you.” Nine: “That’s the first thing you’ve said that I agree with.” Nice ego for a person who ends up getting Sonic sucked up by the prism after being warned. Back to what I was saying before, Nine seems to only care about stealing the shard away from the Eggmen here. Which is proven later on in season one. His care for Sonic has progressed, but Sonic learns from the Rebels that Nine abandoned them. And it’s never addressed by Sonic.

-Sonic also insist Nine’s “not a traitor” without any proof. Sonic hasn’t known Nine that long. The last time Sonic saw the fox, he ended up getting the hedgehog sucked into another shatterspace. Unless Sonic’s talking about Nine working with the group. But I’d argue it was more for Sonic and his own sake. Especially since Nine left the Rebels and Rusty at the drop of a hat.

When Nine comes to help Sonic, he shows off the Grim and discuss how it’s “Their bright new future.” Wanting to live in the Grim with Sonic. Even after the last time he saw Sonic, Nine knew how distraught Sonic felt about losing his home. Again, Sonic stated he believed Nine could put the prism back together. Meaning his original friends and world would come back. But Nine immediately assumes Sonic would be happy living with him for the rest of his life. Which is sweet on paper but very messed up in execution. I’ll get into why later. To be fair, Nine’s never had a friend before and was bullied for most of his life. His social skills aren’t the best and he isn’t use to caring about others. But even if Nine didn’t understand empathy, he has no reason to believe Sonic would forget about his home just because Nine didn’t care about his.

Nine: “That city hasn’t brought me anything but misery. I owe it nothing.” He hasn’t been around Sonic for long either, but Sonic’s demonstrated his loyalty before. By worrying about the Rebels instead of the shard while Nine did vise versa. Anyways, Sonic explains he needs to save the Rebels. Nine being Nine didn’t care about them, but came to help anyways because he “cared about Sonic.” I’d say Nine only helped because he thought Sonic would join him after getting the other shards, but that’s my opinion.

Nine: “With enough fortifications and enough shard energy, this could be home.” Because of this line, I believe he already knew about the other shards before Sonic. Which is also why he knew what Sonic was doing in season two. He also says, “When this is over, I’m going home and never looking back. Whether I go it alone is entirely up to you.” Still assuming things.

-Sonic doesn’t give Nine an answer for some reason. Only responding with “I knew you’d come back, buddy.” Projecting how he’d expect Tails to act. Which becomes a serious problem later.

Season Two

Throughout this season, Nine helped Sonic collect the shards. Which was a bonus to keep developing the Grim.

-Sonic and the Rebels have another debate on trusting Nine. At least this time when Sonic says “He saved you,” it’s true. Nine took down the Doctors before Sonic and co got killed. I’d still argue it was for Sonic, but Nine still saved their lives despite his intentions.

I’ll also admit when Mr.Doc used Nine, it was reasonable for him to feel as if he had no choice. He even apologizes to Sonic. We even learn how Nine first fount the Grim and see him make a hammock for Sonic. But the positives goes down hill once we get into the shard chase between Nine, Sonic, and the villains. Once away from the Docs Sonic stated, “Oh, things are finally coming together. We’ve got the shards! We can finally fix everything!” He’s still obviously talking about Green Hill and his friends. But Nine doesn’t notice this. Instead he says, “It’s going to be perfect.” Very specific you two. Nine seems to suddenly believe Sonic changed his mind and Sonic still thinks Nine and Tails are one and the same.

Dude even calls the fox “Tails Nine,” while introducing him to another character. What are the odds? Later on Nine says, “If you like surprises, wait until you see what I’ve got going on in the Grim.” Sonic responds with, “Grim? Cool. Can’t wait to here more. But right now, we’ve gotta get to Ghost Hill.” Talking as if if the Grim was an afterthought. Then the two talk about bringing the prism back together without knowing what the other’s thoughts were behind it.

Even if they didn’t have time to discuss things, I think they should’ve explained something to each other during the chase or before Sonic left to help the Rebels in S1. That way the unfortunate occurrence could’ve been avoided later on, but we’ll cross that bridge soon enough. Anyways, after the goose chase, they meet up with Shadow, who reasonably doesn’t trust Nine.

-The Blue blur defended the fox again with his projecting his friends onto strangers self. It’s also weird how often this dude doesn’t listen to anyone while also wondering why no one won’t listen to him.

After Nine put one of the shards back together and it brought everything back for a split second. Sonic: “Reality was flipping out over here.” “Green Hill was back and so were my friends.” Which must’ve went in and out of Nine’s ears because this show has no time for the characters to communicate properly. Instead of listening, Nine interrupts the hedgehog and shenanigans ensues.

After said shenanigans, another argument scene happens. Except somehow, it’s worsts then the last. I’ll criticize both characters. I want to address the “Sonic projecting” discussion first. I know people think Sonic’s wrong for doing it (he is) but I believe he’s doing it as a coping mechanism. Since his friends are replaced by ghost who repeat themselves and a bunch strangers who look like them, he might not be able to help it. I give him a bit of slack because we all know what he’s been through. Prime!Sonic is also a very sincere version of Sonic who instantly feels guilt. Even if he doesn’t completely understand what he did wrong.

For example, in the first episode, Tails didn’t tell Sonic why he was upset with him. He just said, “It’s cool really.” Tails brushes things off instead of discussing them. I can see where Sonic is coming from. What I won’t excuse is Sonic having a terrible amount of trust in Nine. I’ll discuss this in S3’s issues. And the rest I’ll summon up to Sonic never addressing problems which might’ve needed to be addressed. Like Green Hill almost coming back and other stuff I’ve already mentioned. Onto the fox. This argument might be a great time for Nine to explain what his plans are instead of saying, “We’re not making your old world. We’re building a better one.” Implying Sonic’s original world is inferior and he should deal with it being gone.

When Sonic says, “I think we can get it back.” Nine responds with, “You’re wrong about that.” Despite Sonic in the same episode said minutes before, “Green Hill was back and so were my friends.” Did the fox forget? Is he lying? Or does he not care? I’ll go with the writers forgetting about this line since it never gets mentioned again. Which seems to be a trope in this show. I understand Sonic’s done plenty of wrong when it comes to Nine as well, but I don’t see how Sonic wanting to fix the problem he made in the first place as selfish. Especially since Sonic’s not the only one who wants Green Hill back. Shadow’s dealing with the consequences too.

The “what’ll happen to me when you bring your friends back,” issue is never explored. There’s no confirmation on what happens, so this comment basically means nothing. Also, Sonic living with Nine forever is messed up. It implies Sonic and Shadow never going home. And their friends would stay ghost forever. Dead to be specific. Not to mention Nine’s home would be a copy of what Sonic use to have. You’re telling me Sonic The Hedgehog would allow his freedom to end because of a self centered fox who wouldn’t care if he wanted to go home? I could continue, but I’ll stop here. In the end, Sonic and Nine were both wrong. You could argue Sonic never said “no” to staying with Nine, but Sonic saying in S1,”It’s not going anywhere,” was all Nine needed to hear. Sonic thinking Nine would love Tails and discussing Green Hill was prominent when talking to Nine before getting to Ghost Hill too. Dude was completely set on getting home and he wasn’t subtle about it.

To be fair again, Nine hasn’t been in enough good relationships to know who to trust Then finds someone he thinks he can trust. Then gets treated like a reflection of someone else instead of a different person entirely. This goes to show I actually don’t hate the idea of the miscommunication. I only feel the show doesn’t give them enough time to breathe and only focuses on rushing the plot. Therefore having contradictions and forced conflicts.

Season 3

Nine’s first statement in this season is, “This could’ve been everything he ever wanted.” I wish Sonic had a moment to explain why creating a new world is a nice but bad idea. That way Nine could get a better understanding of how close Sonic is to his home and friends. Giving it a sense of importance.He could choose to stay selfish or to be reasonable.Nine tries to capture Sonic in order to get his shard energy throughout S3. In the next scene Shadow says, “So, it was all about power?” (Shadow is the MVP of this entire show) Then Sonic defends Nine for the millionth time.

Sonic: “No, that’s not…” Nine: “Exactly!” Wonderful.

Moving on. Sonic tries to reason with Nine again. Nine: “You were only using me to get what you wanted.” Sonic: “That’s not true.” The hedgehog doesn’t elaborate before or after this conversation. I love how the two barely have a coherent conversation. It’s honestly my favorite thing in the world.

-Sonic tells Shadow if reasoning with Nine doesn’t work, he’ll be “their’s.” Probably implying they’ll have to hurt or kill Nine if necessary. Then Sonic never fallows through with it and doesn’t actually fight Nine. Sonic only uses his shield powers or tries to convince others not to hurt the fox.

After that Nine tries to attack both hedgehogs with a robot copy of Sonic and states, “This time, you’re on your own.” Shadow: “He’s not on his own” Nine: “We’re all on our own.” Describing his perception on loyalty is a detail I actually like.

Later in the season Nine tries to disrupt the bystanders worlds to get Sonic, so they disrupt their agreement. Nine attempts to kill them again and wonders why they wanted to protect Sonic. Almost as if Sonic has been helping them since the fox met him or something.

After constant fighting and begging on Sonic’s part, he tells Nine to, “LOOK OUTSIDE!” And that’s when Nine at last sees the shatterverse breaking and realizes what he’s done. All of this mess lasted 7 episodes by the way. The big fight took up 6 of them. Nine knew beforehand the shatterverse was ending and it didn’t phase him as long as his world was safe. Now he suddenly he feels guilty?

Sonic apologizes because he didn’t listen to what Nine wanted. Or appreciate what he was trying to do. This is Sonic’s words not mine. Nine doesn’t apologize for trying to kill everyone, but to Sonic instead. Sonic asked everyone to leave Nine alone. And asked Nine to not cause anymore trouble. Knucks: “How can we trust him?” Nine: “You can trust me.” Outstanding dialogue. Plot needs to occur, so we’ll skip the part where Nine and everyone else gains trust in a none forced way. Great.

Nine finally helps Sonic even if those problems could’ve been avoided a few episodes earlier and say their goodbyes. The End.

I hate how Sonic had to apologize to Nine about wanting to go home. It’s absolutely unfair. Then Nine doesn’t apologize to everyone else for the havoc he’s caused. What I believe Sonic should’ve apologized for was treating Nine like Tails, but it never gets brought up. But my biggest issue is the only way Sonic called out Nine on his actions was by saying, “This isn’t you!” “Don’t do this!” “ “I care about all of this. You, the shatterverse, and everyone inside of it. I know you do to.” The last bit being a huge lie.

I don’t make these kind of comparisons often, but Game!Sonic would have everything nipped in the bud. I’d assume by telling Nine, “What you’re doing is wrong. This is why it’s wrong. If you don’t quit, I’ll do everything in my power to make you quit.” He’d understand Nine needed to be stoped and act accordingly. I’d assume everyone would have to make him surrender and he’d be force to fix everything. No, it doesn’t reform him, but I wouldn’t have minded if he didn’t get reformed because sometimes you can’t change people. This might not have been the perfect solution, but I tried. Yes, Nine is a child who was treated terribly, but it shouldn’t excuse his actions.

What’s hilarious is during his last talk with Sonic, he unreasonably guilts the hedgehog and called him selfish. Saying Sonic didn’t save everyone because he actually cared about them. But because Sonic feels guilty about breaking everything from the start. Except Sonic actually admits to messing up which was shown in the third episode of Prime. And took the time to right his wrongs. It’s the most hypocritical and short sided statement in the entire show. And if that wasn’t enough, Nine gets upset when everyone came to attack him. It admittedly was a dumb idea, but Nine made himself the enemy. He didn’t give the gang a reason to trust him before or after his deal with Sonic. Yes, including the end of the show. It made no sense.

Why Nine’s Reformation Was Rushed

First of all, I’m not saying I don’t like Nine because of his negative traits. That’s the main reason he exists. He’s a antagonistic or I’d even say evil version of Tails. Nine is suppose to be distant, selfish, and such. I simply don’t believe after all he’s done and how his character was established that he suddenly changed into a good guy.

Nine’s focus was on his own pain. As he ignored everyone else’s. Including the one person who saved his life on multiple occasions and who (even if it’s wrong) still tried to stick up for him. Giving off the, “I suffered so everyone else should suffer,” mentality. Then blames Sonic by saying he, “put him into this position.” As if Nine didn’t already make terrible choices before going evil. Sure, the shards could’ve been corrupting him, but it’s never explored and can only be assumed. Which are too different things.

These are obvious toxic/red flag behavior and it never gets properly called out. Things are only fixed because the plot demanded it. Not because there was a natural progression. The only thing that progressed was Nine’s uncaring attitude until it magically fixed itself…at the last minute. And I hate that for him because he deserved better. Sonic deserved better. All of the Sonic Prime characters deserved better. But they all fell into the pit of unsatisfying conclusions.

Side Note: What also bothers me is how Sonic is almost the only character Nine interacts with. No wonder he doesn’t care about anyone else. Nine barely talks to anyone. Like Shadow, the blue blur is the main center of Nine’s attention. At least most of the other characters don’t have the same problem, but it’s still ridiculous.

How The Show Is Flawed In General

I have more glaring issues with this show. Sonic Prime’s plot almost never stops to breathe. The repetition is unreal. None of the characters (especially the OGs) get enough attention. Some things are both over and under explained simultaneously. There’s reused animations.

Reused conversations and dialogue are especially prevalent. “This isn’t you, Nine!” “It’s over, Nine.” “Gotta go fast!” “Game over.” “We’re gonna end/fix this together.” “We’re friends.” “Me Beauty.” “We have to take the fight to them.” “You’re even dumber then you look.”

This isn’t half of the repeated lines unfortunately. Some of them aren’t only said by Sonic either. It’s almost as if they ran out of dialogue. I am only scratching the surface of problems, but I won’t go any further. At this point “the show’s writing” is the main issue of Nine’s arc. It’s also why other parts of Prime feels rushed.

Conclusion

Yeah, I have a love hate relationship with this show. It’s seriously hard to watch sometimes. I know this has been a bummer, but here’s what Sonic Prime does right. I adore Sonic Prime in terms of how it looks and sounds. With the outstanding animation, voice acting, music, editing, and sound design. I’ll even say it’s one of the best looking 3D animated kids TV shows I’ve seen. There’s so much attention to detail and quality of the character facial expressions and movements. Furthermore, when the lighting is really good, it looks near movie levels of quality. Not to mention great writing still exists. All in all, Sonic Prime may not be the best written Sonic show, but it does have the most polished animation. Even with its plethora of flaws and lost potential, I’m glad Prime exists to prove 3D TV shows can look fantastic when given enough care.

Stay Creative! 💜

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nebulousbrainsoup · 10 months

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Hard hours, you say? 😈

I am usually not so bold with requests. And it's quite early. ㅋㅋㅋㅋ But they got me acting up with this comeback. Specifically, Mr. Song Mingi. Just so damn disrespectful. I can't even function. 🫨

Anywhoooo. Pretty please, may I request crossing paths with sharp shooter Mingi at a bar?

You're the best and I hope all goes smoothly with your health appointments. *hugs* 🫰🏿⛰️💜

no YOU'RE the best noona 🥺 💛 the health appointments are health appointmenting in true us healthcare fashion 🤪 but I just got the first scan scheduled so there's progress!! hugs 🫂 🫰🏼sorry this took forever, my body decided it needed more than 4 hours of sleep lmaO

ANYWAY mingi has also been wrecking the absolute HELL out of me too, and he knows what he's doing to us. all the outfits??? the energy his bringing??? and i've been having so so many thoughts about the body roll in the mv like. sir that was FOUL. got me thinkin about those hips 😵‍💫 plus the "You could be my doll" line in Dune????? hello????? let's add him to the EVOLVEverse crew, shall we?

lil bit of crack at the end sorry i HAD to

masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee? | divs from @cafekitsune

smut & warnings below the cut, 18+ enjoy & minors don't touch :)

tags/warnings: fem!reader, outlaw!mingi, sharpshooter!mingi, ft. 2ho, pwp, no use of y/n, language as always, mild alcohol use, gun (singular), i know he's our soft boy but he's quite ominous, use of pet names (doll, baby, slut), slight dom!mingi, i'm on my big dick mingi agenda, semi-public sex (empty bar), oral (f!receiving), fingering, slight overstim, unprotected sex (crowd booing), lil bit of objectification & degradation, unedited

The first thing that caught your eye was whatever was spray painted over the WANTED posters outside; some amalgamation of an 'X' and a 'Z' covering the faces of Night City's infamous rebels. You scoffed, shaking your head softly. They'd be fixed in the morning, so why waste the paint?

The second thing that set you on edge was the music. Usually, on a Friday night, your favorite bar was packed to the brim with people, catching end of week drinks with coworkers, meeting with dates they'd never see again, or partying with friends. The music was barely audible inside on the slowest of weekends, much less outside the main doors. Anxiety roiled in your gut, but you continued on your path, cautiously pushing past them.

Only one man stood in the otherwise empty tavern, his eyes snapping up from the drink he was making to zero in on you, and your heart leapt into your throat. There was something dangerous about his gaze and that familiar silhouette, and you froze in place as your brain scrambled to piece the puzzle together. His lips twitched up in a smirk and, once he had put the finishing touches on his drink, he shifted to the side, revealing the WANTED poster hanging behind the bar and the rifle strapped to his back.

Fuck. You were so screwed. You took a step backward, ready to turn on your heel and bolt, forgetting you ever saw Song Mingi or knew the location of this little bar. He turned back to you, seemingly sensing your want to flee, and narrowed his eyes.

"I wouldn't," he muttered, and your feet rooted to the spot.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you stared back at him, the silence stretching to an uncomfortable level, until you finally found your voice to break it.

"W-What did you do to them?"

He tilted his head. "To who?"

"The..." you trailed off motioning around the empty bar. "Everyone. There had to be people here."

He nodded, sipping his cocktail, completely unbothered. "There were." You blinked at him, annoyance building, and gestured for him to continue. He sighed, slinging the rifle off of his back and setting it on the bartop. "When you bring one of these into a packed place like this, folks tend to scatter."

"And you let them?" He nodded. "Aren't they going to call the cops on you or something?"

Mingi snorted a laugh, downing his drink before making his way around the bar to stand in front of you. "Do I look worried to you, doll?"

You swallowed thickly, shaking your head. "C-Can I go too, then?"

He took a step back, eyes raking over you, and you felt heat flush through your body. "You could always stay for a drink. That's what you came for, isn't it?" Despite your mind's protests, you nodded. "Then have a drink with me, and tell me what a pretty thing like you is doing frequenting a place like this."

---

This was wrong, so unbelievably wrong. You should have never come in here. But you had, and now here you were, the hand of a wanted criminal resting on your thigh as your eyes darting frantically between his own and his lips. Maybe you could blame your impressive lack of restraint on the adrenaline drop you were facing, or the fact that none of this really felt real, anyway. Whether he sensed or saw your internal struggle, you weren't sure, but Mingi's hand shifted off of your thigh, catching your chin between his fingers.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

You didn't know what came over you, but in an instant, you had tugged him in, slotting his lips against your own. He groaned lowly, tongue quickly swiping over your lower lip and slotting against your own as you let out a sigh. He stood from his stool and dragged you up with him, pressing your back against the bar so he could slot one of his thick thighs between your own. You whined, letting your head roll back, and once your lips parted, he let out a soft chuckle.

"Well, that's not what I was expecting, but I can't say I'm complaining."

Immediately, you wanted to wipe the proud grin off of his face, but before you could snap back at him, his lips were on yours once more.

---

Your moans echoed off of the vaulted ceilings, the music once again barely audible underneath them. Mingi was on his knees in front of you, his tongue working magic over your core and two of his thick fingers pumping in and out of you, the slick sounds adding to the symphony echoing around you. You tugged at his hair, the unending pleasure beginning to become too much as you neared your second climax, halfway between tugging him closer and pushing him away.

"M-Mingi," you whimpered, and he groaned against you, eyes blinking open slowly. "I can't, 's too quick, ha!" You jolted, grasping at the bar under you as he sucked at your clit again, another of his fingers prodding at your hole.

"One more for me, doll," he purred, slowing his pace to press inside of you. "Gotta make sure you can take my cock.

"'S too much, Mingi," you muttered halfheartedly, his name turning into a needy moan as his mouth returned to you, tongue soothing the sting of the stretch his fingers brought.

He allowed you a moment to adjust, his lips pressing a kiss to your clit and pulling a quiet sigh from you. This was a sight he could get used to, he thought, your blissed out face above him and your thighs tossed over his shoulders. His cock twitched in his too tight pants, and he groaned against you, the sensation sending your hips bucking toward him, and within moments he had picked back up his relentless pace.

---

The bliss when he finally pressed his thick cock into you was like nothing you'd ever experienced. Your lips were parted in a silent scream, only stilted, broken noises of pleasure leaving you. He chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling through his chest and felt through your back as he leaned over you, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. The bar had proven slightly too high for even his tall stature, so he'd spun you around, bending you over a nearby table. Initially, you had protested, offering to brace yourself where you had already been standing if it meant getting his dick in you sooner, but as quickly as your thighs had begun shaking, you were glad he had taken the lead.

"S-So much," you gasped out, melting underneath him.

"Now you see why I needed to prep you so much? I don't like breaking my toys on the first use, baby." The whine that left you as he pressed in further, his words amplifying your pleasure, pulled another chuckle from him, and he ran a soothing hand over your spine. "Think about how full you're gonna feel here in a minute."

You squirmed, hips canting back toward his own, and the hand on your back shoved you into the table. "Mingi, need more. Need all of you."

"You sure you can take it, doll? You're only a little over halfway there."

You let out a frustrated groan and wiggled your hips again, twisting as well as you could to face him. "Yes, dammit. Split me open if you have to, just give me your cock."

He sneered, the hand on your back snapping up to your shoulder, clamping down to yank you back on his cock as he slammed his hips into your own. A scream ripped from your throat and you grasped at the edge of the table, your breath coming in ragged bursts and your vision going white for a moment. When it cleared again, he was running his thumb soothingly over the nape of your neck, shushing you quietly.

"See why I wanted you to be patient, baby? Hurts when you're not ready for it, huh?"

You groaned, body going lax against the table. "Hurts s' good, Min. Wanna... More," you babbled, eyes slipping shut. "Ruin me."

He clicked his tongue, smile audible. "Cock drunk for me already, huh? What a good little slut. Take what I give you nicely then, okay?"

You nodded eagerly, and at your confirmation, he set into a brutal pace. You clawed at the table frantically for anything to ground yourself against as he bent over you, lips pressed to your ear. Every grunt and growl had shivers lighting down your spine, your walls fluttering around him as heat coiled in your gut.

He had brought you to two climaxes already, watched you beg and moan for him, and from the moment he was sheathed in your tight heat, Mingi knew he wouldn't last long. He told you as much when he braced himself over you, breathing the words into your ear as he nipped at the lobe. You whimpered, shifting under him to reach for your swollen clit and letting him drape one of your knees over his arm for better access. The shift in angle had you crying out as his cockhead began to drag over your sweet spot, your pleasure amplifying tenfold.

He had no warning before you were clamping down on him hard, your orgasm triggering his own, his hips stilling with how tightly your walls gripped him. A broken groan fell from his lips as your cunt milked him for all he was worth, your own whimpers melding with it, body going limp and eyes sliding shut. When you both came back into your bodies, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple and slowly pulled out of you. You bit back a pitiful noise at the loss of his warmth, slowly propping yourself up on your forearms as he reached for something to clean you both with.

For the second time that night, your heart jumped into your throat as your eyes fell on the two men standing by the doors, still rattling shut behind them. Just beyond it, you could see the familiar outline of a car, its roof topped with a light bar. The taller of them had an unimpressed look focused on your companion, while the shorter of the two was staring, wide-eyed, at you spread out on the table, his ears flushing and eyes turning to the floor the moment you caught him looking. Scrambling to put yourself back together, you opened your mouth to speak, but the taller one beat you to it, clearing his throat. Mingi spun, eyes wide for a moment as he took in the two cops, before he broke out into a grin.

"Perfect timing. Yunho, Jongho, this is... Shit, what did you say your name was?"

Your eyes went wide as the two newcomers groaned, rolling their eyes heartily. "Seriously? You're the worst," the younger one sighed, pushing the doors open and making his way back out to the car. Shaking his head, the other one quickly followed.

"See? No need to worry about the cops."

You blinked, glancing rapidly between Mingi and the door. "What the fuck?"

#neb.requests #it thinks 😈#ateez hard hours #neb.atz #neb.moot <3 #noona ⛰️#song mingi #mingi smut #ateez smut #mingi x reader #ateez x reader #nebulous writes

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lolita-lollipop · 1 year

Note

Hey there, First off I wanted to say I love your work! Second my request is a platonic yandere TodoDeku taking care of a sick reader who cant hold down food or eat anything but the reader just cant seem to get better no matter what medication they use? I could use some comfort for that because I'm currently dealing with that haha.

YANDERE PRO HERO IZUKU X SICK READER X YANDERE PRO HERO TODOROKI

TW VOMIT AND IV

Izukus keys jingled as he unlocked the front door to the shared home between him and his husband, and you. The door was heavily secured in case you ever tried to run, not that you would, or could. The house was quiet, usually there was the lingering sound of the tv left on, or the kittens mewing. But no. Just the sound of still air remaining still.

“I’m home! Y/n? Todo?” He called out, usually one of the two came to greet him at the door, usually todoroki, but occasionally you when you needed something. Todoroki got home about an hour or so earlier than izuku , so usually dinner was already either prepared or ordered, and you were ready for bed. He was used to the sound of you talking with your papa when he got home, used to the sound of the toys he’d gotton you rattling. But recently it’s been different, he couldn’t remember when it started, when you got like this. All he really knew is it happened fast and abrupt, all of a sudden you were always exhausted, it even took a lot of coaxing to get you out of bed in the mornings, you could barely stomach an apple, and you pretty much avoided eating in general in fear of vomiting. You were sick. And it wasn’t getting better.

They’d placed monitors all over the house, security cameras that were connected to a small device similar to a baby monitor, it was just a safety precaution, or it was supposed to be. They’d never noticed how soundless you were, how you barely moved, probably in attempts to relieve the aching in your bones. It worried both of them to no end at how your body was eating itself from the inside out in place for food.

What was even worse was that they didn’t know what to do about it. They couldn’t get another doctor because you might act out and try to free yourself, but neither of them had enough medical experience to help you. Really help you.

Nowadays todoroki didn’t have time to cook anything for dinner when he first got home, he was too worried about the fact that you haven’t moved from the position he left you in this morning, about the fact that the lunch and snacks the two husbands had left you for the day went mainly untouched. And how the Meds that you were supposed to be taking just made you feel sick instead of any better. When he came home today he could feel the tension in the air, he the world around felt void, how the rooms life had just been sucked out.

They don’t know when this depressive episode of yours started, at least they thought it was a depressive episode. At first they believed it was you rebelling against them, going on somewhat of a hunger strike to try and get them to let you go. So naturally they punished you, took away the cats and the tv and the books. But that did very little in stopping you, at some point the way you stared off into space forced them into realizing something was very wrong.

…

Izuku pulled off his coat and shoes at the door, putting his keys up on the highest shelve that he knew you couldn’t reach. His other hand clutched at a bag of some of your favorite takeout food, or what used to be your favorite at least. He just needed you to eat something, hopefully this might help. He was lost in the endless tombs of his brain, thought being the only thing consuming him. Then he heard it, heard you. And he dropped the bag, dropped his coat from his hands, and ran to your room.

Soft sobs could be what’d through the home monitors, his phone blinked with a red light, indicating that you were actually moving, making noise. When he opened the door, his heart almost broke. You were sitting in a corner, rolled into a fetal position, hiccuping and sniffling, you had your hand pressed to your mouth in attempts to quiet yourself, you were far too consumed by your own feelings to notice him. There was a small plastic container on the table with a few mango slices left in it, and a small puddle of… stomach liquid on the other side of the room. It only took him a few seconds to connect the dots. And he was immediately on you.

“Oh my baby- it’s okay it’s okay don’t cry, daddy’s here now. I’m so sorry you got sick- I know it feels bad. Can you tell me what happened sweetheart?” He cooed , using his sleeve to wipe the corner of your mouth, and picking you up with his strong arms. As he held you tight and close in his comforting embrace, you didn’t fight, usually you would at least put a little squirming into it, but you were far too weak to even try.

“I just- I was really hungry so I tried to- I tried to- and then after my stomach hurt really bad and I got really sick and I couldn’t make it to the bathroom an- I’m so sorry I got- I got it in the carpet” you spoke through your sobs, clutching close to him, you just had felt so good today, like you were getting better. So against your better judgment , you actually ate most of the mango your dads had left for you, then your body seemed to remember it was sick before your brain did, and before you knew it you were hunched over clutching your stomach, hurling out whatever you’d just eaten.

It was just so humiliating, to not understand what was happening to you. That’s why you’d been crying, Izuku knew how you felt about all of this, that’s why he’s been so lenient when you have sass or snap at him. Because you’re hurting. It’s these moments when he knows it best, he let you wrap your legs around his waist and stick your head between the crook of his shoulder, his hands went up and down on your back soothingly, and he bounced slightly on his feet in order to calm you. You would probably make yourself sick again with all of this crying.

“Oh my poor baby- I’m so so sorry this keeps happening. I promise Me and papa are gonna find a way to make this better” he clutched you tight to him, and although you wished you wanted to fight him, scratch his eyes out and take this moment of softness to run. You didn’t, your body felt as if it was made of lead, and your eyes struggled to stay open, and you just felt so. utterly. sick.

So instead you clutched his shirt, and leaned into him. A husky cough left your lips at the pressure he put on your back, which did nothing but made you cry more. The thought of them making you better scared you, they’d tried everything, who knows what crazy solutions are left.

“I-I don’t wanna see a doctor again. Please don’t make me I- I can’t” you pleased of the man, drawing out any sympathy he might’ve held for you, he did know how much you suffered because of whatever this sickness was. Supposedly it was because of stress, after all getting kidnapped by two random strangers who overpower you and force you into being their child harms you mentally, and in turn, physically.

“Don’t worry baby. Your father will have his brother come instead of one of those scary doctors. I know I know you don’t like him either ,but we need you to be seen okay? If you’re good I’ll let you watch one of those horror movies you like. The rated r ones?” He coaxed, beginning to lay small pats on your back in order to prevent a freak out, you didn’t like doctors, at least not the ones he brought you to. Which was understandable, usually he would offer tot ale you out for ice cream, but as you were currently… not eating, this was the next best option.

You grunted and nudged your head closer to the knook of his shoulder, letting him hold you tight. You were still quite focused on holding your remaining nausea down.

“I’ll take that as a yes then? Hm?”he questioned with a little laugh, trying to lighten your mood. It didn’t.

“…yes”

———

It took a few hours for both todoroki and natsuo to get here, natsuo took a little convincing to treat you. He loves you, don’t get him wrong, you’re his favorite little niece, but now that they had taken you against your will and kept you in a cage. It just felt wrong to help his little brother. Still. He supposed it was worse to have you be kidnapped and fatally ill than to just be kidnapped. So begrudgingly he came.

Shoto had warned him that you would be much less than happy to talk to him, and it might be possible that you would have to be restrained. But in the end he agreed.

You heard your two fathers talking to your uncle outside your room, a gruesome horror movie played on the small tv in front of you, an older one that should’ve made you squirm and cringe at the violence and gore occurring, still, you watched intently, almost with a smile. The door opening snapped you out of your stare. The bed next to you dipped down as somebody sat, no doubt your fathers older brother natsuo.

You didn’t hate the man, in fact before all this the two of you knew eachother quite well. But like everybody else, he chose to standby as your two “fathers” confined you here. So you always held some remorse for him.

You were tied down with silk straps, wrapped tightly, but still comfortably. In a position that had you facing the tv. It honestly wasn’t that bad, as you were comfortable and the ropes were soft. It did make you feel mildly vulnerable around this man, but you’ve known natsuo since you were little, and you trusted him. At least you hoped you could. Then again, trusting people had only gotton you kidnapped and put in one of the worst mental states of your life so…

“Hey sweetheart… so, you’ve been having some trouble eating. Right?” He asked, trying to keep his voice as monotone as possible, he’d known that you would look bad, after all you hadn’t eaten in weeks and you were going through severe depression and dissociation. But… god. You looked dead honestly, devoid of all life but somehow still living. The way you did nothing but nod to his question only further proved his point.

“We’ll, I already know you’ve been quite stressed, I completely understand as this is such an environment change for you. But there are also a few physical illnesses that this could be. I’m just gonna ask a few questions alright? Are you okay with that?” He (obviously) did most of the taking, as almost the entirety of your attention was on the movie playing in front of you. It was obvious he was trying to make you feel like you were in charge here. Like you could tell him to leave and he would.

You knew that wasn’t true though.

He asked a wide variety of questions about how you felt when you ate, was it full, was it empty. He also asked about what you had eaten last before all of this started. You’d answered truthfully, after all you did want to get better so you could stop feeling so weak all the time.

The more he spoke to you, the more his voice became a lullaby. The movie in front of you continued with its display of blood and guts, it combined with the way natsuos voice droned, and just pulled you further and further towards sleep. It was actually quite nice.

The last thing you remembered before drifting of was getting a warm hug from the man, and then some talking outside, even a little crying from whom you presumed was midoria.

Then, nothing.

———

When you woke up, you hadn’t been restrained anymore. And you were sitting in a soft chair, one that you had recognized as the one next to your parents bed. A cat sat in your lap, you stared down at it, still half asleep, it made you happy.

Then, as you came to consciousness, you began to be painstakingly aware of how you were feeling. The nausea was gone, and so was the emptiness, but now… now there was this fuzzy feeling all around your body. And there was such a sharp pain in your arm, it felt like it was stabbing you repeatedly.

Then you saw what it was, and THAT woke you up.

There was a bag rested on a large pole next to you, with some liquid inside of it. The bag was feeding into a pipe which went into your arm. A thin needle was pressed into the knook of your elbow.

No no no no no. They did not put a fucking needle in your arm. They wouldn’t. Who knows what the hell is in that bag? They could be pumping you with fucking drugs all day and you wouldn’t even knows You panicked and tried pulling at it, doing absolutely anything to keep the stupid thing from pumping whatever that was into your blood.

Pulling at the pipe and patch hurt far too much for you to continue, so you just sat and stared at the IV. It made you sick thinking about what they did to you while you were happily sleeping. They fucking stabbed you. With a needle. Your vision began to blur and your hearing went fuzzy as a panic attack pulsed through your senses.

You were able to hear small footsteps, and then somebody grabbed and picked you up.

“No no no- don’t do that baby. It’s there to help you- oh I know you don’t like it. I know baby- We should’ve told you about it. But it’s here to help you sweetheart. No don’t cry- it’s okay” todoroki hushed as you clawed at the small patch on your arm, he held you tight, which actually helped a little bit, as it stopped you from pulling the IV out.

Even though you wanted the stupid little needle out of your arm, the sight of your blood would make you panic further. Todoroki knew this, so he chose to just let you wriggle and squirm in his arms as opposed to making yourself bleed.

Isn’t that funny. You love watching those little films filled with blood and gore, but the second you shed any of your own blood ,you panic. How cute.

He had known that the needle and the bag would make you freak out, but both him and his husband had figured that this was a better option than a feeding tube (that would really freak you out). And although it upset you, it was for your well-being, and you would have to understand that.

Their intentions were innocent too, they didn’t drug you, all they wanted was for you to be healthy. They just want you to be safe and happy and healthy, they just want you to feel okay.

They just wanted to nurse you back into the girl they fell in love with all those years ago.

And you…

You would get used to it if it meant you started feeling better.

You would have to.

—————————————

This is an oooollldddd request that I was struggling with heavily because when I started writing this one I had an eating disorder :P

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL MY LOVELY LITTLE AMERICAN READERS!

Anyway now I’m all better and I was able to figure out an ending sooooo…

Thank you anon for requesting ! And Thank you readers for reading!

Hope you enjoyed! Have a very good day!

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author-ssi · 11 months

Text

Music & Sex ~MYG

➜Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader ➜Genre: Smut, (Slight) Fluff, One-shot Warnings: vulgar language (Yoongi cursing), oral sex;fem receiving (Yoongi’s tongue technology), fingering, hand job, vaginal sex (protected and kinda rough) [18+ MDNI] ➜Word Count: 2.6k ➜Summary: A rebellious Min Yoongi keeping the company of a docile girl seemingly appears a bit odd. However, there are certain things that connect the two and those are music and sex.

“Min Yoongi, get out of my class!”, the professor’s agitated yell echoes throughout the classroom and all the students are left to watch a fuming Yoongi storm out, slamming the door behind him. “Fucking asshole”, he growls marching up to his locker and starting to take out his things. “I swear that was the last straw! I’m going to drop out!”, he mutters frustratingly slipping his guitar’s strap over his shoulder and shoving his laptop along with his music equipment in his bag. “Fuck those shitty professors! Acting like they care whether I become successful or not, while all they do is promote their own favourites. What a shitshow! As if fake support and perfect grades will get me to my dream. I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m going to get there on my own!”, he determinedly grumbles to himsef slamming his locker shut. “Yoongi-ssi”, her gentle voice is immediately recognised by him and he halts his movements turning around to face her.

Y/N; one of his classmates, a quiet and mellow girl who Yoongi has developed a soft spot for. “Sweetheart, I’ve told you before to stop adressing me so formally”, he chastises her with a small smile and a tender gaze, his frustration slowly dissipating. She mumbles a timid apology with a slight bow of her head before raising her eyes to meet his. “You shouldn’t drop out”, she tells him attentively, taking a step towards him. “You heard that huh?”, he half-smirks leaning his body against the lockers as he takes out his pack of cigarettes, not missing the frown that instantly takes over her features. He’s aware of her disapproval of him smoking but he can’t force himself to quit it; it helps him cool off whenever he’s upset. Having placed the cigarette between his lips, he glances over at her while he lights it, chuckling at her reaction. “You’re cute when you pout”, he teases enjoying the red tint on her cheeks that only he seems to be able to evoke.

One might wonder why he hasn’t already made a move on her. The reason behind that is because he doesn’t feel like he deserves her; he’s a rebel and she’s a sweetheart. He can’t trust his unstable self around her, sooner or later his reckless actions would hurt her. “After you left, professor Han announced to us that a showcase is going to be held at the end of the month where every student has to participate-”, his nonchalant groan interjects her making her memontarily pause before continuing unbothered by his evident expression of disdain. “He also mentioned that representatives from certain music companies will be present, on the look-out for new recruits”, she finishes her sentence knowing full well that by the end of it, she’s got his attention back. And she was right... Yoongi’s eyes gleam conspiratorily as the cogs in his brain start turning full-speed, brainstorming tons of ideas before ultimately settling on one, “Let’s do a performance together”.

Despite his rebellious tendancies, slacking off has never been a part of Yoongi’s vocabulary so the moment Y/N agrees to their collaboration, he has thrown himself right into work; coming up with a series of melodies and beats while trying to put together the best song he’s ever produced. After all, he has a knack for constantly surpassing his previous works and outdoing himself. “This is amazing Yoongi!”, and of course, the sight of Y/N’s impressed face when she listens to the final result is a bonus. A proud smirk appears on his face pushing aside his usually humble self; a behaviour brought out solely by her expression of admiration towards him. “Glad you like it. Can I trust you to have the lyrics figured out by the end of the weekend?”, he asks reverting back to his professional self. “It’s Friday... I’ll have them done by tomorrow night! You can count on me, Yoongi”, she grins widely at him, determination flashing over her clear eyes. He smiles satisfied with her work ethic, gathering his equipment from around the studio of their university where they had arranged to meet up. “Alright then! So... Want to go grab a drink or something?”, he suggests casually and when she shoots him a quizzical look, he reveals to her his habit of rewarding himself after finishing a project by indulging in the calming sensation of alcohol. Giggling at that, Y/N agrees in a heartbeat.

----

“How can you still look so pure? Naked and writhing under me”. He tried to resist. Really, he tried. How had an innocent offer for a drink led to this? “Yoongi please”. When did things go off track? Was it when the conversation somehow ended up heading to their past sex experiences? Was it when she revealed how much she craved to be eaten out since her fingers were not good enough for her anymore? Was that his breaking point? His eyes had darkened as he processed her drunken confession and without wasting another moment, he rushed her out of the bar they had been lounging at - the one he’d always opted for since it’s the closest to his apartment. Thanking the heavens for this convenience, Yoongi led the girl only two blocks down the street gently pulling her along by the grip his long, slender fingers had on her wrist. It wasn’t until he reached his doorstep that the reality of what he was rushing her into dawned on him and guilt started to consume him. He became so eager that he didn’t even glimpse at her the entire time. If he did, he could have at least gathered from her body language or expressions whether she was as eager to do this as him. He mentally facepalms himself for almost taking advantage of her innocence like that and proceeds to loosen his grip on her turning around to voice his apology. “Are we not gonna go in?”, her voice laced with anticipation reaches his ears before he’s able to complete neither of his intented actions; his fingers remaining encircled around her wrist, his apology dying in his throat. What he turned to face was the sight of her clear, impatient eyes gazing up at him, her cheeks flashed and her thighs tightly pressed together. Yeah... That was his breaking point.

Nose brushing against the skin of her inner thigh, Yoongi resumes his previous actions ignoring defiantly the begging whimpers of the innocent girl whose legs are wide open for him. “You’re so loud”, he sighs with a low chuckle as he finally stops his trail of wet kisses on her thighs. “Alright, if you need it so much... I’ll give it to you”, he smirks as his index finger creeps over to the part of her that seems to be calling out to him; glistening with her arousal, clenching over nothing. Yoongi only but presses his finger against her clit, slightly rubbing on it and that’s all it takes for him to hear the sweetest moan fall past her lips. “Is that it? That’s what you were whining about? Hm... You’re easier to please than I thought”, he mocks her moving his finger down her slit before he brings it - now coated with her arousal - over to his mouth. He doesn’t break eye contact, his intense gaze remaining on her as his finger leaves his mouth with an intentional ‘pop’. Y/N knows he is only teasing her. She knows Min Yoongi isn’t stupid. He had known what she craved for him to do the moment she was left lying naked under him, her legs parting as she bared herself to him. So, she whines his name again looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and pouty lips. "You're cute when you pout", a smirking Yoongi mumbles knowing she's had enough of his teasing by now. And so, his smirk disappears into her dripping and pulsating core as he starts to ravish her; wet lips pressing down fervently, skillfull mouth moving eagerly as if it belongs to a man who has been starved for days. “Now sing for me, your moans are the sweetest music”, he whispers with his warm tongue flicking her clit which causes her body to jolt and his request to be fulfilled. A string of moans fall past her open lips and her small fingers tangle themselves in his hair tugging them firmly in search of a way to channel the immense pleasure surging through her body.

Yoongi’s senses are overwhelmed by her voice, scent and taste and his resolve to go easy on her is easily broken. His slender fingers grip her thighs pushing her knees to her chest as he plunges his tongue in and out of her more forcefully. He feels her legs start to tremble as she continues to moan and mumble incoherently about how good it feels. This only adds to his fervour; two fingers take his tongue's place inside her slit and his tongue moves over to suck on her clit. That does it for Y/N. Her head drops back on the bed and her back arches against it as she reaches a toe-curling orgasm. Yoongi removes his fingers but not his tongue, simply slowing its movement instead, in order to prolong her pleasure. Y/N rides out her high humming in satisfaction before giving his hair another slight tug to let him know she's done.

A dazed smile appears on her lips when Yoongi lifts his head and locks eyes with her. "Good girl. Such a good girl for me", he praises her with a half-smile, half-smirk squeezing her thighs softly. His sturdy body then moves up to press against her own bringing them face to face. She simply stares at him too breathless to voice her own thoughts. Even more so when he kisses her deeply letting her taste herself on his tongue as he swipes it over her own. Y/N moans in his mouth, desperately wanting to reciprocate the pleasure she just experienced. Getting more daring, she sucks on his tongue lowering her hands towards his clothed erection. Yoongi won't deny that he's been feeling his cock straining in his jeans all while eating her out. When he notices her getting more daring, he pulls away from the kiss and casts his gaze down to the sight of her nimble fingers fumbling with his zipper. "Too eager, aren't we now, sweetheart?", Yoongi teases her slightly biting onto his lip while he waits for her next move. "I want to pleasure you too, Yoongi", Y/N states confidently, her words all the more fuelling his lust for her.

His hand joins hers to remove his jeans and he hastily kicks them off along with his briefs. Hardly does his erection make its appearance before Y/N's hands are touching it, feeling his hard cock up and down eagerly. Yoongi groans from the pleasure he's suddenly receiving, burying his face in her neck and sloppily sucking on it while he lets her do what she wants with him. A small whimper is all Y/N allows herself to release, her mind now set on only pleasuring him. Her thumb swipes across the tip of his cock smearing his arousal all over the head, before she resumes to vertically stroking his cock. "Ff-fuck Y/N, keep going", Yoongi grumbles under his ragged breath, his hands gripping the sheets on its side of her body as he hovers over her. She glances up at him with a satisfied smile, only now noticing how straining his position appears to be. Using her other hand, Y/N grasps Yoongi's shoulder firmly, pushing him to the side and making him lie down on his back. Her other hand keeps working on his cock, as she moves to straddle his legs, "Much better", she comments earning a simple nod from Yoongi as he lets out a deep breath, visibly relaxed and now more open to the pleasure he's receiving. Y/N slightly tightens her grip around his slim girth and moves her hand more swiftly on his long length. Shivers travel through her entire body, almost making her halt her movements, when she hears him let out a low moan. "Dammit Y/N", Yoongi hisses with his jaw clenched, abruptly lifting his torso and grabbing the girl by her hips. His lips find hers in a fervent kiss whilst she continues to stroke his cock.

"Y/N, I need you to answer me something...", a panting Yoongi murmurs against her lips placing his hand on top of her own to halt her actions. "Are we going to go all the way or...?", he trails off looking her straight in the eyes with a serious expression. Y/N glances down at his cock, erect in her hold between them, raising Yoongi’s doubts of whether she actually wants to do this with him or not. He deems his concerns as justified when he sees her lift herself off of his lap, drawing away from him. A deep frown settles on his lips in disappointment until he realises that she's settling herself beside him; lying down on her back and opening her legs for him. Once again, Yoongi erases all of his inhibitions - hastily taking out a condom from the drawer of his bedside table and eagerly moving to place himself between her legs after having put it on. "Are you sure about this, sweetheart?", he asks for her permission once again, gently cupping the outer side of her thighs. "Yes, I'm sure Yoongi. I want this, so don't hold back", she answers him urging him to go on with a roll of her hips towards his awaiting cock. That's the last consent Yoongi is going to take tonight...

Keeping one of his hands on her thigh, he uses the other to guide his cock to where she needs him most, entering her with a slow push. A whine slips past her now parted lips, drawing his attention. Yoongi focuses his gaze on her, drinking in the sight of her beautiful face twisted in pleasure, before moving his hips until his whole cock is buried deep inside her. He watches as she squirms and whimpers under him, wrapping her legs around him and pulling his body close. Her soft skin is burning hot against his with each one of his languid moves and her breathless moans sound melodic to his ears. As his rhythm accelerates, the sound of the raw contact between their bare flesh acts like the bass line to a song, providing him all the more satisfaction. His ears pick up on the moment her breath becomes more shallow, immediately knowing that she's close to coming undone. So, Yoongi leans in to Y/N’s ear urging her in a whisper, "Cum around me, sweetheart". It's like he flipped a switch in her because in that exact moment, he feels her walls tightening around his cock as she cums, granting him his own orgasm as well.

Normally, if this was just a hook-up, Yoongi would already be lying on his back and lighting up a cigar while watching the random chick put her clothes back on to depart. With Y/N it's different, though. After disposing of the condom, when Yoongi lies on his back, he doesn’t reach for his pack of cigars - instead, he reaches for her; pulling her body close to him as he hugs her waist. Closing his eyes, he relishes in the rhythm of her trying to steady her breath and the tuneful, satisfied hum that follows after she snuggles up to his side.

It is then that Yoongi realises that having sex with her feels the same as making music. And damn, he fully enjoys doing both.

#bts #bts x reader #min yoongi #suga #agustd #smut #bts smut #suga smut #yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #music

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rosewaterandivy · 5 months

Text

Epilogue | for once in my life

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C: 5.7k

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, yearning, Tuscan summers, a flashback or two, a wedding, and my usual filth™️

A/N: Thanks for bearing with me while I worked on an ending for our two beloved idiots. 🥺 Truthfully, part of me put off writing the epilogue simply because I didn’t want to let Trouble and Steve go— they’re so near and dear to me! But, all good things must come to an end and I hope I’ve given them a fitting one. Thank you all for reading along and sharing your joy with me, it’s been incredible to experience! 💜💜💜

Series masterlist | Series Playlist | trouble will find me (for Trouble, most ardently) | rebel without a clue (for Steve, with love)

The distance was difficult, only mitigated by the positively unreal Tuscan summer. Though the university was in Bologna in the Emilia-Romagna region, since your classes centered on Dante, you along with a few other students, called Florence your home away from home for the summer.

The sun shone bright and hot against the ancient stones of Palazzo Medici Riccardi, and felt good against your back as you lazed in the garden and courtyard on a rare day off from combing through medieval texts in jam-packed libraries and dust motes floating through the air.

Crossing the bustling street you popped into your local gelateria only to be greeted with an exuberant, “Bella!” from Alessandro behind the counter. “Finally you grace us with your presence,” He teases, already scooping out a serving of arancia rossa sorbetto for you into a cup.

“Grazie,” You say with a smile, taking the sorbetto from his outstretched hand. “Had a slow start to the morning is all, Sandro.”

“Certo, I know how it is,” He says with a knowing wink.

To be fair, the slow start to the day was warranted, given the stress-induced dream you had last night. There you were, minding your own business, thinking about Steve and the voice note he’d left you earlier, and the next thing you know, your brain decided a trip down memory lane was warranted.

“But what do I do about the dress?” Your voice is choked, tongue stumbling over the words.

It hangs in your closet, mocking you. A pink dust bag with an elegant calligraphy card that lists your former wedding date and ex-fiancé’s last name. Robin’s fingers graze the zipper on the garment bag, fingers slowly settling along the pull.

“You could try it on?”

She says it as if she wishes she didn’t have to, as if the next time you would put on the wedding dress would be for the alteration appointment which you had already canceled, along with everything else.

Truthfully, the day you found the dress wasn’t at all what you expected it to be. Sure, you’d looked around online and at a few boutiques with Nancy, Robin, your mother, and would-be mother-in-law. Nothing struck your fancy though, each dress you slipped on had something wrong with it— too tight, too loose, too many embellishments, not enough embellishments, too heavy...

It was Steve who suggested the boutique, actually. One of his mother’s friends had a daughter who’d gotten her dress from a place in Indianapolis and said the service and selection were both top-notch. So you went and made a day trip out of it; Eddie and Steve would drop you and the girls off at the boutique and hang out in the city for the day.

Though, they really did try to weasel their way in to the appointment.

“The fact that you won’t let us join you is misandry.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh. “No, it isn’t, Eds!”

“Okay,” he relents, turning around to face you in the backseat, “Maybe not misandry, but definitely discriminatory. Dudes just wanna have fun!”

Steve laughs, pulling up in front of the boutique, waves to your mother who’s waiting on the sidewalk. “Y’never know,” he teases, “Could need a second opinion in there. Especially once they open the champagne.”

Eddie squawks at that, “You get to try on dresses and drink booze? I’m offended I’ve been left out here.”

Robin opens the backdoor with a roll of her eyes, “No boys allowed, dingus.”

You follow suit, giving Steve a small smile, “Thanks for driving us.”

His gaze softens, eyes meeting yours, “Happy to help. Now, go find a stunner in there for us, will ya?”

With a shake of your head, you bring yourself back to the moment. Sitting on the floor of your former home, moving boxes and tape littering the floor ready for you to pack up the pieces of your life. You look to Robin again, she’s unzipped the garment bag entirely revealing the bodice and skirt of the gown.

She watches you thoughtfully, “I mean, just to see if you still like it? That way we’ll know if we need to pack it or sell it.”

Sighing, you wipe your damp palms against your thighs and stand up. “Yeah,” you breathe, “Okay.”

Between the two of you, you managed to wrestle into the dress. Robin securing the delicate straps as you adjust the cups and situate yourself. The door creaks open to reveal Nancy, her eyes bright with interest.

Robin gives up with her attempts to fix the zipper and numerous buttons on the back, steps aside for Nancy to intervene.

“You’re gorgeous, babe,” Robin says, voice soft. “It looks amazing on you! Same as the day we found it.”

“It’s one hell of a dress.” Nancy agrees, the zipper pull sliding home. “No one would say no to you in that.”

Your laugh comes out as a choked thing, wet and raspy. You wipe your eyes in an effort to prevent any tears from falling. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He didn’t even have to see the dress to know that he no longer wanted you.

“Thanks, guys.”

Feeling brave enough to look at the mirror, you pause in perusal. And sure enough, it’s a stunner. Delicate lace embellished the corseted bodice, waist nipped just enough to amplify the bust. The skirt flowed down in layers of silk and tulle, the lace accenting the frothy peaks and valleys of it.

Turning, you noticed the low-dip of the back, highlighted by the beginnings of the train. It was a gown meant for a cathedral wedding, a long aisle as you walked toward the altar. A beautiful wedding dress for a wedding that no longer was.

It was getting difficult to justify keeping it.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, bursting into the room slack-jawed, “Your tits look great!”

Robin smacks him, “No boys allowed, dingus!”

“Yeah, Eddie, don’t you know what a closed door means?”

He grins, “I think we know by now that, no, I clearly do not.”

Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, you turn to Nancy eyes wide. “Nance, the door–”

She shuts it quickly, keeping a hand on the knob. Robin and Eddie stop their bickering long enough to share a meaningful glance. You fist the full of the skirt in both hands and motion for Robin’s help in getting the dress off.

“Uh.” Steve says, voice muffled through the closed door, “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing!” You’re quick to respond, trying and failing to keep the panic from your voice, “Just packing up some stuff.”

“Riiiight.” He drawls, “Then do I hear Eddie in there talking about tits?”

“Hey man,” Eddie says in his own defense. “I just wandered in here, I know nothing.”

“And why is the door locked?”

Nance’s eyes go to the doorknob as it jiggles in her hand. “We’re trying to figure out what to do with the dress,” she says in a breathless rush.

If looks could kill, Nancy would have dropped to the floor. You narrow your eyes at her and turn with a huff.

“What dress— t-the wedding dress?”

“Yes, Steve.” Robin sighs. “That’s the one.”

The doorknob swivels again, “C’mon, just open the door guys. Eddie’s seen it and I am officially the only one who hasn’t.”

“No!” You shout.

Everyone stops to look at you, eyes wide.

“I mean,” you sputter indignantly, stepping out of the dress and throwing on your overly large t-shirt. “S’not a big deal, I’ll probably sell it, anyway.”

Robin and Eddie maneuver it back into the garment bag with a zip just as Nancy steps away from the door, gaze soft taking in your drawn face.

Steve stumbles in soon after to find you, pants-less, the hem on your shirt grazing your bare thighs, furiously taping boxes closed and scribbling in sharpie.

“Nothing to see here!” You say, stumbling into your bike shorts, tugging them back up. “No siree, nothing at all.”

His chest falls slightly, looking from you to the pink garment bag and back again. Robin catches the minute change in his expression before he’s picking up a box and carrying it out into the hall, not a word to be said about the dress.

And all that runs through your mind is a frantic buzz of ‘It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress.’ Never mind that you were no longer a bride and Steve was never your intended groom. Any rational know-how kicked from your thoughts in an echo of your hammering heart.

Why your exhausted brain conjured up that particular episode, you had no idea. The instance was promptly forgotten, the dress stored at your parent’s place, and Steve never brought it up again.

Thank God for that.

Maybe it was because of Nancy and Jonathan’s looming nuptials. He’d popped the question not long after Nance moved in, and it had been full-steam ahead since March. The ceremony was to happen at the end of summer, just as your intensive was wrapping up.

She’d nearly had a coronary when you’d expressed your doubts about being able to attend.

“I’m not getting married without you Trouble, so sweet-talk those profs into letting you sit your exams early and get the fuck back home.” She sighs down the line, “There’s only so much of moping Steve we can take— Eddie is about ready to strangle him.”

You huff a laugh, “Yeah, I’m surprised he’s held out this long.”

“Yeah, she agrees dryly, "We all know you two'll take any excuse to get Steve in a headlock.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” You scoff. “That punk needs to be put in his place.”

You’d taken up Nance on her no-nonsense advice and your professors had graciously allowed you to submit your final papers early in order to make the wedding. Unfortunately, you’d miss out on a few of the celebrations like the bridal shower, bachelorette party, and rehearsal dinner— your flight would be landing just as the festivities began— but, Nancy and Jonathan had agreed to help you surprise the gang.

For all Robin, Eddie, and Steve knew there was absolutely, positively no way you could get out of your scheduled final exams. It sucked, as Robin rightfully pointed out, that you’d have to miss your best friend’s wedding but they all understood.

Steve was more hangdog about it than ever.

“Thanks Sandro,” You call out, plastic spoon in your mouth as you quickly step out the door, leaving a €5 note on the counter before he could stop you with a, “Your money is no good here, bella!”

Your phone buzzes in your bag, ducking under an awning your scramble through your well-worn tote bag to find it, throwing your sunglasses on in the process.

“Hey Fratty light,” You greet with a smile, spooning another cool helping of blood orange flavored ice into your mouth. “Do any good keg stands lately?”

Steve’s laugh nearly eclipses the warmth of the sun on your skin, a surge of heat building low in your stomach.

“At least I didn’t fall off the keg.”

“That was one time!” You scoff, jogging across the street before an aggressive Vespa can mow you down. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you give the driver the ombrello gesture and shout, “Vaffanculo!”

He chuckles at your outburst, “Tell ‘em babe!”

“I’ll have you know, I stuck that landing Harrington and, it was quite the crowd-pleaser if I recall.”

“Sure Trouble,” You can nearly hear the eye roll at your expense, “It was the landing and not the fact that you were wearing those panties.”

The fact that he remembered the pair in question has you reeling, you nearly run into a fellow pedestrian in your dazed state.

“Anyway,” You say, cleaning your throat. “What’s on the sad boy agenda for today? Getting into divorced dad rock, any Matchbox-20 or Creed in your future?”

“God, you’re awful, and no, thanks very much.”

You hear a door slam and a car engine turn over. Someone muttering about Steve’s ‘utter lack of taste’ in music— Eddie, without a doubt.

He sighs down the line, pulling on your heartstrings because you miss them all so damn much, but Steve most of all.

“Just helping with some wedding stuff.” His voice is softer, sadder knowing you won’t be there to celebrate with them. “Boring shit, you know.”

You hum in agreement, “Well I’ll let you get to it. Don’t let Eddie flirt with too many bridesmaids!”

“You got it, chief,” Steve says, “Take care of yourself babe.”

“You too, big boy.” A huff of laughter at hearing his scoff, “Byyyeeee.”

And maybe it happens like Nance said it would, things just fall into place when they’re meant to.

After a flight from hell— a toddler would not, for love or money, stop kicking the back of your seat on the evening flight from Milan to Berlin, and you were stuck in the backmost row from Berlin to Indianapolis on the red-eye. It was a miracle you rolled up to your parents' house in one piece. You’d arrive at the venue to get ready with the rest of the bridal party where you’d hopefully be able to keep Robin sworn to secrecy.

You weren’t above putting her into a headlock, if it came down to it.

Dress, shoes, and make-up bag hastily thrown in your mom’s car, you drove to the venue just outside of Hawkins. A lovely little outdoor property owned by a local family, groves of trees and the finest collection of wildflowers you’d ever seen— fitting for Nancy and Jonathan.

You arrive in a slightly mussed frenzy, arms weighed down with your bridesmaid dress and a weekend bag that did fuck-all to protect you from the sudden onslaught of summer rain. Cursing the permeability of Indiana summers, you walk swiftly toward the bridal cottage.

The squelch of your shoes and drops of rain accompany you across the tiled path. Breathe. A steady inhale pulls the comforting scent of petrichor to your lungs, tucked safely behind the cage of your ribs. A shift in the light, a cloud makes way for the sun to shine once more; you scramble for the club masters perched on your head, impossibly tangled (of course) in a damp nest of hair.

Pried free, you rest the glasses against your nose bridge and stroll to the door. Before you can wrestle a hand free to knock, the door swings open to reveal a tipsy Vickie and bemused Nancy. A smirk settles on your lips as the two shuffle you into the cottage, tutting at the state of your hair and general tardiness.

“It is a wedding y’know,” Vickie teases grabbing the canvas bag from you. “Could make an effort to be on time.” She drops a wink your way before absconding toward the vanity table to deliver your belongings elsewhere.

Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes, taking the dresses from your arm. “Ignore her,” she soothes, “Seems the title of temporary co-M.O.H. has gone straight to her head.” She shoves a flute of champagne into your empty hand and leads you inside. “But you’re here, so the title can rightfully fall to you.”

“And how is the blushing bride?” You smile, taking in her cool, calm demeanor.

She’s notoriously hard to ruffle, so you’re not surprised to find Nancy the same as ever, albeit a tad buzzed from the champagne.

“Fuck a duck!” Robin shouts, colliding with part of the doorway as she takes the corner to quickly in her haste to get to you, having heard your voice from down the hall. She trips falling into you in a quasi-hug that’s mostly all elbows jabbed into your ribs.

“Walk with dignity, you overgrown toddler,” You laugh sipping some champagne, wrapping your arm around her in a proper hug. She buries her face into your neck with a smile. “And before you even ask, no you cannot, under any circumstance, tell your emotional support Steve about this.”

You feel her frown before she pulls back from you, “I can keep a secret y’know.”

“I don’t doubt it Bucks, just wanna surprise him is all.”

“He has no idea? Oh shit, this is gonna be good.” She says with a cackle before trotting off to help Vickie with her dress.

“Alright Wheels,” You announce polishing off your flute of champagne, “Let me at it, where’s the hairspray?”

After furious coating of L’Oreal’s finest to her hair after you’d secured a few flowers in place, you cough in a haze of hairspray and sagely advise, “That’s good for three slow dances, two fast ones, and one Lambada…” You warn, capping the canister to set it aside. “But if you wanna mosh, I’d suggest another coat.”

Nancy laughs at the suggestion, “I think we’re good.” She checks your handiwork in the mirror with a smile, “Can I ask you something Trouble?”

“Shoot.”

She turns to face you and lowers her voice to a whisper while the other bridesmaids are busy with false eyelashes and zipping up dresses. “Have you given any thought to what I said back in May?”

Ah, that conversation. The one where she (lovingly) warned you off of Steve if you weren’t certain about your feelings for him. Your big, overwhelming feelings. As if you could forget them, even thousands of miles away.

“You know,” You begin, voice pitched to meet hers, “I had a bit of time to think over the summer, no distractions, just me and the Tuscan sun.”

She stands to slip into her dress and you follow to assist— it’s a beautiful number, all minimal sleek lines and fitted to her like a glove. Nancy is gorgeous, but Nancy on her wedding day is otherworldly. She dutifully turns for you to button up the back and arrange the train for photos.

“And?”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, hers curious but not prying, yours wide, reeling from it all— the pro/con lists, numerous conversations with your mom, Eddie, and Nance, the letters, emails, voice notes, calls and texts from Steve. Somehow, some way they all amounted to this:

“You remember my twenty-first birthday?”

“How could I forget,” She chuckles knowingly, “Spin the bottle, right?”

A nod, you busy yourself smoothing out the few lines in the silhouette of the dress. “And a bit of liquid courage.”

There is no good reason why the eight of you should be doing this. Back at the loft after a night of carousing and bar-hopping, imbibed enough complimentary birthday drinks that spin the bottle seemed like a good idea. Even if the bottle in question is some ridiculously expensive high-roller shit swiped from Mr. Harrington’s study.

You’re warm, leaning on Eddie’s shoulder and whispering in his ear— goading him about kissing someone. Steve hopes it’s not you.

The glass mouth of the bottle spins to a stop in front of Jonathan who groans loudly before clambering over the whoops and hollers.

“Lay it on ‘im Munson!”

You tip backwards and shriek in glee when their lips touch. Eddie returns to your side with a roll of his eyes, pokes your knee with his finger. “Pucker up, buttercup. You’re next.”

Argyle cracks his knuckles, taps his chin thoughtfully, “Alright chica.” He says, “Hope you get Nance or Vic. Make it nice and steamy up in here.”

Steve hopes it’s him and not Nancy, selfishly. The rest of them be damned, if the bottle lands on him he’s going to frog-leap over Eddie, shove him to the side and kiss you good. If it lands on anyone else, he may get arrested for murder tonight.

There’s really no excuse for it— the longing. Best friends since childhood who drifted apart because, as always, he was a dumbass. Kissed you all of one time after the Homecoming dance freshman year and that was barely a peck.

The bottle lands on Vickie.

Slightly tipsy and putting on a show, you bite your bottom lip and lean in, slanting your mouth over hers with a soft sigh. The sound sinks into Steve’s gut and he groans in agony— jealous you’d rather kiss his ex or the redhead rather than him. Nevermind that the bottle was nowhere near landing on him.

“Keep it PG, ladies!” Robin calls, “This is taking way too long!”

“Bucks, shut up. I’m trying to take a video.” Nancy slaps the phone from Eddie’s hand.

Having had enough of it all, Steve stands. “Not that this isn’t how I want to spend my night…” he mumbles, hands patting his thighs. “But I’m peacing out.”

You look up, distracted, and bottom lip a little wet from Vickie, eyes hazy from the long night of celebrating, and quirk your head. “You leavin’, Stevie? Wan’ me to walk you?”

“What— like he’s gonna get lost from here to his room?”

Steve is going to get arrested tonight for murdering Eddie. Tries to keep his cool, regardless.

“S’okay birthday girl, I’ll be fine. You have fun.”

You hop up anyway, a bit blundering in your step, and grab his hand to yank him forward. “C’mon… I gotcha.” Fortified with liquor, you tug him along, turning a corner and chattering about how as much as you appreciate that expensive whiskey, you’d rather have a beer. There’s nothing better than some pretzels, beer, and a movie.

“Oh, uh, s-sorry.” Your hand loosens before you pull it away, self-consciously.

“For what?”

“I know we haven’t been, like, close for a while now. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Oh. The realization dawns on him now, like a crash of lightning— you think he’s guarded… but he’s only been reserved for your sake.

He calls your name, followed by a murmured, “C’mere for a second.”

You lean against his bedroom door, dazed but curious. Steve steps forward until you’re nearly chest to chest, back against the wood. Your mouth opens with a nearly inaudible gasp, but he can see your pulse kick up in your throat. “Yeah?”

"You remember our first kiss?" He waits for you to nod before continuing. "I think I owe you a do-over."

Confusion flits across your face, a solitary brow quirked up in interest. "You wanna mulligan my first kiss, like... seven years after the fact?"

He ducks his chin in embarrassment, skin flushing with heat. "Yeah, I mean, if you're open to it?" He scratches the back of his neck and mumbles, "I just think you deserve better."

You bite your lip in thought, and Steve wants nothing more than to shrivel up and die— but then, you nod, and before he can think better of it, he takes his chance.

Purposefully, Steve tilts your face up fingers, trailing along your chin and jaw, thumbing the full of your bottom lip. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears, all whooshes and erratic beats, almost enough to drown out the words that fall from his lips.

And then, the perfect genius that is Steve Harrington leans down to close the distance between you. Satisfied that your face is tilted just so, his hand sweeps back your hair to cradle your head as his lips descend to yours.

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in world— like it isn’t past three in the morning and you’re about a minute from slipping under. He kisses lazy, slow, and sublime. Presses you closer to him, an arm winding around your waist to pull you from the wall. More, kissing—tongues and lips and teeth— more of that touch you’ve only dreamed about and you want to kick yourself for missing it, for even daring to fantasize when the real thing is so much more.

Your palms are on his chest, pawing at him for leverage, struggling to refrain from bucking your hips up into him like you so desperately want to do. Steve pulls back with a contented sigh, and you’re surprised there isn’t a string of saliva strung between the pair of your for all the swapping spit that just occurred. There’s nothing but you and him. His gaze, so tentative and sweet, meets yours briefly as he stands back hands shoved quickly into his pockets.

“I meant something like that.”

Your mouth tugs at a corner, as if you could laugh or cry. Or smile.

Steve lets out a breathy chuckle, brandishes a small, hopeful smile, and runs a hand through his hair.

You nod. And it’s enough.

“I–I think I’ve known for a while.” You admit sheepishly, looking for any last-minute adjustments that need to be made before the precessional. One hand grasping her train, you follow Nancy toward the door. Taking a shaky breath in, you say, "Guess some part of me has been in love with him since I fell off the fence and into his backyard that first summer."

She stops short and turns back to you elated because she knows the story all too well. Steve doesn't get drunk enough to talk about it often–- the man has a wooden leg, hand to god. But once in a blue moon, it'll happen: how the new neighbor's daughter nearly busted her ass sneaking back home way after her curfew, too buzzed on shitty wine coolers and reeking of weed to realize that she'd fallen on the wrong side of the fence.

Hastily, Robin thrusts a bouquet of flowers into Nancy’s hand. Just before the band starts up, Nancy gives your hand a squeeze and advises, “Sometimes what’s meant for you comes back, Trouble. Don’t let it slip by, okay?”

Steve is just looking to survive the day, he’ll be grateful to get through, honestly.

He was beyond bummed you couldn’t be there for Nance’s wedding and that he’d be sitting with her cousin instead— she’d talked his ear off during the rehearsal dinner last night about her current rewatch of Sex and The City. He’d never been so relieved to be pulled into bridal party duties by Eddie than he was that night.

And, to top it off, you weren’t answering your phone. Logically, he knew you’d be in exams for most of the day but you normally sent him a text or voice note once you woke up or before you made it to class for the day.

He’s pathetic. Eddie forced him to leave his phone in the groom’s suite and now he feels phantom vibrations from something that isn’t even in his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he lines up ready to escort Vickie and mentally preparing himself for a detailed recounting of the havoc that Samantha’s absence has caused the SATC franchise from the Wheeler cousin.

“You know,” A lazy, familiar voice drawls to his right, “If I was a riptide, I wouldn’t take you out.” An arm loops through his, comfortable and intimate.

But no— it couldn’t possibly be…

“Hey, Harrington.” You say, quietly, knocking your hips to his, casually holding a bouquet in your hand, all easy smiles and warm touches. When Steve finally does turn, he blinks a few times to confirm that you're not some hallucination.

Because you’re here, impossibly, you’re home, and everything is finally right in the world.

You reach over to straighten his tie, the alexandrite ring gleaming on your right hand and catching the light.

“How did you—” He stammers, bereft of language.

But then there’s that smirk he adores. “Some of us are stealthy, y’know. Like a ninja.”

“Oh, fuck me right in the mouth.” He laughs loud and bright, a few people turn back in their chairs to look.

You sputter briefly as the precessional begins, hand lighting on his arm with a gentle squeeze. “Uh, that can certainly be arranged, Harrington.”

In that moment he knew, with a certain sense of finality, that he had no choice but to love you; all his love and, if he’s being honest, fear, reflected there in your eyes.

The ceremony is beautiful, of course, and the reception is now in full swing. The new Mr. and Mrs. Byers shared an adorable first dance to “At Last” by Ella Fitzgerald, which nearly had you tearing up before Steve twirled you out onto the dancefloor.

“Hey, good lookin’,” He says with a smile so sweet, it almost makes you weak in the knees.

It’s a slow song, something to get the couples up and out of their seats. Over his shoulder you spy Robin and Vickie making goony eyes at eachother while Eddie and Argyle stumble around both trying to lead the other— idiots.

“Hi, Steve.” You reply, eyes making their way back to him. “Y’know, they say you should never trust a man who can dance.”

“And why’s that, honey?”

You shrug, “Dunno. Apparently they’re all heartbreakers or something.”

Steve, thanks to his mother’s needling and his father’s need to keep up appearances, could dance. He’d escorted many a debutante, including yourself, during Cotillion. You can still hear Savannah’s nasally “Did you know that five out of six debs marry their escorts?”

But, then again, she was also drinking from the fun flask at the ripe age of sixteen. So, do with that what you will.

He spins you easily, like it’s nothing, and before you know it you’re back in his arms. His brow is furrowed in thought, but what he could possibly be thinking you hadn’t a clue. So you continue to follow his lead across the dance floor and silently thank Mrs. Harrington for forcing you and Steve into those dance classes way back when, even if he stepped on your toes and you retaliated with an accidental elbow to his ribs— knock-kneed teens the pair of you.

So much has changed since then.

The music pauses, as someone announces that the bride will toss the bouquet. You go to find the bar, but Steve promises he’ll come back with a drink for you instead and then Eddie is hustling you toward the crowd of “single ladies.”

“Eds, no.” You attempt to swat him away, but he’s having none of it.

“Far as I know, you and Harrington are fuck buddies. No declarations,” His eyes fall to your left hand, “No ring. Beyoncé would insist, sugar.”

You’ve always had a sixth sense about things. When you were younger, your family and friends often thought it was an ability— but in truth, it’s just a mixture of careful perception, logical thinking, and educated guessing.

But not even your sixth sense could explain how you’d ended up catching the bouquet. Especially with a vodka and tonic in one hand and standing at the rear of the gaggle of gals gathered for the event. Didn’t even want to take part, far more interested in finding the coat check room and seeing how long it would take Steve to blow his load once you finally got your mouth on him.

So it’s a surprise, either luck or Nance’s killer aim, when her bouquet lands in your hand, the ribbon wrapped stems falling neatly into your palm just as you turn to shout something at Eddie behind you. Catching Steve’s knowing smirk and hearing Eddie’s piercing wolf-whistle, you give him an exaggerated wink before tossing back your drink.

It’s not long after that, a few more spins around the dance floor, some cake, and more liquor, tasteful toasts from you and Argyle, fond farewells to the newlyweds and bags thrown into cars for a quick getaway, that Steve tosses you— bouquet in hand, over his shoulder and dips out of there. Ignoring Eddie’s teasing of Irish exits and Irish twins, he sets you on your feet again to lean you against the car and kisses you positively stupid.

But it’s not a surprise when Steve finally asks you the question he’s been dying to for nearly the entire summer on the drive home, Nancy’s bouquet resting against the dash as you toe off your heels.

“Hey mind-reader, how long did it take?”

“Hmm?” Pleasantly sleepy from jet lag, your mind struggles to spark a fuse of comprehension. Steve raises a solitary brow in interest.

"Whaddya mean?" You mumble out between stifled yawns.

His hand rests on your leg while he drives, big and warm, his fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress. Steve, bless him, won't press you on it, but he also wouldn't have asked something so casually for no reason. He's crafty like a fox when he wants to be.

You take a breath and let yourself really think about it. If you’re taking the question seriously, which you damn well should, he deserves an explanation. Hesitantly, you remind Steve of the near fiasco with the wedding dress back at your old place. He nods at your rambling, how guilty and scared you felt at shutting him out.

“So, yeah, between the moving-in playlist and me being bat-shit terrified of you seeing me in a wedding dress,” You summarize, fingers finding their way to his once more. The warm glow of the streetlights cast shafts of light through the windows. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a window, Steve Harrington," You conclude with a smirk.

His eyes widen in realization, “Oh, so that’s what you were apologizing for before left for Joshua Tree.” An annoyed sigh before a sharp inhale takes its place. “You’re so stupid.”

Back at the loft, fumbling hands in elevators lips spit slick and ruddied, Steve bats away your grabby hands with an exasperated huff as they light upon his chest. Nearly dropping his keys when they find a better way to occupy themselves.

Once inside, he presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collarbones and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs, kicking the door close, and instinctively pulling everything off.

He peels his shirt off and throws it onto the floor while you shimmy out of your dress. His mouth hasn’t left yours for anything other than to breathe.

His hands stop at the curve of your hips. The room is spinning— the entire world moving too fast in a feverish haze. Years of close-quartered friendship and the first intimate touches in months have jumped right into the deep end. You don’t even know when the two of you made way back into his room, but the door clicks shut with a kick from his foot.

“Hey, mind-reader, I got two questions for you,” Steve calls teasingly. “First, how big did you think I was, y'know before? When you accused me of, how did you put it... harboring a fugitive?”

Your brain briefly short-circuits at that, mildly embarrassed. He laughs at your slow, owlish blinks while you formulate a response other than, "Well, I, uh..."

"Okay, okay," He drops a kiss to your brow, soothing your worries away, “Second…”

You gulp. Your legs feel like jelly— all the smart words in the entire world wiped completely from existence. The pause he takes is punishingly long and the grin he gives you nearly makes you faint.

His pants are shucked somewhere near the bedroom door. One of your hands goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

"S'been a while, do you think you can take it?”

“Oh,” A smirk quirks your lips, hand scrabbling for purchase on his tanned skin, “I think you know I can.”

Later, after frenzied forays in tangled sheets and revelling in the afterglow, you place your hand over his chest, selfishly counting his heartbeats.

You breathe, soft and sweet, “Steve,” the sound of your voice a warm balm in the inky dark. “Steve,” You say again and kiss his neck, turning toward you on the rumpled bed he kisses you, as if he could ever get enough.

“I love you.”

He pulls back, just enough so that you wrap your leg around his hips, sheet slipping off as his fingers trail up your thigh. Grazing the tip of his nose ever so lightly against your temple, you feel the rumble of laughter through his chest as it heaves against yours.

Rolls you onto your back, legs falling open to cradle his hips while he holds himself above you, hair falling into his face, “Took you long enough,” he grins, kissing you again. Your cheeks, your jaw, your chin. “I love you too, honey.”

His love is heavy and you delight in the gravity of it as he slips his way back inside, your hands pulling him closer than anyone can ever or will ever get again. It feels fated— the way your body moves and his responds in kind.

Steve only keens your name in reply.

Spun clear out of your body in the haze, pure joy erupts from your mouth, hands scrambling for him, so woozy and giddy you can’t help it.

So this is love, after all.

Finis.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fan fiction #stranger things fan fiction #modern!steve #teacher!steve #the kids aren't alright - rosewateverandivy #Spotify

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caesarflickermans · 4 months

Text

A TENTH ANNIVERSARY INTERVIEW WITH SUZANNE COLLINS

On the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the publication of The Hunger Games, author Suzanne Collins and publisher David Levithan discussed the evolution of the story, the editorial process, and the first ten years of the life of the trilogy, encompassing both books and films. The following is their written conversation.

NOTE: The following interview contains a discussion of all three books in The Hunger Games Trilogy, so if you have yet to read Catching Fire and Mockingjay, you may want to read them before reading the full interview.

transcript below

DAVID LEVITHAN: Let’s start at the origin moment for The Hunger Games. You were flipping channels one night . . .

SUZANNE COLLINS: Yes, I was flipping through the channels one night between reality television programs and actual footage of the Iraq War, when the idea came to me. At the time, I was completing the fifth book in The Underland Chronicles and my brain was shifting to whatever the next project would be. I had been grappling with another story that just couldn’t get any air under its wings. I knew I wanted to continue to explore writing about just war theory for young audiences. In The Underland Chronicles, I’d examined the idea of an unjust war developing into a just war because of greed, xenophobia, and long-standing hatreds. For the next series, I wanted a completely new world and a different angle into the just war debate.

DL: Can you tell me what you mean by the “just war theory” and how that applies to the setup of the trilogy?

SC: Just war theory has evolved over thousands of years in an attempt to define what circumstances give you the moral right to wage war and what is acceptable behavior within that war and its aftermath. The why and the how. It helps differentiate between what’s considered a necessary and an unnecessary war. In The Hunger Games Trilogy, the districts rebel against their own government because of its corruption. The citizens of the districts have no basic human rights, are treated as slave labor, and are subjected to the Hunger Games annually. I believe the majority of today’s audience would define that as grounds for revolution. They have just cause but the nature of the conflict raises a lot of questions. Do the districts have the authority to wage war? What is their chance of success? How does the reemergence of District 13 alter the situation? When we enter the story, Panem is a powder keg and Katniss the spark.

DL: As with most novelists I know, once you have that origin moment — usually a connection of two elements (in this case, war and entertainment) — the number of connections quickly increases, as different elements of the story take their place. I know another connection you made early on was with mythology, particularly the myth of Theseus. How did that piece come to fit?

SC: I was such a huge Greek mythology geek as a kid, it’s impossible for it not to come into play in my storytelling. As a young prince of Athens, he participated in a lottery that required seven girls and seven boys to be taken to Crete and thrown into a labyrinth to be destroyed by the Minotaur. In one version of the myth, this excessively cruel punishment resulted from the Athenians opposing Crete in a war. Sometimes the labyrinth’s a maze; sometimes it’s an arena. In my teens I read Mary Renault’s The King Must Die, in which the tributes end up in the Bull Court. They’re trained to perform with a wild bull for an audience composed of the elite of Crete who bet on the entertainment. Theseus and his team dance and handspring over the bull in what’s called bull-leaping. You can see depictions of this in ancient sculpture and vase paintings. The show ended when they’d either exhausted the bull or one of the team had been killed. After I read that book, I could never go back to thinking of the labyrinth as simply a maze, except perhaps ethically. It will always be an arena to me.

DL: But in this case, you dispensed with the Minotaur, no? Instead, the arena harkens more to gladiator vs. gladiator than to gladiator vs. bull. What influenced this construction?

SC: A fascination with the gladiator movies of my childhood, particularly Spartacus. Whenever it ran, I’d be glued to the set. My dad would get outPlutarch’s Lives and read me passages from “Life of Crassus,” since Spartacus, being a slave, didn’t rate his own book. It’s about a person who’s forced to become a gladiator, breaks out of the gladiator school/arena to lead a rebellion, and becomes the face of a war. That’s the dramatic arc of both the real-life Third Servile War and the fictional Hunger Games Trilogy.

DL: Can you talk about how war stories influenced you as a young reader, and then later as a writer? How did this knowledge of war stories affect your approach to writing The Hunger Games?

SC: Now you can find many wonderful books written for young audiences that deal with war. That wasn’t the case when I was growing up. It was one of the reasons Greek mythology appealed to me: the characters battled, there was the Trojan War. My family had been heavily impacted by war the year my father, who was career Air Force, went to Vietnam, but except for my myths, I rarely encountered it in books. I liked Johnny Tremain but it ends as the Revolutionary War kicks off. The one really memorable book I had about war was Boris by Jaap ter Haar, which deals with the Siege of Leningrad in World War II.

My war stories came from my dad, a historian and a doctor of political science. The four years before he left for Vietnam, the Army borrowed him from the Air Force to teach at West Point. His final assignment would be at Air Command and Staff College. As his kids, we were never too young to learn, whether he was teaching us history or taking us on vacation to a battlefield or posing a philosophical dilemma. He approached history as a story, and fortunately he was a very engaging storyteller. As a result, in my own writing, war felt like a completely natural topic for children.

DL: Another key piece of The Hunger Games is the voice and perspective that Katniss brings to it. I know some novelists start with a character and then find a story through that character, but with The Hunger Games (and correct me if I’m wrong) I believe you had the idea for the story first, and then Katniss stepped into it. Where did she come from? I’d love for you to talk about the origin of her name, and also the origin of her very distinctive voice.

SC: Katniss appeared almost immediately after I had the idea, standing by the bed with that bow and arrow. I’d spent a lot of time during The Underland Chronicles weighing the attributes of different weapons. I used archers very sparingly because they required light and the Underland has little natural illumination. But a bow and arrow can be handmade, shot from a distance, and weaponized when the story transitions into warfare. She was a born archer.

Her name came later, while I was researching survival training and specifically edible plants. In one of my books, I found the arrowhead plant, and the more I read about it, the more it seemed to reflect her. Its Latin name has the same roots as Sagittarius, the archer. The edible tuber roots she could gather, the arrowhead-shaped leaves were her defense, and the little white blossoms kept it in the tradition of flower names, like Rue and Primrose. I looked at the list of alternative names for it. Swamp Potato. Duck Potato. Katniss easily won the day.

As to her voice, I hadn’t intended to write in first person. I thought the book would be in the third person like The Underland Chronicles. Then I sat down to work and the first page poured out in first person, like she was saying, “Step aside, this is my story to tell.” So I let her.

DL: I am now trying to summon an alternate universe where the Mockingjay is named Swamp Potato Everdeen. Seems like a PR challenge. But let’s stay for a second on the voice — because it’s not a straightforward, generic American voice. There’s a regionalism to it, isn’t there? Was that present from the start?

SC: It was. There’s a slight District 12 regionalism to it, and some of the other tributes use phrases unique to their regions as well. The way they speak, particularly the way in which they refuse to speak like citizens of the Capitol, is important to them. No one in District 12 wants to sound like Effie Trinket unless they’re mocking her. So they hold on to their regionalisms as a quiet form of rebellion. The closest thing they have to freedom of speech is their manner of speaking.

DL: I’m curious about Katniss’s family structure. Was it always as we see it, or did you ever consider giving her parents greater roles? How much do you think the Everdeen family’s story sets the stage for Katniss’s story within the trilogy?

SC: Her parents have their own histories in District 12 but I only included what’s pertinent to Katniss’s tale. Her father’s hunting skills, musicality, and death in the mines. Her mother’s healing talent and vulnerabilities. Her deep love for Prim. Those are the elements that seemed essential to me.

DL: This completely fascinates me because I, as an author, rarely know more (consciously) about the characters than what’s in the story. But this sounds like you know much more about the Everdeen parents than found their way to the page. What are some of the more interesting things about them that a reader wouldn’t necessarily know?

SC: Your way sounds a lot more efficient. I have a world of information about the characters that didn’t make it into the book. With some stories, revealing that could be illuminating, but in the case of The Hunger Games, I think it would only be a distraction unless it was part of a new tale within the world of Panem.

DL: I have to ask — did you know from the start how Prim’s story was going to end? (I can’t imagine writing the reaping scene while knowing — but at the same time I can’t imagine writing it without knowing.)

SC: You almost have to know it and not know it at the same time to write it convincingly, because the dramatic question, Can Katniss save Prim?, is introduced in the first chapter of the first book, and not answered until almost the end of the trilogy. At first there’s the relief that, yes, she can volunteer for Prim. Then Rue, who reminds her of Prim, joins her in the arena and she can’t save her. That tragedy refreshes the question. For most of the second book, Prim’s largely out of harm’s way, although there’s always the threat that the Capitol might hurt her to hurt Katniss. The jabberjays are a reminder of that. Once she’s in District 13 and the war has shifted to the Capitol, Katniss begins to hope Prim’s not only safe but has a bright future as a doctor. But it’s an illusion. The danger that made Prim vulnerable in the beginning, the threat of the arena, still exists. In the first book, it’s a venue for the Games; in the second, the platform for the revolution; in the third, it’s the battleground of Panem, coming to a head in the Capitol. The arena transforms but it’s never eradicated; in fact it’s expanded to include everyone in the country. Can Katniss save Prim? No. Because no one is safe while the arena exists.

DL: If Katniss was the first character to make herself known within story, when did Peeta and Gale come into the equation? Did you know from the beginning how their stories would play out vis-à-vis Katniss’s?

SC: Peeta and Gale appeared quickly, less as two points on a love triangle, more as two perspectives in the just war debate. Gale, because of his experiences and temperament, tends toward violent remedies. Peeta’s natural inclination is toward diplomacy. Katniss isn’t just deciding on a partner; she’s figuring out her worldview.

DL: And did you always know which worldview would win? It’s interesting to see it presented in such a clear-cut way, because when I think of Katniss, I certainly think of force over diplomacy.

SC: And yet Katniss isn’t someone eager to engage in violence and she takes no pleasure in it. Her circumstances repeatedly push her into making choices that include the use of force. But if you look carefully at what happens in the arena, her compassionate choices determine her survival. Taking on Rue as an ally results in Thresh sparing her life. Seeking out Peeta and caring for him when she discovers how badly wounded he is ultimately leads to her winning the Games. She uses force only in self-defense or defense of a third party, and I’m including Cato’s mercy killing in that. As the trilogy progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult to avoid the use of force because the overall violence is escalating with the war. The how and the why become harder to answer.

Yes, I knew which worldview would win, but in the interest of examining just war theory you need to make the arguments as strongly as possible on both sides. While Katniss ultimately chooses Peeta, remember that in order to end the Hunger Games her last act is to assassinate an unarmed woman. Conversely, in The Underland Chronicles, Gregor’s last act is to break his sword to interrupt the cycle of violence. The point of both stories is to take the reader through the journey, have them confront the issues with the protagonist, and then hopefully inspire them to think about it and discuss it. What would they do in Katniss’s or Gregor’s situation? How would they define a just or unjust war and what behavior is acceptable within warfare? What are the human costs of life, limb, and sanity? How does developing technology impact the debate? The hope is that better discussions might lead to more nonviolent forms of conflict resolution, so we evolve out of choosing war as an option.

DL: Where does Haymitch fit into this examination of war? What worldview does he bring?

SC: Haymitch was badly damaged in his own war, the second Quarter Quell, in which he witnessed and participated in terrible things in order to survive and then saw his loved ones killed for his strategy. He self-medicates with white liquor to combat severe PTSD. His chances of recovery are compromised because he’s forced to mentor the tributes every year. He’s a version of what Katniss might become, if the Hunger Games continues. Peeta comments on how similar they are, and it’s true. They both really struggle with their worldview. He manages to defuse the escalating violence at Gale’s whipping with words, but he participates in a plot to bring down the government that will entail a civil war.

The ray of light that penetrates that very dark cloud in his brain is the moment that Katniss volunteers for Prim. He sees, as do many people in Panem, the power of her sacrifice. And when that carries into her Games, with Rue and Peeta, he slowly begins to believe that with Katniss it might be possible to end the Hunger Games.

DL: I’m also curious about how you balanced the personal and political in drawing the relationship between Katniss and Gale. They have such a history together — and I think you powerfully show the conflict that arises when you love someone, but don’t love what they believe in. (I think that resonates particularly now, when so many families and relationships and friendships have been disrupted by politics.)

SC: Yes, I think it’s painful, especially because they feel so in tune in so many ways. Katniss’s and Gale’s differences of opinion are based in just war theory. Do we revolt? How do we conduct ourselves in the war? And the ethical and personal lines climax at the same moment — the double tap bombing that takes Prim’s life. But it’s rarely simple; there are a lot of gray areas. It’s complicated by Peeta often holding a conflicting view while being the rival for her heart, so the emotional pull and the ethical pull become so intertwined it’s impossible to separate them. What do you do when someone you love, someone you know to be a good person, has a view which completely opposes your own? You keep trying to understand what led to the difference and see if it can be bridged. Maybe, maybe not. I think many conflicts grow out of fear, and in an attempt to counter that fear, people reach for solutions that may be comforting in the short term, but only increase their vulnerability in the long run and cause a lot of destruction along the way.

DL: In drawing Gale’s and Peeta’s roles in the story, how conscious were you of the gender inversion from traditional narrative tropes? As you note above, both are important far beyond any romantic subplot, but I do think there’s something fascinating about the way they both reinscribe roles that would traditionally be that of the “girlfriend.” Gale in particular gets to be “the girl back home” from so many Westerns and adventure movies — but of course is so much more than that. And Peeta, while a very strong character in his own right, often has to take a backseat to Katniss and her strategy, both in and out of the arena. Did you think about them in terms of gender and tropes, or did that just come naturally as the characters did what they were going to do on the page?

SC: It came naturally because, while Gale and Peeta are very important characters, it’s Katniss’s story.

DL: For Peeta . . . why baking?

SC: Bread crops up a lot in The Hunger Games. It’s the main food source in the districts, as it was for many people historically. When Peeta throws a starving Katniss bread in the flashback, he’s keeping her alive long enough to work out a strategy for survival. It seemed in keeping with his character to be a baker, a life giver.

But there’s a dark side to bread, too. When Plutarch Heavensbee references it, he’s talking about Panem et Circenses, Bread and Circuses, where food and entertainment lull people into relinquishing their political power. Bread can contribute to life or death in the Hunger Games.

DL: Speaking of Plutarch — in a meta way, the two of you share a job (although when you do it, only fictional people die). When you were designing the arena for the first book, what influences came into play? Did you design the arena and then have the participants react to it, or did you design the arena with specific reactions and plot points in mind?

SC: Katniss has a lot going against her in the first arena — she’s inexperienced, smaller than a lot of her competitors, and hasn’t the training of the Careers — so the arena needed to be in her favor. The landscape closely resembles the woods around District 12, with similar flora and fauna. She can feed herself and recognize the nightlock as poisonous. Thematically, the Girl on Fire needed to encounter fire at some point, so I built that in. I didn’t want it too physically flashy, because the audience needs to focus on the human dynamic, the plight of the star-crossed lovers, the alliance with Rue, the twist that two tributes can survive from the same district. Also, the Gamemakers would want to leave room for a noticeable elevation in spectacle when the Games move to the Quarter Quell arena in Catching Fire with the more intricate clock design.

DL: So where does Plutarch fall into the just war spectrum? There are many layers to his involvement in what’s going on.

SC: Plutarch is the namesake of the biographer Plutarch, and he’s one of the few characters who has a sense of the arc of history. He’s never lived in a world without the Hunger Games; it was well established by the time he was born and then he rose through the ranks to become Head Gamemaker. At some point, he’s gone from accepting that the Games are necessary to deciding they’re unnecessary, and he sets about ending them. Plutarch has a personal agenda as well. He’s seen so many of his peers killed off, like Seneca Crane, that he wonders how long it will be before the mad king decides he’s a threat not an asset. It’s no way to live. And as a gamemaker among gamemakers, he likes the challenge of the revolution. But even after they succeed he questions how long the resulting peace will last. He has a fairly low opinion of human beings, but ultimately doesn’t rule out that they might be able to change.

DL: When it comes to larger world building, how much did you know about Panem before you started writing? If I had asked you, while you were writing the opening pages, “Suzanne, what’s the primary industry of District Five?” would you have known the answer, or did those details emerge to you when they emerged within the writing of the story?

SC: Before I started writing I knew there were thirteen districts — that’s a nod to the thirteen colonies — and that they’d each be known for a specific industry. I knew 12 would be coal and most of the others were set, but I had a few blanks that naturally filled in as the story evolved. When I was little we had that board game, Game of the States, where each state was identified by its exports. And even today we associate different locations in the country with a product, with seafood or wine or tech. Of course, it’s a very simplified take on Panem. No district exists entirely by its designated trade. But for purposes of the Hunger Games, it’s another way to divide and define the districts.

DL: How do you think being from District 12 defines Katniss, Peeta, and Gale? Could they have been from any other district, or is their residency in 12 formative for the parts of their personalities that drive the story?

SC: Very formative. District 12 is the joke district, small and poor, rarely producing a victor in the Hunger Games. As a result, the Capitol largely ignores it. The enforcement of the laws is lax, the relationship with the Peacekeepers less hostile. This allows the kids to grow up far less constrained than in other districts. Katniss and Gale become talented archers by slipping off in the woods to hunt. That possibility of training with a weapon is unthinkable in, say, District 11, with its oppressive military presence. Finnick’s trident and Johanna’s ax skills develop as part of their districts’ industries, but they would never be allowed access to those weapons outside of work. Also, Katniss, Peeta, and Gale view the Capitol in a different manner by virtue of knowing their Peacekeepers better. Darius, in the Hob, is considered a friend, and he proves himself to be so more than once. This makes the Capitol more approachable on a level, more possible to befriend, and more possible to defeat. More human.

DL: Let’s talk about the Capitol for a moment — particularly its most powerful resident. I know that every name you give a character is deliberate, so why President Snow?

SC: Snow because of its coldness and purity. That’s purity of thought, although most people would consider it pure evil. His methods are monstrous, but in his mind, he’s all that’s holding Panem together. His first name, Coriolanus, is a nod to the titular character in Shakespeare’s play who was based on material from Plutarch’s Lives. He was known for his anti-populist sentiments, and Snow is definitely not a man of the people.

DL: The bond between Katniss and Snow is one of the most interesting in the entire series. Because even when they are in opposition, there seems to be an understanding between them that few if any of the other characters in the trilogy share. What role do you feel Snow plays for Katniss — and how does this fit into your examination of war?

SC: On the surface, she’s the face of the rebels, he’s the face of the Capitol. Underneath, things are a lot more complicated. Snow’s quite old under all that plastic surgery. Without saying too much, he’s been waiting for Katniss for a long time. She’s the worthy opponent who will test the strength of his citadel, of his life’s work. He’s the embodiment of evil to her, with the power of life and death. They’re obsessed with each other to the point of being blinded to the larger picture. “I was watching you, Mockingjay. And you were watching me. I’m afraid we have both been played for fools.” By Coin, that is. And then their unholy alliance at the end brings her down.

DL: One of the things that both Snow and Katniss realize is the power of media and imagery on the population. Snow may appear heartless to some, but he is very attuned to the “hearts and minds” of his citizens . . . and he is also attuned to the danger of losing them to Katniss. What role do you see propaganda playing in the war they’re waging?

SC: Propaganda decides the outcome of the war. This is why Plutarch implements the airtime assault; he understands that whoever controls the airwaves controls the power. Like Snow, he’s been waiting for Katniss, because he needs a Spartacus to lead his campaign. There have been possible candidates, like Finnick, but no one else has captured the imagination of the country like she has.

DL: In terms of the revolution, appearance matters — and two of the characters who seem to understand this the most are Cinna and Caesar Flickerman, one in a principled way, one . . . not as principled. How did you draw these two characters into your themes?

SC: That’s exactly right. Cinna uses his artistic gifts to woo the crowd with spectacle and beauty. Even after his death, his Mockingjay costume designs are used in the revolution. Caesar, whose job is to maintain the myth of the glorious games, transitions into warfare with the prisoner of war interviews with Peeta. They are both helping to keep up appearances.

DL: As a writer, you studiously avoided the trope of harkening back to the “old” geography — i.e., there isn’t a character who says, “This was once a land known as . . . Delaware.” (And thank goodness for that.) Why did you decide to avoid pinning down Panem to our contemporary geography?

SC: The geography has changed because of natural and man-made disasters, so it’s not as simple as overlaying a current map on Panem. But more importantly, it’s not relevant to the story. Telling the reader the continent gives them the layout in general, but borders are very changeful. Look at how the map of North America has evolved in the past 300 years. It makes little difference to Katniss what we called Panem in the past.

DL: Let’s talk about the D word. When you sat down to write The Hunger Games, did you think of it as a dystopian novel?

SC: I thought of it as a war story. I love dystopia, but it will always be secondary to that. Setting the trilogy in a futuristic North America makes it familiar enough to relate to but just different enough to gain some perspective. When people ask me how far in the future it’s set, I say, “It depends on how optimistic you are.”

DL: What do you think it was about the world into which the book was published that made it viewed so prominently as a dystopia?

SC: In the same way most people would define The Underland Chronicles as a fantasy series, they would define The Hunger Games as a dystopian trilogy, and they’d be right. The elements of the genres are there in both cases. But they’re first and foremost war stories to me. The thing is, whether you came for the war, dystopia, action adventure, propaganda, coming of age, or romance, I’m happy you’re reading it. Everyone brings their own experiences to the book that will color how they interpret it. I imagine the number of people who immediately identify it as a just war theory story are in the minority, but most stories are more than one thing.

DL: What was the relationship between current events and the world you were drawing? I know that with many speculative writers, they see something in the news and find it filtering into their fictional world. Were you reacting to the world around you, or was your reaction more grounded in a more timeless and/or historical consideration of war?

SC: I would say the latter. Some authors — okay, you for instance — can digest events quickly and channel them into their writing, as you did so effectively with September 11 in Love Is the Higher Law. But I don’t process and integrate things rapidly, so history works better for me.

DL: There’s nothing I like more than talking to writers about writing — so I’d love to ask about your process (even though I’ve always found the word process to be far too orderly to describe how a writer’s mind works).

As I recall, when we at Scholastic first saw the proposal for The Hunger Games Trilogy, the summary of the first book was substantial, the summary for the second book was significantly shorter, and the summary of the third book was . . . remarkably brief. So, first question: Did you stick to that early outline?

SC: I had to go back and take a look. Yes, I stuck to it very closely, but as you point out, the third book summary is remarkably brief. I basically tell you there’s a war that the Capitol eventually loses. Just coming off The Underland Chronicles, which also ends with a war, I think I’d seen how much develops along the way and wanted that freedom for this series as well.

DL: Would you outline books two and three as you were writing book one? Or would you just take notes for later? Was this the same or different from what you did with The Underland Chronicles?

SC: Structure’s one of my favorite parts of writing. I always work a story out with Post-its, sometimes using different colors for different character arcs. I create a chapter grid, as well, and keep files for later books, so that whenever I have an idea that might be useful, I can make a note of it. I wrote scripts for many years before I tried books, so a lot of my writing habits developed through that experience.

DL: Would you deliberately plant things in book one to bloom in books two or three? Are there any seeds you planted in the first book that you ended up not growing?

SC: Oh, yes, I definitely planted things. For instance, Johanna Mason is mentioned in the third chapter of the first book although she won’t appear until Catching Fire. Plutarch is that unnamed gamemaker who falls into the punch bowl when she shoots the arrow. Peeta whispers “Always” in Catching Fire when Katniss is under the influence of sleep syrup but she doesn’t hear the word until after she’s been shot in Mockingjay. Sometimes you just don’t have time to let all the seeds grow, or you cut them out because they don’t really add to the story. Like those wild dogs that roam around District 12. One could potentially have been tamed, but Buttercup stole their thunder.

DL: Since much of your early experience as a writer was as a playwright, I’m curious: What did you learn as a playwright that helped you as a novelist?

SC: I studied theater for many years — first acting, then playwriting — and I have a particular love for classical theater. I formed my ideas about structure as a playwright, how crucial it is and how, when it’s done well, it’s really inseparable from character. It’s like a living thing to me. I also wrote for children’s television for seventeen years. I learned a lot writing for preschool. If a three-year-old doesn’t like something, they just get up and walk away from the set. I saw my own kids do that. How do you hold their attention? It’s hard and the internet has made it harder. So for the eight novels, I developed a three-act structure, with each act being composed of nine chapters, using elements from both play and screenplay structures — double layering it, so to speak.

DL: Where do you write? Are you a longhand writer or a laptop writer? Do you listen to music as you write, or go for the monastic, writerly silence?

SC: I write best at home in a recliner. I used to write longhand, but now it’s all laptop. Definitely not music; it demands to be listened to. I like quiet, but not silence.

DL: You talked earlier about researching survival training and edible plants for these books. What other research did you have to do? Are you a reading researcher, a hands-on researcher, or a mix of both? (I’m imagining an elaborate archery complex in your backyard, but I am guessing that’s not necessarily accurate.)

SC: You know, I’m just not very handy. I read a lot about how to build a bow from scratch, but I doubt I could ever make one. Being good with your hands is a gift. So I do a lot of book research. Sometimes I visit museums or historic sites for inspiration. I was trained in stage combat, particularly sword fighting in drama school; I have a nice collection of swords designed for that, but that was more helpful for The Underland Chronicles. The only time I got to do archery was in gym class in high school.

DL: While I wish I could say the editorial team (Kate Egan, Jennifer Rees, and myself ) were the first-ever readers of The Hunger Games, I know this isn’t true. When you’re writing a book, who reads it first?

SC: My husband, Cap, and my literary agent, Rosemary Stimola, have consistently been the books’ first readers. They both have excellent critique skills and give insightful notes. I like to keep the editorial team as much in the dark as possible, so that when they read the first draft it’s with completely fresh eyes.

DL: Looking back now at the editorial conversations we had about The Hunger Games — which were primarily with Kate, as Jen and I rode shotgun — can you recall any significant shifts or discussions?

SC: What I mostly recall is how relieved I was to know that I had such amazing people to work with on the book before it entered the world. I had eight novels come out in eight years with Scholastic, so that was fast for me and I needed feedback I could trust. You’re all so smart, intuitive, and communicative, and with the three of you, no stone went unturned. With The Hunger Games Trilogy, I really depended on your brains and hearts to catch what worked and what didn’t.

DL: And then there was the question of the title . . .

SC: Okay, this I remember clearly. The original title of the first book was The Tribute of District Twelve. You wanted to change it to The Hunger Games, which was my name for the series. I said, “Okay, but I’m not thinking of another name for the series!” To this day, more people ask me about “the Gregor series” than “The Underland Chronicles,” and I didn’t want a repeat of that because it’s confusing. But you were right, The Hunger Games was a much better name for the book. Catching Fire was originally called The Ripple Effect and I wanted to change that one, because it was too watery for a Girl on Fire, so we came up with Catching Fire. The third book I’d come up with a title so bad I can’t even remember it except it had the word ashes in it. We both hated it. One day, you said, “What if we just call it Mockingjay?” And that seemed perfect. The three parts of the book had been subtitled “The Mockingjay,” “The Assault,” and “The Assassin.” We changed the title to Mockingjay and the first part to “The Ashes” and got that lovely alliteration in the subtitles. Thank goodness you were there; you have far better taste in titles. I believe in the acknowledgments, I call you the Title Master.

DL: With The Hunger Games, the choice of Games is natural — but the choice of Hunger is much more odd and interesting. So I’ll ask: Why Hunger Games?

SC: Because food is a lethal weapon. Withholding food, that is. Just like it is in Boris when the Nazis starve out the people of Leningrad. It’s a weapon that targets everyone in a war, not just the soldiers in combat, but the civilians too. In the prologue of Henry V, the Chorus talks about Harry as Mars, the god of war. “And at his heels, Leash’d in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire crouch for employment.” Famine, sword, and fire are his dogs of war, and famine leads the pack. With a rising global population and environmental issues, I think food could be a significant weapon in the future.

DL: The cover was another huge effort. We easily had over a hundred different covers comped up before we landed on the iconic one. There were some covers that pictured Katniss — something I can’t imagine doing now. And there were others that tried to picture scenes. Of course, the answer was in front of us the entire time — the Mockingjay symbol, which the art director Elizabeth Parisi deployed to such amazing effect. What do you think of the impact the cover and the symbol have had? What were your thoughts when you saw this cover?

SC: Oh, it’s a brilliant cover, which I should point out I had nothing to do with. I only saw a handful of the many you developed. The one that made it to print is absolutely fantastic; I loved it at first sight. It’s classy, powerful, and utterly unique to the story. It doesn’t limit the age of the audience and I think that really contributed to adults feeling comfortable reading it. And then, of course, you followed it up with the wonderful evolution of the mockingjay throughout the series. There’s something universal about the imagery, the captive bird gaining freedom, which I think is why so many of the foreign publishers chose to use it instead of designing their own. And it translated beautifully to the screen where it still holds as the central symbolic image for the franchise.

DL: Obviously, the four movies had an enormous impact on how widely the story spread across the globe. The whole movie process started with the producers coming on board. What made you know they were the right people to shepherd this story into another form?

SC: When I decided to sell the entertainment rights to the book, I had phone interviews with over a dozen producers. Nina Jacobson’s understanding of and passion for the piece along with her commitment to protecting it won me over. She’s so articulate, I knew she’d be an excellent person to usher it into the world. The team at Lionsgate’s enthusiasm and insight made a deep impression as well. I needed partners with the courage not to shy away from the difficult elements of the piece, ones who wouldn’t try to steer the story to an easier, more traditional ending. Prim can’t live. The victory can’t be joyous. The wounds have to leave lasting scars. It’s not an easy ending but it’s an intentional one.

DL: You cowrote the screenplay for the first Hunger Games movie. I know it’s an enormously tricky thing for an author to adapt their own work. How did you approach it? What was the hardest thing about translating a novel into a screenplay? What was the most rewarding?

SC: I wrote the initial treatments and first draft and then Billy Ray came on for several drafts and then our director, Gary Ross, developed it into his shooting script and we ultimately did a couple of passes together. I did the boil down of the book, which is a lot of cutting things while trying to retain the dramatic structure. I think the hardest thing for me, because I’m not a terribly visual person, was finding the way to translate many words into few images. Billy and Gary, both far more experienced screenwriters and gifted directors as well, really excelled at that. Throughout the franchise I had terrific screenwriters, and Francis Lawrence, who directed the last three films, is an incredible visual storyteller.

The most rewarding moment on the Hunger Games movie would have been the first time I saw it put together, still in rough form, and thinking it worked.

DL: One of the strange things for me about having a novel adapted is knowing that the actors involved will become, in many people’s minds, the faces and bodies of the characters who have heretofore lived as bodiless voices in my head. Which I suppose leads to a three-part question: Do you picture your characters as you’re writing them? If so, how close did Jennifer Lawrence come to the Katniss in your head? And now when you think about Katniss, do you see Jennifer or do you still see what you imagined before?

SC: I definitely do picture the characters when I’m writing them. The actress who looks exactly like my book Katniss doesn’t exist. Jennifer looked close enough and felt very right, which is more important. She gives an amazing performance. When I think of the books, I still think of my initial image of Katniss. When I think of the movies, I think of Jen. Those images aren’t at war any more than the books are with the films. Because they’re faithful adaptations, the story becomes the primary thing. Some people will never read a book, but they might see the same story in a movie. When it works well, the two entities support and enrich each other.

DL: All of the actors did such a fantastic job with your characters (truly). Are there any in particular that have stayed with you?

SC: A writer friend of mine once said, “Your cast — they’re like a basket of diamonds.” That’s how I think of them. I feel fortunate to have had such a talented team — directors, producers, screenwriters, performers, designers, editors, marketing, publicity, everybody — to make the journey with. And I’m so grateful for the readers and viewers who invested in The Hunger Games. Stories are made to be shared.

DL: We’re talking on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of The Hunger Games. Looking back at the past ten years, what have some of the highlights been?

SC: The response from the readers, especially the young audience for which it was written. Seeing beautiful and faithful adaptations reach the screen. Occasionally hearing it make its way into public discourse on politics or social issues.

DL: The Hunger Games Trilogy has been an international bestseller. Why do you think this series struck such an important chord throughout the world?

SC: Possibly because the themes are universal. War is a magnet for difficult issues. In The Hunger Games, you have vast inequality of wealth, destruction of the planet, political struggles, war as a media event, human rights abuses, propaganda, and a whole lot of other elements that affect human beings wherever they live. I think the story might tap into the anxiety a lot of people feel about the future right now.

DL: As we celebrate the past ten years and look forward to many decades to come for this trilogy, I’d love for us to end where we should — with the millions of readers who’ve embraced these books. What words would you like to leave them with?

SC: Thank you for joining Katniss on her journey. And may the odds be ever in your favor.

#thg #the hunger games #suzanne collins #katniss everdeen #catching fire #mockingjay #tbosas #thg book club #saw they took the pdf version down smh

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goldenempyrean · 11 months

Note

Hi, can you write a fanfic where Natasha gets sick but still goes to work?please ? 🥺

Conflicting Priorities

〚 Notes - Heyy, long time no see? Its been a few days :,) Guess which idiot caught a cold in the summer? Yup. Anyway definitely feeling better now so hopefully I can get caught up with some writing :D 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Nat’s sick and is insisting on working but you find a way to work around that. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 830 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝

“Seriously its almost noon! Why is she still sleeping?” Tony grumbled in annoyance as he paced back and worth, “Thats it, I’m waking her up.”

“No, let her sleep.” You interrupted with an equally annoyed grumble, only your irritated was directed towards the inpatient man in front of you, “She needs to sleep Tony, she was up all-night coughing. It wouldn’t kill you just to cover her shift.”

Tony stopped in his tracks and turned to face you, a frown on his face. "I get that she's sick, but we have a job to do, and we can't afford to have someone slacking off. It’s now her shift, I was meant to be in a meeting 10 minutes ago.” He retorted.

You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze with an assertive look. "We also can't afford to have an exhausted and unwell Avenger working. It's not just about her well-being; it's also about the quality of her work. If she's sick, she won't be able to perform at her best, and that could impact everyone.”

“What could impact everyone?” A quiet, raspy voice mumbled as Natasha shuffled into the room. Her usually fair skin was sickly and pale and her messy hair hung clumsily at her shoulders. She definitely should’ve been in bed.

“Oh baby, you’re meant to be resting.” You sighed as you rushed over, cupping her feverish cheek as you felt her temperature.

Natasha weakly leaned into your touch; her eyes half-closed. "I know, but I couldn't sleep anymore," she murmured. "What's going on?"

“Nothing sweetheart, it's okay.” You said reassuring as you wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her towards one sofa leaning against the wall, “C’mere baby, sit down for me.”

The site of the main desk and observation equipment must’ve sparked a thought in her fevered brain though because she suddenly gasped a little - which led to her throat rebelling, sending her into a series of chest-rattling chests - and you instantly knew that she’d remembered it was her shift.

“Fuck. Sorry Tony, I’ll get right on it.” Nat blurted, pulling out of your hold and heading to the desk before clumsily falling into the seat behind it, “What needs doing, where are we at with the- the.. Hhi’tshoo!”

Natasha sneezed suddenly, her head dipping forward as she effectively contaminated all of the older man’s files and schematics, sending him visibly recoiling whilst you on the other hand, rushed around to find a box of tissues to bring to her.

You quickly grabbed a box of tissues and rushed back to Natasha's side. Placing the box on the desk within her reach, you gently rubbed her back to soothe her.

"Hey, it's alright. Don't worry about the work right now," you said softly. "You need to focus on resting and getting better. I'll take care of everything here. Just let me handle it.”

Tony, still visibly annoyed by the situation, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, but we can't afford to fall behind schedule. Make sure you keep me updated on any important developments."

"I will, Tony," you assured him. "I'll make sure everything stays on track."

Natasha, her voice weak and hoarse, interjected. "It’s my work though, my responsibility. So, I need to do-“ Her breath caught on a sudden inhale and you speedily swiped some tissues and pressed them into her hand just before she set off into a series of desperate sounding sneezes.

“Oh baby, bless you.” You sighed, knowing you’d need to find a way around your girlfriend working before she would ultimately exhaust herself further, “How about I make you a deal, I’ll do half of your shift whilst you nap then I’ll when that's up, I’ll wake you, how does that sound?”

Of course, you had no actual intention of waking her up. You’d just make some excuse about being in the rhythm and forgetting the time. She’d probably be too tired to question it anyway but luckily enough your deal seemed to be a good enough compromise.

Natasha nodded and slowly rose from the seat, letting you take her place, “You’ll wake me up when it’s my turn?” She murmured sleepily as you nodded.

“Sure baby, I’ll wake you up when it's all over.” You said, carefully watching your words, “How about you go lay down on that sofa, or even better go back up to bed for a bit.” But to your surprise, Nat instead came and sat back down on your lap. She cuddled into your chest as her legs slipped around the back of the chair. She honestly looked like a baby koala clutching into your chest.

“Well, I guess this works too.” You murmured softly, placing a little kiss to her forehead as she led her head on your shoulder. Sure, it wasn’t the comfiest way to work, hell it’d probably slow you down. But you didn’t care. All it mattered was that Natasha was safe and loved.

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#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #nataha romanoff sickfic #sickfic #mcu #marvel #fluff #whump

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 8 months

Note

playing fontaine made me really want to introduce freminet and neuvillette because i think they would be good friends. could you write a little sagau drabble thing about introducing them?

No problem, anon! Thank you so much for requesting!

Having Neuvillette and Freminet Meet!

(Warning: May be OOC & Slight Use of Speculation/Theory on Behalf of Neuvillette!)

You were chilling around in Fontaine, when suddenly the idea of having Freminet and Neuvillette hits you as powerful as Truck-Kun smashing into you hard.

So, with the encouragement of Furina, and legal agreement on behalf of Freminet's part (you asked Lyney and Lynette), you have managed to arrange a small lunch meetup between the two. And, to be honest, you were the only one doibg most of the talking. You can't help but feel like this was going to be an awkward, sunny day....

Freminet

There's a lot to say. He's really blessed and lucky to have time to get to know you and all...but he's not really good with social interactions.

And then you brought Neuvillette into the picture. This boy's brain melts almost instantly. He's trying his best to stay put and hold on, but it's safe to say he isn't sure how this will turn out.

"U-uhm..." Freminet can barely form a word without panicking if it will come out as something suspicious in front of the Chief Justice, no matter how much you and Neuvillette reassure him.

He does end up trying to talk to Neuvillette, but it's still awkward. Nevertheless, it was a start! Good job, Freminet!

Neuvillette

Hydro dragon, hydro dragon...isn't crying? Huh—it seems yoyr invitation to hang out at lunch hour made the stoic man hapoy, even if he refuses to let it show.

He wasn't expecting a young boy to also be joining, but he tries his best to make himself approachable. Though his efforts are a little fruitless, it was still a pleasant chat.

When the young boy, Freminet, finally does speak up and try to talk to him, Neuvillette can't help but smile. In a sense, they were pretty similar.

"I apologize if I have brought any discomfort to you, Mr. Freminet, but I do have a question—promoted by Their Grace. As a diver, what have you seen in Fontaine's waters?" He does try his best to start a few conversations via your help, but they usually end short as Neuvillette isn't sure what else to add. Also, he apologizes a little too much everytime he speaks to Freminet, so make you maintain both the nerves and the apologies on the table!"

And that's it! Sorry if this is a little short—I couldn't find anything else to write about lol—

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: N/A

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

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lieutenant-teach · 8 days

Text

Cody and Din stop on Tatooine. Din meets someone unexpected from Cody’s past, which leads to a sweet reunion. Part 3\3 (part 1), (part 2).

‘Blast ‘em!’

Cody woke up with a barely concealed cry on his lips. Din was snoring quietly in the co-pilot seat, luckily not disturbed, wrapped into a patchwork blanket gifted by a kind old Rodian lady during their latest stop on Jakku. ‘Good, - Cody thought, shifting to warm up sleepy right arm, - our nightmares take turns’.

Not for the first time he would wake up like that. Sometimes there would be him murdering innocent citizens, sometimes blank eyes of his surviving brothers serving the Empire with him, and sometimes his former General. There were different dreams, where Cody could see again him smiling, meditating, reflecting blaster bolts of the Separatist opponents, lifting laughing troopers in the air on the Negotiator, talking to Cody both about war or mundane issues and in general trusting him.

What did Cody do to repay all of it? All this kindness, friendship, love they all got?

‘It wasn’t my choice, - at such moments Cody was telling himself over and over again. – The chip in my brain took away my conscience, I wasn’t able to do anything against it’. But this mantra didn’t help at all. It didn’t change the fact. Yes, the Empire was the culprit behind all of it, but Cody’s hands were red with the General’s blood. And he would never wash it off. Least he could do was not to allow anyone else take his mind away.

He was an idiot back on Utapau letting himself believe that everything would be over soon. Believing that in some hours they would be free of war, blood and destruction. Letting himself hope, openly flirting with his General – something he usually tried to tone down, being professional, even though General Kenobi was quite open to reciprocating their bantering with twinkling in his eyes. At that day he didn’t even try to hide his feeling. And he would remember forever how the General’s eyes were full of promise.

Now he thought that even if everything would have turned out well, it was barely possible for them to start anything. Not because of a wide-accepted civilian misconception of ‘attachments are not allowed within the Jedi Order’ – after all, not everyone were being idiots like Skywalker – but he realized the Senate never entertained even a mere idea of giving personhood to the clone troopers. They’d be sent back to Kamino, or used in other spheres as free workers – but with no Jedi by their side to encourage them, to actually see them as people. The Senate wouldn’t’ve allowed that. After all, there wasn’t any big difference between the Jedi and the clone troopers situations – both made to do something without being asked if they actually wanted to, with absolute disregard to their feelings, opinions, morals.

But Cody would’ve preferred this to killing his General. His friend. His love.

---

Being a smuggler wasn’t that bad. They needed money while looking for a rebel cell, and, as much as the business went against Cody’s morals – well, it could’ve been worse. He chose small cargoes for small people, always checking for illegality, for example, he had to turn down several spice offers. He didn’t work for long distances for stealth measures. So far, they got enough credits to go by.

Din insisted he was big enough and armed enough to go with Cody to the rendezvous point. He watched excitedly as weighing pros and cons were changing on his guardian’s face, though Din didn’t see any problem – they’d been to wretched places before. After almost a year of such meandering across the Galaxy Din thought he wouldn’t be surprised or scared by anything. Except the Empire. He still couldn’t help tensing in fear seeing humanoids in white clothes, and he found it hard to imagine what he would do if met a real stormtrooper. He also knew that Cody used to be an Imp, but he had had a chip in his head that made him do it, and before the Empire he was a good guy, a hero. Even if Cody himself never said anything like the latter, Din decided so – from his tales and stories he shared with him about his past. He told him about adventures, his brothers, the Jedi he was in love with. Din saw that sometimes these memories made Cody very-very sad, but Cody would say ‘Somebody has to pass the truth about those times’. At night, when not dreaming about his home and parents, he dreamed about himself barging into the Imperial Palace, with the Darksaber and a blaster, in shining armour, and defeating evil guys who inflicted so much pain on those he loved – both back on Aq Vetina and now on Cody.

Alas, Cody decided it was too dangerous for Din to go – ‘too much villainy around there’. Sometimes adults were really weird, Din sulked, sitting in the pilot’s cabin and picking at a toy Cody bought him some time after their meeting. It looked like an oversize deformed frog with huge ears – Cody said it reminded him of ‘General Yoda’. Din considered himself old enough not to need toys, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it, and Cody’s gesture he appreciated nonetheless, and holding the toy relieved some stress.

Suddenly he heard some sounds – growling? He peeked out of the window, and saw a man not far away from their ship trying to fight off several womprats. The beasts were snarling, circling their pray, snapping salivating jaws and biting the hem of his robe. Without a second thought Din ran to the trap taking out his blaster. One shot in the air was enough for animals to hunch and run away whining, leaving the man with tears in his already tattered robe.

– Are you all right? – Din came closer. The man smiled warmly seizing examining his losses:

– I am, thanks to you, young man. Are you alone here? – his voice bled with concern, as if he wasn’t being attacked by huge aggressive carnivores some moments before. – It is quite dangerous.

– No, I’m with… my father, - Din didn’t put away his blaster, though somehow he knew the man wouldn’t harm him. – He’s busy, but he’ll come soon, - added he hastily.

– Shall I offer you my company until he arrives? Of course, I see you’re very capable yourself, - he nodded at the weapon Din was clutching in his fingers, - but my conscience doesn’t allow me to leave a child unprotected here, - at that Din couldn’t keep from snorting, and the man smiled tiredly again, hugging himself into his robe as if freezing. – Sorry for imposing myself, - he looked lost. – Ben, Ben Kenobi.

Din immediately perked up at a familiar name. Kenobi? Wasn’t he Cody’s Jedi general back in the war? Was this man a relative of his? Now, when Din actually payed attention, he did look a lot like Cody’s descriptions of his beloved.

– Din, - he tucked the blaster into his belt, returned to the ship and sat on the ramp, wordlessly inviting Ben do the same. – I heard about a General Kenobi. Are you related?

Ben tensed, then slowly came to the ramp and sat near Din. Then he sighed:

– Kind of, yes. Don’t know much about him, though. Where did you hear about him? Didn’t he turn out to be a traitor? – Ben’s eyes were kind, but to Din’s mind, his voice sounded like he was gnawing stones. As if every word gave him physical pain. If he was trying to hide his distress, he failed grossly at it.

– Well, I just heard he was kinda cool back then, - Din started drawing indecipherable scrabbles in the sand with the toe of his boot. – My father served, - he looked at Ben through eyelashes. – He said Kenobi was killed by his troopers.

Ben swallowed hard and blinked, staring in the distance. That all was too weird. Din started suspecting, and the suspicion grew into conviction with every moment observing the man.

– Then I guess he wasn’t that ‘cool’, as you say, - Ben answered in some time with a watery chuckle. – Sorry for my spoiling your mood, young Din.

– Well, there’re not so many reasons to be happy now, - Din grumbled. – And I don’t think the Jedi were so bad. I mean, my father always says nice things about them, - Din felt like a genius intelligence agent fishing for information to confirm his clues about unsuspecting Ben.

– It’s risky to say anything nice about the Jedi, - Ben said, looking cautiously at Din. Was he suspecting Din would call the stormtroopers any moment? At this thought Din winced. And then noticed a familiar figure approaching them.

– Wait, I want to introduce you to my father, - Din’s heart jumped excitedly as he leaped on his feet and ran off to Cody who already had his hand on his hip – where he hid his blaster. In another hand he was clutching a bundle.

– Din, who’s this? – he caught Din just at the moment when in his hurry he tripped over his feet and almost collided into the man. Din grinned:

– I bet you’ll like him, - his heart was pounding with excitement when he grabbed Cody’s hand from his blaster and dragged him to the ship.

Ben stood up with his hands tucked into his sleeves, looking as he was going to flee at any moment. But he inclined his head politely at seeing an adult:

– I apologize for thrusting myself into your lives, but I just could not leave a child lone in the desert to the dangers.

‘They didn’t recognize each other? Aren’t Ben… not him?’ – Din’s heart fell with bitter disappointment. He felt guilty for rising Cody’s hopes… though he didn’t even say anything particular about his new acquaintance…

– General? – the immense disbelief in Cody’s voice made Din step aside and raise his head – Cody pulled up the hood looking as if he didn’t trust his own eyes. Din look at Ben and, to his joy, the man was rigid, almost slack-jawed, wide-eyed.

– Cody? – Ben croaked at last, not taking his eyes off Din’s ‘father’. Then he made a hesitant step forward, and Din barely blinked when Cody dropped his bundle, practically ran to Ben, and they both wrapped their arms around each other, Ben… no, Obi-Wan sobbing quietly into Cody’s shoulder.

Din kept silent, not interfering, thinking that at least some justice was done. A little bit of fixing the Galaxy and a little bit more of happiness.

---

The brush dipped into the can. Cody was watching as golden-orange paint was drying in heat of the Tatooine suns.

– I bet you’ll like him, - Din was uncharacteristically chirpy and animated, tugging him to the ship and particularly to a man who stood up at seeing them. Cody had no idea who he was – up to the moment they came closer, he saw a familiar face and heard a familiar Coruscanti accent. His first thought was ‘I’m delusional’. It was all too impossible. Not in this karking rotten Galaxy. He felt numb taking off his hood.

– General? – It was too good to be true.

– Cody?

He didn’t remember himself running, only being afraid to fully believe. He came around holding his former General in his arms, feeling his living warmth pressing into him, hearing incoherent teary mumbling into his shoulder, with mist in his own eyes and a lump in his throat.

– I’m so glad to see you again, - the General moved a little to meet Cody’s eyes, their faces mere inches away. He looked as if the weight of the whole Galaxy was on his shoulders and grief was his constant friend. Cody would never blame him for feeling so – he shared it. But there was joy, and that warmed Cody’s heart enough for hope starting to bloom tentatively. Maybe, they weren’t lost after all.

Cody raised the brush and applied a little bit more paint on the middle stripe again to colour gray lines showing through brightness.

– I’m so sorry, - Cody’s knees grazed against the floor, the guilt crushing him down. – We all had chips in our brains… we couldn’t fight them… - the excuse was so flimsy-thin Cody even felt awkward. No reasoning would change what’d been done by all of his brothers and himself. He felt his throat squeezing, he stubbornly kept his eyes on the small patch of dirt – looked like long-spilled tea – on the floor.

– I’m so sorry we couldn’t help you, - why was the General apologizing? It wasn’t him who betrayed the troopers’ trust and killed them all. Cody saw the Jedi falling on his knees next to him, then a gentle touch on his face. He raised his head obediently, meeting the eyes filled with undeserved kindness. – I forgave you long before you came here, before I knew you didn’t do this on purpose, - he whispered, cupping Cody’s face. – I couldn’t understand what we did to wrong you, but you are here now.

– I started questioning… - Cody shut his eyes, feeling heat and wetness gathering there again, - I tried to save Boil… Got mine taken out here… - he felt like he was falling apart there, kneeling on the floor of the small cabin in the desert, in front of the man he deemed killed by his men on his order. And then he found himself in a warm embrace, his former General rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades.

– You overcame the conditioning. You are so strong. I am proud of you, - Cody sensed a sad smile in his voice and dared to hug him in return, being rewarded with a small sigh which seemed as a good sign. – I’m really happy you’re here. By the way, do not call me ‘General’ – we’re friends. I’m not your General anymore anyway. Just ‘Obi-Wan’ will do. Or ‘Ben’.

– All right, Obi-Wan, - Cody murmured into so cozy shoulder, tasting the name aloud for the first time. It sounded as it belonged on his tongue.

Cody raised his head letting warm morning breeze caress his face. It was early enough not to be boiling, but the premonition of heat was already in the air.

– I don’t feel like a Jedi anymore, - Cody would never believe such words if it wasn’t Obi-Wan himself saying them, looking absolutely devastated. – I failed everyone. The Order, the Republic, my apprentice…

– Your apprentice did it to himself, - Cody didn’t manage to conceal his acerbic voice. – He’s too happy now oppressing the worlds.

He caught the dumbfounded expression on Obi-Wan’s face. ‘Force, he didn’t know’, - Cody regretted being harsh and took his hand:

– Anakin is alive. He’s Darth Vader now.

Cody blew on the paint – in one place it refused to dry, remaining sticky.

– You’ll be fine on Alderaan, Din, - crouching Cody laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. – Living with two desert hermits is not a life for a kid. Senator Organa personally found a family who are happy to adopt you.

– I know it must be done, - Din nodded solemnly, and Cody marveled at his attitude – too adult for a child. It hurt to let go, but he believed Din would find his way. Din threw his arms around Cody’s neck, and Cody hugged him back. – I’ll see you again. I promise.

Cody took a sponge and cleaned up some speck of dust on the white surface, careful not to smudge the paint.

– So your former apprentice tried to burn you alive, - Cody gently cleaned the nasty scorch on Obi-Wan’s shoulder from the sticking remains of cloth. – I’m sorry. But after him murdering kids I’m not surprised at all, just glad you got away.

– I’ll be fine, darling, - something in his voice changed, but Cody couldn’t exactly put his finger on it. – I saw Qui-Gon.

– You mean, your Master? Isn’t he…

– The Force ghost, - a heavy sign. – As much as it hurts to know, Anakin did it to himself, he admitted as much. You were right all along, though for wrong reasons, - Obi-Wan gave a weak chuckle. – You just never liked him very much.

– You’ve always been a better General than him, - Cody briefly pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s cheek making him smile.

Cody raised his head – Obi-Wan was returning with a bucket of water. Putting it in the house, he settled himself next to Cody, pressing their shoulders and staring into the wavy-line dunes on horizon line, catching moments before going to work. Cody touched the paint and was satisfied with the result – golden shining colour was a tangible reminder of his brothers, of everything good he’d had and still was having.

Somewhere the Darksaber was still waiting. Waiting for the rise of Mand’Alor the Sunbringer.

A year or two after these events Din is stolen from his family, and Cody’s asked to help find him. Din is adopted by a New Mandalorian refugees family on Alderaan, so he’s kidnapped for some political leverage – his adoptive family are relatives of Clan Kryze. Cody, Rex and Wolffe are sent to retrieve Din, eventually they find him, in the process they become entangled with Bo-Katan and her Nite Owls. Cody is given the title of Mand’Alor, so he decides to rise MandoClone rebellion making both factions work together. Mandalore is freed, de-chipped clones are settling there, too. Here I want to specify that they’re not Mandos, they have their own culture which is more of a combination of their own ideas traditions, Jedi ideas and something else from different worlds they liked. Cody is named as Kote the Sunbringer, though he doesn’t like it very much.

Din’s adoptive parents give him up as they see it too dangerous to keep him, so Cody adopts him as his own. Din perceives Cody as his own example and ideal to live by, often arguing ‘that’s what a Mandalorian should be like’.

Tatooine becomes a focus of Imperial attention as Vader doesn’t give up the idea of finding Obi-Wan again. So Obi-Wan takes Owen, Beru and Luke and moves to Mandalore. Din becomes quite protective of little Luke, later they become friends, even later – boyfriends. They all work with the Rebellion, Obi-Wan training Luke and trying to commemorate all the knowledge he has about the Order, Cody becomes one of main Rebellion leaders (though no one knows who he is in real life).

In 0BBY Din works alongside Luke and his gang. They defeat the Empire (I’d be as gracious as keeping Vader alive). Luke rises the Order again, with the knowledge he gets from Obi-Wan and Anakin (possibly Ahsoka and the other survivors). Leia leads the New Republic. Din takes up the mantle of the Mand’Alor, so Cody can spend more time with his beloved. And yes, aging code was in the chips, so when they’re destroyed or malfunctioning, aging stops, so the clones lives long happy lives, too.

#star wars #din djarin #commander cody #fanfiction #my fic #fanfic #cody and din #mand'alor cody #fix it #codywan #dinluke #self indulgent #if you want to write a whole story #inform me

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bluebunnyears-08 · 1 year

Text

Why Nine is The Secondary Protagonist in Sonic Prime

I recently made an appreciation post about this edgy little fella, however, when I rewatch the show (yes I rewatch it several times daily, so what?) I feel the cogs in my brain turn and create several theories. Looking back at Nine, I realized he will be one of the BIG characters, not the big (relevant to the plot and development), but the BIG (really fucking important).

As in MIGHT BE THE DEUTERAGONIST type of BIG.

Sonic is the protagonist, as he usually is in his games, however, Nine is another huge character who is not only crucial to the plot but might also twist the plot as well.

A deuteragonist is an essential secondary character in a narrative, second only to the protagonist, and may act like a constant companion or someone who aids the protagonist. However, the deuteragonist can change from helping the protag to actively opposing them, depending on their own conflict or plot.

Nine already proves to be a huge character in Sonic Prime, however, in the first batch of episodes, Shadow does somewhat take up some of this role. However, he might change to become a tritagonist in future episodes. Someone who helps the protagonist, is the third most important character, and often the third member of the group.

So Nine might be the TRUE deuteragonist and I DO have a list of reasons why I think so.

So, with that said, let's begin.

1. He is already established to be an important character

From the first moment we meet him, we already know he's going to be a very important character in the plot. He fixes up Sonic's shoes and gloves figures out how to use a shard to open a portal, and is a very formidable ally. He is an important character to keep the plot going and to help explain the plot. However, it's not like those Sonic games, where he's just there to explain the plot. He HAS a character and personality, he's not just a cardboard cutout.

He HAS depth and complexity to him. Something I can appreciate considering the past media of any version of Tails the past years (not including Frontiers, that game was amazing). He's also obviously going to continue to be an important character in season two as well.

2. He's a very engaging character

Let's all admit it: Nine is the most interesting character in Sonic Prime. Not just because of his mindset of "get this however you can no matter what" and "do whatever it takes and needs to survive". Not just that but his snarky and cold personality combined with his nine-tailed badassery just makes him an engaging and enjoyable character.

The things he does can leave people scrambling for answers. Why exactly did he change his mind about helping the rebels? What is he planning? What is going on in that fluffy head of his?

So many questions that leave us waiting with anticipation for the next batch of episodes for answers.

3. People can relate to his trauma

Nine's backstory is what we expected, but that doesn't mean it holds back punches. Without Sonic to defend him from bullies, without Sonic to care for him and take him in, he learned to trust and look out only for himself. It's a sad backstory and it explains why he's so guarded and aloof all the time.

I've read posts that state they relate deeply to Nine and can immerse themselves in his character with empathy. I can confirm as being a victim of abuse. He's aggressive and snarky because he has walls, walls that he put up to never get hurt again. He doesn't try to justify himself in his backstory, stating he "wasn't minding his surroundings" instead of "I didn't know" or "it wasn't my fault" he shows signs of a sort of self-resentment. Again, I can relate SO MUCH to, thinking that I could've prevented it and holding myself responsible for not doing anything, that I could've stopped it from happening.

Those who suffer or have suffered can see themselves in Nine, and as a result, the sorrow we feel for him can hit harder if we know what it was like.

4. We don't know where his character is going to end up

Another bunch of posts I've seen about Nine is that we legitimately don't know where his character is going to end up. He's muddled deep in his mystery and inner turmoil that we can't see the deep end of what he's going to be. A hero? A villain? An Anti-hero?

Just what's going to happen to him?!

He has a plan but what is it?

5. He's the most controversial character

Nine's intentions and character have been put in many perspectives on what people think he's planning, what he's going to be, why he does certain things, whether he cares for Sonic or not, whether he trusts Sonic or not, and MORE.

He's been theorized and twisted into what people think about him and what he's going to do. In my opinion, if a character does this to a community, you KNOW you're doing something right. Controversial characters are very mysterious and morally ambiguous, you don't truly know why they do the things they do or what they plan, but you have your own ideas on what might happen and other people do too, despite them possibly being different from yours.

Controversy (WHEN NOT LEADING TO VIOLENCE AND DEATH THREATS) is very fun and interesting. Reading people's thoughts even if they differ from your own, with the possibility that they might change your own theories is a very enlightening and interesting thing!

6. He has a completely opposite goal to Sonic

It's very clear that Sonic and Nine have different goals that clash with each other. Sonic, being the all-loving hero he is, wants to return home and see his true friends again, not to mention help and protect the other shatter spaces. Nine on the other hand wants to make a new home, a world with just him and Sonic and nobody else, not caring for the other shatter spaces or anybody else.

Their goals clash with each other and can't be fulfilled at the same time. Nine's goal includes only him and Sonic and no one else. Sonic's goal includes others, not to mention these two are from two completely different universes.

It's clear these two, no matter how close they are, won't give up their goal for the other, so unless their willing to compromise, it might lead to something bigger.

7. His goal separates him from other variations of himself and others

While he is just another variation of one of the main characters, his goal of achieving something beyond his own universe along with keeping Sonic differentiated from the other main variations who want something within their own shatter space. Thorn wanted to keep the jungle from being destroyed, and Dread wanted the shard out of greed, the rebels want to put the council out of power and take back their land, the jungle variants wanted to eat and live among the jungle again, and the pirates are just typical pirates.

Unlike the others, whose goals can be achieved in their universes, Nine wants nothing to do with his own. Like Sonic, Nine's goal is related to the shatter space.

8. Nine truly has no one EXCEPT Sonic

Another thing to differentiate him from the other versions of himself and the main cast is how Nine has nothing to lose. Other versions of him have a group of the main cast, hell even Rusty Rose finds herself valued (not sentimentally but still) and useful to the council. Nine, however, has nobody until this bright blue hedgehog told him about a life he could've had, a life Sonic gave to his other self.

So it's no wonder he took the very person who can give him the same life to a new shatter space. He wants that desperately. It's no wonder he doesn't show an interest in getting Sonic home anymore, if he does that, the chance of having the life he always wanted, that hope, would be gone forever. I don't think Nine's going to let that happen easily.

9. Everyone roots for him and wants him to be happy

There are zero people that don't want him to achieve his goal of love and happiness. Not just for the fact that he's a version of a character we're already emotionally invested in, but also because Nine is his own person. He's still a person who was horribly abused to the point of being jaded and cold.

Seeing him smile or show comfort really melts my heart cause this kid deserves SO MUCH! I know you all agree. But it is depressing to remember that Sonic NEEDS to go back and restore his world, he'll have to leave Nine behind. I don't think they're going to go with Sonic taking Nine with him because of what might happen with the whole "they can't see each other" stuff.

And with how stubborn and desperate Nine is...

I'm curious about how they figure this out and resolve this.

10. He might affect the plot

A protagonist is not just the lead character who pushes the plot along, they also affect and can possibly change the plot as well. Sonic already kicked off the plot, it's possible for Nine to affect it in a BIG way. This can lead to a LOT of possibilities when you consider that. We KNOW he has a plan and it has something to do with the Chaos Council capturing him. This fact can lead to a LOT of interpretations.

Well, that was my list of how Nine might be the deuteragonist of Sonic Prime in the future. Thanks for reading and I hope you have a lovely day <3

#sonic prime #more sonic prime!#sonic prime spoilers #nine needs a hug #tails nine #miles nine prower #nine sonic prime #sonic prime nine #nine deserves to win #i love him so much #i need the second batch now #my little guy #baby boi #he has trauma #haha anyways #thank you for coming to my TED talk #sonic fandom #i want to hug him

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resident-gay-bitch · 4 months

Text

sirius being dramatic when finding out about jegulus + very side wolfstar and rosekiller

Sirius strode into the apartment without warning, tossed his keys onto the table with a loud clunk, and took a dramatic bow with a wolffish grin.

“So, what do you think?”

“Of what?” Regulus asked, deadpanning him, “Your dramatic entrance? You’re not a vampire, Sirius- also I told you that key was for emergencies only.”

“This is an emergency.” Sirius glared at him, straightening up, “I need compliments.”

“Oh, how out of character for you.” Regulus said sarcastically, stirring his tea with his spoon at the table.

Sirius flipped him off.

“Please, tell me your thoughts.” Sirius grinned, showing off his new look and flourishing his hair, “Honest opinions only, unless they’re mean. If they’re mean, just tell me I’m pretty instead.”

“You’re pretty.” Dorcas smirked, and Sirius flipped her off.

Sirius had gone on an impulsive whim this morning after a quiet breakfast with Remus had revealed he quite likes the edgy punk look. And whilst Sirius is well aware how much Remus adores his long hair and pretty rebel boy demeanour, mixining it up for a few months could only mean a bit of fun.

Besides, if the way Remus’ brain seemed to short circuit that time Sirius came home with a septum and a nose piercing meant anything, Sirius is sure the other man would absolutely melt now.

He’d gotten himself an eyebrow and lip piercing today, as well as an extra three in his ear. It was a painful feat, and Sirius will not admit that he cried and had to be given a lollipop like a child, but he did it.

He also cut his hair short, just below the base of his skull, short wavy locks that no longer frame his face like they once did. And underneath, he’s died it electric blue.

He chopped one of his old metal band tees through the middle for a rough crop, and put Remus’ too big black ripped jeans on, letting them sit low on the waist with a studded belt to keep from pantsing himself. He’s never really been one for having his briefs stuck up out of his pants, but he happens to be wearing dark blue ones today, and they match.

“I think you look lovely, Sirius.” Pandora smiled over her tea, sitting at the table by Regulus. Out of Regulus’ entire group of friends, Sirius likes her the best. She’s always the nicest to him. “Very punk rock.”

“Thank you, Pandora.” Sirius smiled.

“I think you look stupid.” Regulus said, because of course he did.

“Thank you, Reggie.” Sirius smiled.

“I think you look like me.” Barty said, leaning up against the kitchen counter, one foot on the cabinets behind him for stability.

Sirius furrowed his brow and looked Barty over. And… fuck, yeah, he did. Barty was also wearing a messily cropped shirt, briefs that stuck out of the hem of his low baggy sweats, but he usually wears jeans like these when he’s out and about. And his hair is almost identical to Sirius’, however there’s green in it rather than blue. And the piercings, he’s got loads of them, skin smothered with tattoos too.

“You stealing my look, Black?” Barty grinned.

“Yeah, Im very attracted to him right now.” Evan, who had his head resting on Barty’s shoulder, smiled, “You should go blue, Barty. Its hot.”

“Hey.” Barty nudged him in the side and Sirius blushed.

“Well, thank you Evan, however, I am happily committed.” Sirius smiled, taking another little bow, “I suppose I take that as a compliment too, Crouch?”

“Obviously.” Crouch snickered, “I feel honoured that the Sirius Black is trying to look more like little old me-“

“That was an accident.” Sirius pressed, pointing at him, “I just wanted to look cool for Remus.”

“So you think I look cool?” Barty laughed delightfully.

“That’ll work.” Dorcas grinned, “Remember when Remus and Barry shagged-“

“I don’t need a reminder of that!” Sirius shouted as the same time that Barty said, “Cas, I told you to stop bringing that up around Evan.”

“Oh, so she can bring it up when I’m not around, huh?” Evan asked with a snake like grin, “Do you like to reminisce when I’m not there, Barty? Are you unfaithful?”

“Never, dove.” Barty kissed Evans forehead and sent an evil glare Dorcas’ way, “Dorcas just likes to stir the pot.”

Dorcas and Pandora giggled to themselves.

“Okay, enough about you lot, more about me.” Sirius interrupted, “On a scale of one to ten, how much do you think Remus will want to shag me when I get home? Ten being a lot-“

Sirius’ speech was interrupted by someone else letting themselves in through the front door and striding into the house.

“Love, I broke my glasses again, can you please fix them?” Sirius recognised that voice instantly, it was his best friends voice afterall. James walked right past Sirius in the entry way and leant in and smacked a kiss right on Regulus’ lips, “Missed you.” James muttered again, “I know it’s only been three hours, but I always miss you.”

Sirius is feeling a lot of confusion right now.

Regulus sends him a panicked glance over James’ shoulder, and then awkwardly looks up at James with pink cheeks. Sirius takes in the sudden tension in the room, at the way Pandora is sending Sirius a pleading look, at the way Dorcas is biting her lip in anticipation and looking between everyone, at the way Barty is clearly trying his best not to burst out with laughter, and the way that Evan is jabbing an elbow into his side and looking remorseful.

Suddenly Sirius is no longer confused. He feels more betrayed than anything.

James is fucking shagging his baby brother, isn’t he?

“Oh, Barty, by the way-“ James starts but he interrupts himself midway through, “I swear you were just-“ James turns and points in Sirius’ direction, and then spins back to Barty, “Why are there two of you?”

Barty bursts out laughing, “There’s only one of me, Potter.”

James swings back and forth, looking between them for a moment. And Sirius remembers how genuinely blind James is without his glasses. He usually can’t tell Remus and Peter apart when without them, their hair too similar in colour. So Sirius decides to help him out.

“James.” Sirius prompts when James’ back is to him, and he watches the way the other man immediately stiffens, “Are you snagging my brother?”

Regulus stands and slides James’ glasses onto his face before solemnly petting him on the cheek and sighing, “You’ve been wanting to tell him somehow.”

James slowly turns around, “Oh, Sirius, hi! Didn’t see you there, wow, new look. Very punk, Remus is sure to love it- hey, why don’t we go show Remus now? Yeah, let’s go right there and not talk about anything else-“

“James.” Sirius prompts again, glaring at him, “Are you, or are you not, shagging my brother.”

“Uhm, well… shagging’s quite a vile word, don’t you think? I prefer… love making-“

Behind him, Regulus groaned and began to bang his head on the cupboard whilst all of his friends lit up with laughter.

“Love making?” Sirius gasped, “James, that’s disgusting.”

“Well, it’s not really, it’s quite lovely.”

Sirius pretends to gag, “How long?”

“Erm… bit of an odd question considering it’s your brother.” James shrugged, “But, usually at least an hour-“

“No!” Sirius gasped, slapping his hands down over his ears, which hurt due to the new piercings. “I meant you two! How long have you been shagging?”

“Oh.” James turned bright red, “Yeah, I suppose that’s more logical. Uhm, maybe… like… mhgh…”

“I’m sorry?” Sirius asked, “Mind not mumbling?”

James pulled a wry face and shook his head. Sirius cocked an eyebrow, which also hurt.

Regulus groaned and leant over James, shoulder, “Six and a half month-“

“What!” Sirius shrieked, “You’ve been fucking m’y brother for six and a half months and haven’t told me?!”

“I don’t need to tell you all my personal business, Sirius.” Regulus said.

“Yeah, but, James does.” Sirius points at him.

“It’s true, I do.” James agreed, “Which is why I’m so sorry, Pads. I didn’t want to keep it from you, it’s just, we thought we should at first because I know you scared away the last two guys Reggie was involved with. And then… and then I just felt bad for lying and so I kept lying and… and now we’re here.”

Sirius shook his head at James, “I’m so disappointed in you.” He squinted his eyes, “Just fooling around with my brother like that-“

“We’re not fooling around, Sirius.” James defended, “We never were.”

“I don’t understand.” Sirius shook his head, “Are you shagging or not?”

James snickered, “Look, I didn’t even know I had a crush on Reggie till he kissed me one day, and then I immediately realised I liked him and… and well, we started going out. The shagging didn’t start till after then.”

Sirius took a little step back, looking them both over.

“It’s genuine, Sirius.” James smiled, putting his arm around Regulus’ shoulders, “I just didn’t- I was too scared… I was worried you wouldn’t approve of me for him.” James shrugged, “But we’re not just shagging… I love him.”

Sirius was taken aback, stuck silent for a moment. James loved him? Regulus was gazing up at James with flushed cheeks and a a smile he’d never seen his brother wear before, and it seemed like Regulus loved him back.

Sirius burst out crying.

James immediately rushed to his aid, making them both sit at the table, two chairs pulled out to face eachother. Regulus groaned and went to put on a new pot of tea.

James took Sirius’ hands, shushing him and looking terribly guilty, “I- I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sirius. Is there something I can do to make it up to you? Is… Is there something I can do to make me worthy of him? I can’t lose- I can’t lose either of you, I’m so sorry, Sirius.”

Sirius sobbed so hard he couldn’t even speak. He shook his head to try and communicate with James, but the message did not go across clearly.

James had started to cry too, “I’m sorry, Sirius. I’m so sorry, I should have- I know I shouldn’t have lied, especially not for so long. But I was so worried- worried about this. I can’t-“ James sobbed so hard he started hyperventilating, “I don’t want to loose- loose-“

“Okay.” Pandora muttered, getting in between them, “Look at me, let’s take some deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. With me now, come on, in through the nose… out through the mouth.”

Sirius and James sat there for a moment, following pandoras instructions. James’ glasses were cracked and foggy, and Sirius was dreading having to reapply his eyeliner for a second time today.

Regulus set some teacups down on the table and poured them each some midnight blue coloured tea, “Dora’s recipe. Supposed to calm you.”

“I’m sorry.” James muttered after taking a big sip of tea, “I don’t know what to do, Pads. I can’t lose you both.”

Sirius took a few sips himself, taking a moment to compose himself, “You’re not going too.” He smiled, his eyes begging to water again, “I’m sorry I freaked you out.”

“What?” James asked, taken aback, his voice sounded hoarse.

Sirius set his cup down with shaky hands and burst into more tears, but he smiled through them, and they weren’t nearly as heavy as before, “You love him?!”

James sent a nervous glance over at Regulus and tentatively nodded, “As much as I love you- but, differently, of course.”

That only made Sirius cry harder. He tried to talk again, but all that came out was incoherent nonsense.

“Sirius, stop wailing and just talk for Godricks sake.” Regulus scoffed, “Or you can fucking get out of my house.”

Sirius took a deep breath and sniffled, “I’m sorry… I just… you love him! Reggie deserves to be loved.”

“Oh.” James muttered, poking his glasses up his nose. Across the table, Regulus went silent. James smiled and nodded, “Yeah, of course he does.”

“And you deserve to be loved.” Sirius mumbles.

James snickers, “Well, I hope I do.”

“And… and you have such a big heart, and love people so… so… in the best way.”

James smiled and nodded.

“And Reggie-“ Sirius sobbed more, “He struggles- but he really loves who he loves with his whole heart.”

Regulus embarrassedly buried his head in his hands and Barty gave him a playful shove.

“Out of everyone in the world, I approve of you both the most for eachother.” Sirius sobbed, “And it just makes me so happy that you love eachother!”

There was a moment of silence before James started laughing in that way he does when he really adores something. He reached out and grabbed Sirius’ hands, squeezing them tight.

“It makes me so fucking happy that you approve.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sirius sniffled, “You’re my best friend, and he’s my brother. You’re my two favorite people, it only makes sense that you love eachother.”

“Do you mean that?” Regulus asked across the table.

“Of course.” Sirius nodded, reaching over to pet Reggie’s elbow, “And when you get married James will be my brother in law-“

“I bloody know!” James grinned, slapping his knee, “How good will that be?”

Sirius grabbed onto him excitedly.

After a moment, James smiled and wiped at the black smudge from Sirius’ tears, “This new look got anything to do with Remus’ thing for punks?”

Sirius smiled sheepishly, “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“He liked it enough when you got those nose piercings, he’ll probably pass out seing you like this.”

Sirius chuckled.

“Come on, let’s clean you up and get you back home to him.”

Sirius smiled and nodded, “Thanks, Prongs.”

When Sirius got home, Remus did in fact malfunction. He couldn’t talk proper words for two whole minuets before he pointed to their room and muttered, “Bed, now.” And Sirius could never say no to his Moony.

★ ★ ★

Wow I wrote this at a regular hour in the day, hats off to me. This was inspired by @gaybubblehead and my texts about how they hc sirius goes through a phase where he looks just like Barty in terms of style and stuff and I honestly agree he would do that. I mean they came up with the entire idea of this basically and told me I should write it, and for once I actually delivered. lol

So this one’s for you my dude <3

It was silly, I started this with barely any direction and just let the story write its self. I should be writing my Christmas fic butttttt no.

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