#precious and precarious are very close together.

[workwort]

it’s insane how much more ably expansively and generously I am able to love the people in my life and engage with intimacy now that I’m not living in poverty and constantly overstimulated

#lysposting #and sleeping better(!!) #I feel like I am recovering an ability that got buried in shit years ago. it’s scary. #precious and precarious are very close together.

[pin-k-ink]

trespass // sakusa kiyoomi

tw ⇢ non-con, somnophilia, unprotected sex, creampie, grinding, public sex, implied voyeurism, getting caught, minor manga spoilers, sakusa is lowkey delulu

wc ⇢ 2.5k

a/n: this was heavily inspired by a mista fic i read

Sakusa's skin crawled as he stared at the bus, a sense of dread rising in his throat. The vehicle loomed before him, its doors open like the maw of some great beast waiting to swallow him whole. Inside, two full teams from Itachiyama awaited, their bodies packed together in a claustrophobic nightmare due to a last-minute transportation issue.

As he stepped onto the bus, Sakusa's mind reeled at the thought of being trapped in such close quarters with so many people, each one a potential vector for illness. He had always prized his personal space, a carefully maintained barrier against the chaos of the outside world. Now, that barrier was about to be breached.

He should've just taken the train to their away games without batting an eye. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to be crammed into another vehicle with strangers, which seemed slightly worse than getting on a bus with people he actually knew. Or maybe a tiny part of him felt uneasy about leaving you, his precious little manager, in a bus full of hormonal and sweaty teenage boys.

Sakusa had sucked it up and gotten up extra early to secure a spot in the back of the bus, already claiming the corner seat as his own. By sunrise, the bus was filled to capacity, the vehicle swaying precariously from side to side. He was sure that the tires were probably inflated to their limits, ready to burst at any moment.

As the rest of the team filed in, Sakusa curled into himself, but you were nowhere to be seen. Were you not coming? Or were you sensible enough to find another way there instead of willingly entering this lion's den?

No, apparently not. You were just as reckless as always. Sakusa jolted slightly in his seat as you suddenly emerged from between two burly basketball players, yelping softly as the imbalance in your overloaded duffel bag caused you to stumble and fall.

Iizuna, ever the attentive captain, quickly helped you to your feet. He dusted you off and checked for any injuries, keeping you close by his side, practically nestled between his legs as everyone finally settled into their seats. It was going to be a long six-hour ride, and there was no way anyone would be left standing, no matter how cramped it got.

Iizuna glanced apologetically at Sakusa as he asked you to sit next to him, closer to the window. But upon realizing there was no space, Iizuna suggested you sit on his lap instead. In a flash, Sakusa reached out and pulled you in, his hands almost aggressively wrapping around your waist as he tugged you onto his own lap, leaving a dumbfounded Iizuna and the other third years staring in shock.

Beside him, Komori snickered, watching in amusement as you awkwardly adjusted yourself on Sakusa's lap, apologizing profusely as if you had committed some grave offense. Sakusa offered no verbal reassurance, instead silently guiding you to sit more comfortably between his legs as he spread them slightly to accommodate you.

Just as Sakusa was about to ask if you were comfortable, the bus lurched forward and began moving. At that moment, he heard the familiar chime of an incoming text message.

Pulling out his phone, Sakusa saw that Komori had sent him a single line: "Make a move on her."

Rolling his eyes, Sakusa shot his cousin a pointed glare before pocketing his phone again. Of course Komori would be aware of his not-so-subtle crush on their manager. After all, you were the only person aside from Komori that Sakusa allowed to touch him freely. He had even permitted you to feed him once, using the very same chopsticks you had just eaten with yourself.

Sakusa's mind wandered to the time he had gotten injured during practice. The team nurse had already gone home for the day, but luckily, you had the knowledge to tend to his type of injury. He vividly remembered how you looked kneeling between his legs, gently hiking up his shorts to press your fingers against the taut, sinewy muscles of his inner thigh.

He had felt his breath catch as you unknowingly leaned in closer, your exhales ghosting over his sensitive skin. Sakusa had to forcibly banish the less-than-pure thoughts from his mind, knowing that any physical reaction would be glaringly obvious given your proximity.

All the moments he had spent alone with you were precious to him. He treasured each and every one, locking them safely away in his heart. So of course he wanted to make a move, to let you know how much you meant to him.

But as he looked down at your peaceful, sleeping face, Sakusa had to stifle a sigh. Somehow, you had already dozed off, a cute habit of yours whenever you were in a moving vehicle with hours to go before reaching your destination. It was adorable, but at this particular moment, rather frustrating.

Gently tugging his mask down to rest below his nose, Sakusa leaned closer and protectively wrapped his arms around your middle. He held you securely against his chest, ensuring you wouldn't slip off as the bus jostled along the highway. Burying his nose in your hair, he breathed in deeply, the soft scent of lavender from your shampoo flooding his senses and awakening a primal urge deep within him.

Almost unconsciously, Sakusa's hands tightened their grip on you as he nuzzled further into your silky locks. His fingertips skimmed teasingly along the hem of your shirt, dancing just underneath the edge of your jacket. He knew that with the slightest movement, he could brush against the bare skin of your stomach.

The thought alone sent a thrill down his spine. Sakusa couldn't help but wonder if your skin was as soft and smooth as it looked. It had to be. Throwing caution to the wind, he finally slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, grazing them ever so lightly over the warm, supple flesh of your belly.

You shivered slightly in your sleep, your stomach dipping at the barest touch. So you were ticklish. That knowledge made Sakusa's heart swell with adoration. Fuck, could you be any cuter?

Emboldened, Sakusa continued to gently rub your lower abdomen, reveling in the velvety softness. As you relaxed further into his embrace, a hum of contentment rumbled deep in his chest.

Tightening his thighs on either side of you, Sakusa held you firmly in place, determined to savor this fleeting moment of intimacy. His fingers ceased their exploration, now simply brushing lazy circles over the enticing curves of your hips.

As the bus rolled on, Sakusa let himself get lost in the feeling of you in his arms. He knew he should probably feel guilty for indulging in this intimate touch without your knowledge, but the temptation was too great to resist. He had waited so long for a chance like this, to feel your softness under his hands, to breathe in your scent until it filled his lungs.

He promised himself that this stolen moment would be the catalyst he needed to finally confess his feelings for you. He would do it right, court you properly until you understood the depth of his affection. But for now, he would allow himself this one transgression, this fleeting glimpse of what could be.

As he held you close, your gentle exhales tickling his collarbone, Sakusa let himself dream of a future where you were his. His to hold, his to cherish, his to love. And with that sweet fantasy playing behind his closed eyelids, he drifted off to sleep, your name a whispered prayer on his lips.

The glaring sun pierced through the window beside him, rousing Sakusa from his slumber. Sweat drenched his body, causing his shirt to cling uncomfortably to his skin. A soft groan of annoyance escaped his lips as he registered the weight on his lap, only for his eyes to flutter open and realize it was you. With a gentle sigh, Sakusa attempted to adjust your position, but a sudden, muffled moan slipped out as he became acutely aware that something was terribly amiss.

Sakusa froze, his heart pounding frantically against his ribcage as the realization dawned on him - the incessant vibrations of the bus, combined with your warm, pliant body pressed intimately against his lap, had coaxed his treacherous body to stir in a most inconvenient manner.

Sakusa's breath caught in his throat, a heated flush creeping up his neck as he desperately willed his body to behave. The last thing he needed was for you to wake up and feel his shameful arousal pressing insistently against your ass.

Clenching his jaw, Sakusa tried to focus on anything else - the passing scenery, the low hum of the engine, the quiet chatter of his teammates. But every subtle shift of your weight, every gentle exhale that tickled his skin, only served to further stoke the embers of his desire.

He cursed silently, his fingers digging into your hips as he fought to maintain control. It was torture of the sweetest kind, having you so close, yet being unable to act on his longing. Sakusa knew he should wake you, put some distance between your bodies before the situation escalated, but a selfish part of him wanted to bask in your warmth just a little longer.

As if sensing his internal struggle, you stirred slightly, your head lolling to the side to rest in the crook of his neck. Your lips brushed against his heated skin, eliciting a shuddering gasp from Sakusa. He bit back a groan, his resolve crumbling with each passing second.

Sakusa swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing against the shell of your ear. He couldn't take it anymore, his cock throbbing painfully in the confines of his pants. If he didn't do something soon, he was going to lose his mind.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sakusa reluctantly untangled his fingers from your hips. He hesitated for a moment, steeling himself before carefully sliding his hand over your clothed pussy.

Sakusa's breath hitched as his fingers brushed over the damp material, his eyes widening in shock. Was this... for him?

Heat coursed through his veins, his head swimming with lust as he dared to apply a little more pressure. The lewd sound of his fingers dragging against your slick panties elicited a choked whimper from him, his cock twitching impatiently beneath you.

Sakusa couldn't believe what he was doing.

Touching you like this, even if you were asleep, was completely unacceptable. He should stop while he still could.

But when his fingers found your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with agonizing precision, you arched into him, your ass grinding down on his cock and sending sparks of pleasure coursing through his veins.

With a low growl, Sakusa tightened his hold on you, his other hand fumbling to reach his zipper. The metal teeth gave way easily, allowing him to tug the stiff material down, his leaking cock finally springing free.

A shuddering sigh of relief escaped his lips, the cool air of the bus doing little to quell the heat raging within him. He was painfully hard, the head of his cock already leaking precum.

With one final glance at your blissful, sleeping face, Sakusa lifted his hips, nudging his cock against your panty-clad core. His pulse was racing, his breaths coming in short, ragged pants as he teased the soaked fabric.

Unable to resist any longer, Sakusa pushed the soaked panties aside, the swollen head of his cock rubbing tortuously against your aching clit. You moaned softly, arching into him, your body instinctively seeking the pleasure he was so willing to give.

His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, the anticipation almost unbearable.

Sakusa's cock throbbed insistently, his hips rocking slowly against your dripping cunt. The need to bury himself inside you, to feel your velvety walls clenching around him, was almost overwhelming.

He was so close, the tip of his cock poised at your entrance, ready to claim you as his. Just one push and he would be sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt. All he had to do was thrust his hips and you would finally be his.

The bus jerked, throwing you back against him, his cock sliding into your soaked cunt, and Sakusa groaned, his eyes rolling back as he felt your warm walls flutter around him. Fuck, you felt better than he had ever imagined.

With a shaky exhale, he sank deeper into your heat, his cock throbbing as you stretched to accommodate him. You felt like heaven, and Sakusa couldn't stop himself from thrusting his hips, his cock sliding in and out of your tight pussy.

Sakusa knew he should be gentle, take his time and savor every delicious inch of you. But the overwhelming desire to claim you, to mark you as his, overpowered any sense of restraint he may have had.

His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he rutted into you, his cock massaging your aching cunt.

The air was thick with the heady scent of your arousal, the soft, subtle sound of your slick pussy being stretched by his cock filling the space between your bodies.

Sakusa's head fell back against the seat, his jaw clenched as he fucked into you, the coil of pleasure tightening in his gut. He was close, his balls tightening as he felt his orgasm rapidly approaching.

Just as he was about to pull out, his cock twitching with the promise of release, you came with a soft moan, your walls clamping down on him. With a strangled cry, Sakusa buried his face in your neck, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself inside you, painting your walls with his cum.

As the last waves of his orgasm washed over him, Sakusa let out a satisfied sigh, his body slumping against yours. You were still asleep, your soft breaths tickling his skin, and Sakusa couldn't help but smile, his heart swelling with affection.

He knew it was wrong, taking advantage of you like this. But the feeling of euphoria that came from being inside you, knowing that he had claimed you as his own, was worth any guilt that may come later.

As he basked in the afterglow of his release, Sakusa vowed to confess his feelings once he returned home. No matter what, he would make sure you were his, and his alone.

Sakusa's phone chimed again, abruptly pulling him from his reverie. Glancing down, he saw a new message from Komori: "That is not what I meant by making a move." Confused, Sakusa quirked an eyebrow and turned to his side, only to be met with Komori's appalled expression, though that did nothing to deter him from noticing the very prominent hard-on his cousin was sporting.

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa smut #sakusa x reader smut

[rallentando1011]

hey so how do you think the rottmnt boys would deal with a s/o who has insomnia unless they’re cuddling their boyfriend or their giant eevee plush in their own house or stealing something from the boys. Like if they got nothing to bury their face in and squish in their sleep, they ain’t sleeping and look tired the next day. They just look so lonely and lost without something to sleep with too. Totally steals one of Raphael’s teddies when they sleep over as Raphael’s lover. For Donnie, probably fall asleep with shelldon if Donnie isn’t for grabs and yes, shelldon was very comfortable, he felt warm and sturdy like Donnie’s plastron sort off. Leo’s pillow which he is never getting back.

ROTTMNT Boys + Insomniac Reader

Donnie

For Donnie, late nights, all nighters and the unfortunate side effects of the points are not uncommon

His lab work often requires that he stays up late and starts early as a matter of expediency

But that’s not the problem right now

The problem he notices on one late night is how exhausted you are, slumped entirely on his precious desk space

Donnie lightheartedly asks how much melatonin you took only to be met with a condemning look, his main cause of concern

“HOW MUCH- Ahem, I mean, how much melatonin did you take?”

“Like, a handful.”

“And this is a nightly occurrence?”

“Just about.”

“By Darwin- let’s get you to sleep for now. Tomorrow, we’re doing a physical and psych eval. because how are you even alive.”

Donnie sets you up on a sufficiently cozy bench in the lab with a certain drone taking up residence on your lap

After laying you down, the man moves straight back to working at his desk, much to your chagrin

However, that doesn’t mean you don’t have some tricks up your sleeve

“Respectfully, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. makes a better cuddle buddy,” you call idly to the turtle, trying to conceal your cuddle-seeking agenda

A contemplative hum is Donnie’s response

You persist. “No offense. He’s warm. You’re cold. Not much of a competition.”

“Begrudging sigh- get over here.”

“Say what now?”

“I know you heard me and shan’t be repeating myself. Take up the offer or don’t.”

“Aw. What a sweetheart.”

You join him at his desk chair, curling up cozily into his side with a smug grin, a content drone still on your lap

But your smugness doesn’t last long

Within a few minutes, you’re completely slumped over on Donnie’s shoulder

Donnie also doesn’t have the ability to boast as he too finds himself resting on you, snoring rhythmically into a deep sleep

Mikey

Mikey immediately notices something’s up

Your terrible motor function, your tendency to lean, half-asleep, against any flat surface you find, not to mention your nearly complete lack of hand-eye coordination

Everything comes to a boiling point, quite literally, when you two are cooking together and you zone out with your head down on the counter as your mushroom risotto almost boils over

After he gets the heat off and that situation under control, it’s time for Dr. Feelings to step in and get some answers

“What’s going on?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You seem really drowsy. If something’s wrong, you can tell me. Or not. Any way you’re comfortable with.”

“Nothing’s wrong, per say. It’s just - getting to bed has been really difficult this week for some reason.”

Mikey nods, understanding completely

Once he correctly cleans and puts away dishes and foods, he recommends that you two converse in his room about the situation

You agree, walking alongside him through the lair on precarious legs

The box turtle lays on his bed with you at his side and starts asking questions

When did this bout of insomnia start? What are some of the stressful situations you’ve experienced recently?

As you roll to be right at his side, feeling how warm and cozy the bed feels, admiring the distant babble of potential issues and solutions of this rough patch, the lure of sleep becomes more and more tantalizing

Mikey finishes a thought and looks to you for your opinion, though he’s met with calmly closed eyes and shallow breathing

A smile comes across his face and - even though the in depth solution for this is a larger issue - that is an obstacle in a lot more than just the fact for another day

For now, he just bundles up beside you and drifts off to sleep

Leo

At first when Leo notices your perpetual grogginess, he plays it off as a joke

Asking you what kind of coffin you slept in, referring to you as an elderly person, he’s always got some sort of quip

The concern in his eyes is almost imperceptible

Eventually, his concern cracks through your shell and you feed up to how difficult it is to get to sleep every night

Leo goes slack-jawed

Not only have you been struggling to sleep like his own restless self, but he’s been ribbing you for it?

He’s flabbergasted

“Before you ask, yes, I even tried shutting my phone off and still couldn’t

“Man. This is serious.”

Leo immediately sets to grabbing materials - only the necessities, of course - popcorn, throw blankets, all of his unicorn plushies, good old-fashioned Jupiter Jim movies, and warm tea

The man knows from personal experience that one of the best ways to make yourself sleep is to completely drain your energy and set up a situation in which it is literally impossible not to fall asleep in

“How could snacks possibly help me fall asleep?”

“Not to say just trust me, but just trust me.”

“Source: trust me bro.”

“Exactly.”

One movie and snack time later, you found yourself swaddled in innumerable blankets, plush unicorns clutched tightly to your chest, shoulder to shoulder with your turtle and halfway to unconsciousness, you saw the validity in what he was saying

“Don’t make me regret saying this, but you were right.”

“Of course. When aren’t I?”

“Seriously, thanks.”

“Literally anytime.”

Raph

Raph immediately senses that something’s wrong the second he tries to go to sleep

He goes through his nightly routine just fine: putting on his onesie, brushing his teeth, popping in his retainer, kissing each of his teddy bears goodnight-

Except he can’t

The majority of the plush toys are pristinely lined up in place on his bedside, but as soon as he makes it to the spot of his beloved Captain Cuddles, he’s met only by air and emptiness

And he freaks out

Drawers thrown haphazardly around the room, every piece of furniture in the lair unturned, not a single object in the lair remains unsearched

He’s exasperated, exhausted, completely distraught until you call to tell goodnight

When you hear he’s upset and ask why, he lets you in on the situation

And he’s met with silence

Guilty silence

Before he could chide you, you hung up, and within the hour you were at the lair

Raph seems betrayed, voice cracking and everything, as he asks why you committed such a dissolute deed

“I just haven’t caught much sleep this week, and having something soft or something of yours helps, you know?”

“How long has it been since you slept?”

“Like, three days?”

“It’s only Wednesday.”

“Yep.”

Suddenly, all the stress and distress melts away from his brow, the tension from his shoulders, all replaced by understanding

What was probably going to be an thirty minute rant about the significance of his teddies instead turns into a soft spoken invitation to have a sleepover, and that is an offer you can’t refuse

So, Raph ends up being able to wish each of his stuffies goodnight - and you, too - your head resting on his plastron, the two of you cozily cuddled up

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #save rottmnt #save rise of the tmnt #unpause rottmnt #rise season 3 #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt x reader #rise donatello x reader #rise donnie x reader #donnie x reader #raph x reader #mikey x reader #leo x reader #Ig idk #100 #200 #HOLY MOLY

[auncyen]

I've been poking at sickfic in email drafts the past week and now trying. to actually put it together LOL

-

They took off their cloak to sleep.  That was the mistake.  They're always comfortable with their cloak on, it's like magic.  It's probably a Craft, really, but they've never seen a tailor or fabric shop advertising a Craft that sounds like it.  He's considered a few times asking someone who knows sewing Crafts to look at it--maybe it holds a clue to where he's from--but if it's that rare, would they even recognize it?  And if it's really rare, what if they decided to take it?

(They know most people wouldn't steal a cloak.  But they've been robbed before, and their hat and cloak are too precious to lose.)

… He had been feeling a little off during the day.  Foggy and absent-minded, more than usual.  At one point when the group was taking a break and the others had been distracted with tasks, he indulged himself after finishing his own job of scouting and curled up tight, pulling the cloak up around his face, folding his arms up to his body and tucking in his legs to disappear entirely in the cloak. It was something that felt nice on the very rare occasion they felt too warm, or too cold, or just wanted to hide from the world.

Bonnie had spotted him doing it. Of course someone would, when he lingered in it for so long. "Ha!! Frin looks like a toadstool!" Their voice sounded a bit raspy, but their energy was back, so Siffrin didn't mind them having a laugh at his expense. It was pretty funny to realize, with his broad-brimmed hat still perched on the top of his head, he would look a bit like a huge lumpy mushroom. He wriggled inside the cloak.

"'Course I do. I'm a fungi, after all."

"Ugh! Frin! No!!"

Siffrin couldn't see the others, still curled up in their cozy cloak, but he could hear Odile's scoff just under Isabeau's boisterous laugh. They smiled. Mirabelle was probably still away, gathering firewood--wait, no, they could hear footsteps approaching him, and they sounded like her boots--

"Siffrin? You're not getting sick too, are you?"

He stiffened inside the cloak. He messed up! He worried Mirabelle, when she's already been so anxious over Odile and Bonnie! He popped his head out of the cloak so quickly his hat fell off and smiled up at Mirabelle as she leaned over him, holding a bundle of firewood close to her.

"No, I'm fine!"

"You're sure?" Mirabelle asked. "You're cold, though--you don't get cold very easily." She looked like she was trying to get the wood balanced in one hand and reach out the other to him so she could--?

The one-handed hold must have been too precarious, as she quickly took it back.

"I'm fine, I don't get sick," they reassured her.

"You've gotten sick from eating berries," Bonnie piped up. "You said that was why I had to check any berries I picked with you or Mirabelle."

Yeah. They'd prefer Bonnie check with them just because they know from experience which berries are good and which berries will make one regret being alive, but they also knew Bonnie liked Mirabelle better and Mirabelle said she'd taken wilderness classes at her House and they knew she would always err on the side of caution if she didn't know something was safe, especially if it concerned Bonnie. So. They just wanted to make sure Bonnie check with someone before eating something that might cause them misery. "I've gotten sick from eating bad berries," Siffrin conceded. "But germs have nothing on me. I'm not getting sick like you and Odile were."

"If you're sure…" Mirabelle was still frowning as she looked him over.

"I'm fine! I'll get warm as soon as the fire's going," he added, which had the desired effect of Mirabelle setting about to make the fire instead of fussing over him.

And they really had been fine for most of the evening! The fire had warmed them right up, sometimes too warm so they had to step away, but then they'd start feeling that cold achiness again and come back to the fire. Still, they'd been comfortable enough, thanks to their cloak. They'd eaten a little of the dinner Bonnie made, even if their appetite was strangely absent.

But then they'd taken off the cloak to sleep, and that had been a mistake.  He fell asleep after inching dangerously close to Isabeau, hoping to catch some of the warmth that the man seemed to radiate the few times they'd brushed each other and woke up sweaty, hot but shivering, with Isa looking down at him in concern.

"Isa?" he whispered.

"Sorry, Sif. I was just checking your temperature--you're burning. I think the germs finally gotcha."

"I'm--I'm fine," they muttered. "I'll be fine in the morning." It was still dark as pitch outside, only the dotted lights in the sky providing illumination. They still had some hours to sleep and recover for the next day's travels.

"Sif, if you caught what Bonbon and M'dame had--"

"I'll. I'll be fine, Isa. Don't worry Mira, okay?"

"…Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine. It's fine. Don't worry."

"Sif…" Isabeau sounded far more concerned than he should be. Siffrin would be fine, he just--he just needed to make himself comfortable in the bedroll that had gotten sweaty. They were so tired already, if they just closed their eyes and stayed that way…

They opened their eyes to dawn light and Mirabelle's worried face and groaned.

They didn't feel better at all. They were feeling much worse, even more knowing that they were upsetting Mirabelle.

#siffrin #in stars and time

[munacy]

magnetic

@wolfstarmicrofic

They look ridiculous right now, laying flat on the uncomfortable hardwood floor of the kitchen with a woefully empty bottle of gin between them, heads flush against the Muggle refrigerator. It kicks on noisily. Remus vaguely wonders when was the last time they honest-to-God swept, but decides he can worry about that at a later time.

(That’s always what he thinks. Even sober. It’s why the floor’s not been swept in ages.) “And it’s because they’re…magentic, yes?”

He says it like magenta, the color, forcing a throaty drunk giggle from Remus’ throat.

“Close, sweetheart, close. They’re magnetic, they’re magnets. The metals have, like, opposite poles or something,”—Remus finds that in this state, it’s a bit difficult, accurately recalling basic science, but reasons that Sirius won’t know any better if he gets part of it wrong—”and it causes them to be attracted to one another.”

“Ahh, Moony, then I must be magnetic to you, eh?” Sirius murmurs lasciviously while squirming closer to Remus. However, the motion of his drunkenly swinging hand upsets the precariously placed magnet (a magnet portraying a chihuahua in a purple bikini and thong, because they are classy gentlemen and would never display a naked chihuahua). The chihuahua falls, as all great dynasties do. Smacks Sirius in the middle of his porcelain forehead, causing him to squawk in pain. Remus guffaws with abandon, sharp gleaming teeth, free, loud.

(Only Sirius gets to see this. Every one else gets the breathy chuckle, muffled into a fist or disguised as a cough.)

When Remus regains his composure, he finally notices the precious cargo in Sirius’ hand. It is a Polaroid of Lily and James at their wedding, previously pinned to the fridge by their fallen comrade.

“You know, Remus,” Sirius says softly, if a little garbled, “we should do this.”

“Take a photo together? We’ve got hundreds.”

“No, you giant twat!” he laughs. His laugh is so beautiful, so gorgeous, and, by God, Remus wants to eat it. “We should get married.” His smile is soft, angelic, dimples and blushing innocence.

(Only Remus gets to see this. Only Remus.)

“Sirius Black,” he says gravely. “Did you just propose to me on the dirty floor of our kitchen after calling me a giant twat?”

Sirius barks out a stunned laugh and adopts a put-upon frown. “What, you don’t like it? You won’t marry me because I called you a twat? I thought that—stop tickling me you bastard!—thought that was part of my charm—really, enough, you fiend!”

Remus has gained the hard-won upper hand, straddling Sirius and pinning him down. He smirks down at Sirius suggestively, then attacks with lightly peppered kisses all over his face and neck as Sirius shouts and feigns displeasure.

Through breathless laughter, Remus gets out, “You silly, imperious, capricious, beautiful, stunning creature, you can’t propose to me on the dirty floor of our kitchen after calling me a giant twat and being completely and utterly trollied, you ridiculous sod.”

Sirius puts on his very best forlorn puppy eyes. It shouldn’t work with slate grey eyes, but it does.

“But Moony,” he whines with adorable petulance, and Remus sees his pale hand scrabbling under the fridge (Disgusting, his mind supples unhelpfully), “I got you a ring and everything.”

The searching hand brandishes a bread twist-tie like a weapon, bent into barely a circle shape. Remus laughs delightedly.

“Ah, Pads,” Remus says fondly, slipping the twist-tie onto his ring finger, “You know I can never say no to you.”

He’s being half facetious.

He’s being more serious than he’s ever been.

“But! I would rather never say no to you when we’re both sober,” he finishes, smiling shyly. Sirius grins crookedly at him, kisses his hair.

“Alright, alright, Moony, point taken, no more playing.”

In the morning, when they’re both murderously hungover, Sirius doesn’t understand how Remus could possibly be surprised, not see it coming, as Sirius bends down on one knee for the real deal, with the real ring that he’s hidden in his sock drawer for weeks, both of them weeping like silly little boys. They take a Polaroid of their happy engagement, and this one is pinned to the fridge with a magnet of a Pomeranian in high heels.

#wolfstar #fluff #the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff #remus lupin x sirius black #wolfstar microfic #microfic #humor

[milune-vox]

The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

previous chapter <=> next chapter You can also read here : https://archiveofourown.org/works/43003029/chapters/120774811#workskin Chapter 6 :

  Hob focuses on his breath : in and out- slow and steady. His limbs still ache from his earlier breakdown- the more he walks, the better he starts to feel. It’s alright, he thinks, as the cold air and the streetlights wash over him. It’s alright, as he looks over to his companion and finds that their steps have fallen into sync. It’s alright. Tonight is peaceful, tonight the world does not tear like a wound. Tonight there are no wails nor shouts to be heard. Nothing but the sound of their steps against the sidewalk and the never ending chatter of the old city.

He keeps looking over at his friend to better savour the moment. Although they've been meeting more often, their time together still feels precious. Precarious, even. Whenever he sees Dream nuzzle his face in the scarf he’s given him, he cannot help but smile. His joy feels like bubbles, rising and popping out of him unbidden.

He should rein it in more; yet it is a most endearing sight, and he is made weak by it. He tries to focus on their surroundings. He distracts his unhelpful mind, attempting to look at the familiar sights with a novel eye. Was this pole always this crooked? The sidewalk glimmers and shines under the streetlights. Patches of grass rise from the harsh concrete, with a kind of resilience he always found moving. He thinks aloud, Dream hums in response. He hopes he is not boring him: he cannot help himself. He is ready top blabber on and on to ignore the buzzing, maddening energy that weighs between them. It has always been there, he thinks- yet, it is stronger than ever after the moment they shared earlier.

His cheerful voice echoes on the empty streets. He explains how this is the path that he takes every morning on his way to uni. They’re not following it through, though: see, right there, he would usually make a turn, and get on the tube. They won’t go there tonight, though- he doesn’t fancy running into one of his students right now.

“I would like to see you teach, someday.”

Hob’s smile freezes and his breath catches in his throat.

He imagines it. Dream, his oldest friend, his mysterious stranger, standing amongst his students and colleagues. A thousand thoughts flood his mind- how would he even focus on his lecture with Dream in the room? How would everyone else react to his presence? Would he have to introduce him? If so, how? Should he try and find an alias? Create an elaborate lie? Built an entire identity from scratch, as he does for himself every few decades?

The rumour mill had already started running at the New Inn. Now it would start there too. All because he couldn’t help the stupid, lovey-dovey grin he had on whenever he looked at his friend. He could already tell which colleagues were going to raise eyebrows. Ask pointed questions. Place bets-

As his frantic eyes go back to Dream, he catches how his face had started to close off in gloomy resignation. Hob realises that his friend must have interpreted his silence for his trying to find a way to turn him down. He hurries to say:

“It’s not, I mean, I would love for you to come, I’d be ecstatic, actually ! I’m just thinking-”, many things, most of which I can’t tell you- “I’m just thinking that we should find an alias, in case someone asks, right?”

It is not a lie. Still, it remains far from the whole truth; he worries for a moment that Dream might catch his omission.

“It is a reasonable idea, yes.” His friend nods, solemn, a considering frown settled on his features.

Hob chuckles, from relief and endearment both. His fists tighten in his coat’s pocket. They are walking very near each other, now. He feels Dream’s presence like he got caught in the gravitational pull of a planet. He’s trying to resist the temptation of taking his clenched fists out of his pockets. Their hands would brush together, at this distance. It would be an accident, of course. It would happen in a natural, unambiguous way. Perhaps he could... Stop behaving like a schoolboy with a crush, he berates himself. He huffs, and a puff of smoke clouds his sight. He takes notice of this. He also takes notice of the fact Dream's breath doesn’t do the same. He watches him take a deep inhale and release it, the cold air staying resolutely clear. Is he... freezing, inside? He didn't seem to be, earlier, when… ... He dispels the confusion by a mental shrug : he's not human. Of course he would not bend to the laws of biology and physics. He clears his throat and offers:

“Here, let me think. I’ll find you a name. I’ve given you a few over the years, or tried to, anyway.”

“You presume to name me?”

The tone is playful. Hob can recognize it for what it is: a teasing remark. Yet, he can hear the rumbling of self-deprecating thoughts, far on the horizon. You dare...

"Yes, yes I do.”, comes his impudent retort, like a stab of iron waved against his old ghosts. He chuckles at his self-referential joke, and Dream shakes his head with a smile. A conspiratorial thing, dispelling visions of doom and heartbreak with its easy fondness. Hob can only read this in his eyes, for Dream has once again buried himself in the layers of his scarf. Were he allowed, he would kiss him on the tip of his cheekbone, the only part of his face peeking out of the cloth. As he is not, he focuses on their task instead, casting his longing thoughts away :

“Hm… I don’t think any old basic names would fit you.”

He thinks it over, passing a series of luxurious bushes he quite likes. They're always brimming with apiary life in the mornings. As he squints in an attempt to discern birds in the dark, many names cross his mind. Every single one of them is attached to half forgotten faces from days past. He frowns. He is definitely not giving him a name from people he has known before.

"I could throw a few at you, see what fits?", he suggests nonetheless, a playful twist to his smile.

“It may not be necessary. I already have many names.”

“Likewise, old friend. Still fun to come up with brand new ones. Like in a spy story. Have you watched James Bond? We need to watch James Bond. ... I guess James isn't too bad of a name, though, I did just say basic names would scarcely fit you."

His tangent earns him a reprimanding glare, mitigated by a small amused smile. They stop at a red light although there is no car on the road. Hob feels like he's got all the time in the world, and that this night will never end. He looks over at his friend. He is still as a statue, beautiful beyond words. His eyes are shining with mysterious, distant stars.

“I am Morpheus. Oneiros. Kai'ckul. Shaper of Forms. The Sandman. King of Dreams and Nightmares. King of Cats.”

He could have felt overwhelmed under the onslaught of information. It was a lot, after having been left in the dark for six centuries. It is not why Hob makes a strangled sound, choking on his own spit.

“Sorry-”, he gets his coughing under control, “King of what?”

“Drea-”

“No, the other one-”

“Nigh-”

“Come on, the other other one.”

Dream squints his eyes at him, imposing a stern silence after the succeeding interruptions. Then he retorts :

“Cats. Does it trouble you?”

The light turns green, and busy as he is having his worldview do a 180, he does a double take before getting a move on.

As he does, his mind snaps back into place and he roars laughing. Oh, no, this is perfect, actually.

“No, no,” he tries very hard to rein it in, “I mean, this is so, so fitting. You are so very much like a cat.”

“I am one, sometimes.”

Hob tries to picture it. It very unfortunately invokes images of catboys in his mind's eye. He catches a small glimpse of what Dream might look like with a pair of cat ears on his head. He dispells the thought with a short laugh, rubbing at the corner of his eyes.

“Oh, I’d love to see that.”

Dream raises a single eyebrow at him, and Hob hopes that he is not privy to his imaginings. He artfully decides to deflect.

“That’s it. I figured it out!”, he raises his hands in an eureka motion. “If anyone asks for your name at uni, you’ll be called, drumrolls…”, he does his best drumroll impression. If he is to trust the mirt in Dream's eyes, it is either excellent or absolutely dreadful.

“Felix!", he announces with great fanfare.

His friend's face goes sour.

"… What? It is a very solid cat name.”

“So, I do not inspire any usual human names, but a usual cat name seems fitting? Perhaps I ought to show you this aspect of me, indeed, to prove to you that I do not look ordinary then either.”

Oh the ego. Hob smiles with patient fondness, conceding:

“Ah, you’ve got me there. I guess I can’t find you a cat name until I have met your cat self. Haaaaa. Well. Maybe Dream but in another language, then? Traum, nah, Targit? Bit rough sounding. Мечтать. Sueño-”

“Do you intend to say my name in every language that you know?”

“Depends. Would you be impressed?”

“I know every language that has ever been spoken, or dreamed of.”

“... Spoilsport.”

Their easy banter is making him feel like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He breathes easier. The edge of the world feels softer.

They have walked for a little over thirty minutes when they pass a church. As they do, the bells ring. The chilly air trembles with the intensity of the sound. The vibrations fill his chest, reverbates in his ribcage. It infuses him with an unfathomable feeling. He thinks of how such dramatics have been used to fool the masses. Invoking a numinous feeling with theatrics and old tricks. After all, sound was a fairly obvious way to influence people - music being the prime example.

In spite of these rational considerations, he still feels anxious as he stops near the entry. He considers going in, and realises the source of his sudden discomfort. It is as if by entering a church faithless, he’d be committing some sacrilegious act and crossing God. Which is irrational. You can't think you are crossing God while denying his existence. Schroedinger’s faith : both believing and unbelieving, until you examine it. He tended to fall on the unbelieving side of things, usually. He carried on his merry path of not caring about religious morals, only following his own. Though he could go with both believing in God and not believing in the holy rules human enacted. Those changed with the wind of time. He knew this all too well.

They get closer to the front door, standing under the bell tower. Hob strains his head back to see the facade in its grand height, and, taking in the austere, baroque beauty, he asks:

“I suppose, as you're, well, you, that you do know if all these things are real or a bunch of bollocks, right?"

The blue eyes shine softly in the dark. Hob knows better now than to assume the glow comes from a reflection of the streetlights.

“God?”, his old friend asks back, eyebrows slightly raised in a rather bored expression.

“Yeah.”

There is silence. No answers.

Fair, he supposes. Not like he took more than six hundred years to disclose even his name. Why would he go around sharing arcane knowledge now?

Then Dream surprises him.

"Beliefs shape the world. A dream, shared by enough dreamers, comes to life. A belief, shared by enough believers, is brought to life as well."

The words sound like an edict. Hob’s mind stutters. The implications of this are… endless. How often does the fabric of reality change? How many beings just pop into existence because the idea of them spread around enough? How many times did such things happen in his own lifetime? Did he even notice? Is the Mandela Effect proof of this universal instability? He feels an existential crisis coming up. He tries to compartmentalise, and asks in a stunned whisper:

“You mean we create gods?”

Dream smiles at him in a way that makes Hob’s heart miss a beat. There lies a tenderness that he cannot fathom being the recipient of. He wonders if somehow, humanity shaped his friend as he is now. He can’t believe he himself could ever dream up something so wonderful, so other. He is thankful to whatever process made him what he is and brought him to this time and place, here, with him.

"Do you know everything?”

"I know more than mortals. Not all. Not everything. Such knowledge is not my burden to bear.” His expression is sombre in a way that makes Hob believe that he likely knows someone who does bear this weight, and that he wouldn’t wish to take their place for the world.

"That's… please, take no offence, but that's reassuring to hear. Considering what happened in the last century, with… Well.” He knows he needs not elaborate. The topic of his friend’s missed century never strays too far from the surface. It is ever present, even when unacknowledged, as trauma tends to be. “It would have been…,” Hob sighs, heavy hearted. “Well, it would have been horrible, if you'd known all the bad things that were coming your way and had to simply… suck it up and let it happen. That's not a fate I'd wish upon anyone.”

The words are perhaps heavier than he had intended. A weight settles back, and he looks at the paved path. Then comes some singing from inside the church. He raises his head, all ears. He can tell that his friend is listening, too. They spend a few seconds this way, caught up in the eerie quality of sacred music floating in the air. After a time, he catches back on his thoughts, and adds with a wistful tone :

“Yeah. It does sound… like a pretty stressful skill to have.” At that, he breathes out a short chuckle, to try and release some of the tension the topic built.

"More stressful than not knowing? More stressful than going blindly into existence, unable to predict when and how tragedy shall strike next?"

"Ignorance is bliss.”, Hob gives him a playful wink. He relishes in the soft incline of Dream’s lips in response, then elaborates, “Well. Surface bliss. In the end I guess having more information is the way to go if you want to deal with things better. But there’s the rub- ah, don’t look at me like that, this bloody Shaxberd didn’t invent this turn of phrase! I meant, that's the thing, isn't it. It’s good to know about things that help us act. Is it worth having foreknowledge on things that we can't control, though? There’s a reason I’ve never dabbled in the occult.”

Dream’s eyes do not leave him, and what an exhilarating, powerful thing it is to get such a hold on his friend's attention. He tries hard to not let it intoxicate him- he’s made himself enough of a fool recently. He will not trip over his words- these eyes, by God, these eyes…

"I can't imagine a scenario in which you would know what's going to happen, you know it's going to be bad, and you let it happen anyway.”, Hob continues swiftly, weighing on his teaching career to keep a shred of eloquence in the midst of his turmoil.

”Doesn't make much sense to me, is all.”, he carries on valiantly. “So I assume that in this scenario, there must be a reason for someone to let things happen the way they do. … Perhaps they can’t or the universe breaks. Something like that.”

Dream smiles wistfully, for a second, and then, raising an eyebrow, he answers:

"Perhaps they would let it happen because the best stories are tragedies."

There is something like humour in his tone. It is so carefully concealed that, were Hob not used to deciphering every single expression from his friend, he wouldn’t have noticed it.

"I… yeah, maybe. Maybe this hypothetical omniscient character is a sado-masochist. Or a writer.” He thinks it over and adds : “…Though I’m not sure the distinction stands.”

At that, Dream laughs, actually laughs, and Hob's heart bursts into flames, kindled by the warmth of the sound. Oh, it is the weirdest laugh he’s ever heard. It is his new favourite thing in the whole wide world. He cannot help but laugh along. He breathes in, and out- slow and steady, once again. He focuses back on the present to try and assuage the disarming fondness that he feels. His eyes search the forefront of the building, and find the notice board.

“They’re celebrating a mass for the fallen from World War two.”, he points at a flyer on the small wooden panel. “… Crazy that there was a second one, eh? The first was meant to be the war to end all wars… Hopefully there won't be a third.”

He says this last sentence softly. He tries to see the world with optimism, to take one day at a time- it is, in truth, the only way to keep his sanity intact. If he were to always contemplate his past and worry about the future, with the amount of past and future that he has... He would have already crumbled under the weight of guilt and nostalgia, fear and expectations. He turns back to Dream, who is still looking at him with those piercing blue eyes. He feels as if his soul is bare under the light of them. Christmas carols rise above the arches and rain upon them both. Their familiar tunes wash over him and uncover buried memories. They sprout at the surface of his mind and he feels compelled to try and convey the truth of them :

“You know. We did have Christmas, in the trenches. It was…”

His throat closes up. He breathes in, and out. He abandons the idea of trying to plunge to the depths of it, else he breaks down again. Instead, he states:

“It was the most heartwarming... And heart wrenching thing, to find cause for celebration in those hopeless times. I don’t know if I can put it into words.” He cannot. “I suppose. I suppose I’d rather like to go in, if you will?”

He doesn’t know if Morpheus would agree to this. After all, if he is to consider his name, and its connection to the Greek pantheon.... It might be offensive to offer entering a church dedicated to the one-and-only-GodTM.

His friend quickly dismisses his fears by nodding his ascent. Hob and starts moving, leading them in.

He knows the rites, as any with his upbringing and long life would. Still, he hasn’t set foot in a church in a very long time. It is an uncanny experience. It, ironically, has a dreamlike quality. He takes a moment to feel the cold of these halls, to lay eyes upon the grandiose arches and carpentry wood. It looks like any other church. He hasn’t ever been in this particular one. By the time he could have, he was too scared he had made a deal with the devil to dare put foot anywhere near a church. He didn't want to suddenly burst into flames. Or to get struck by lightning. Or to receive some other kind of gruesome biblical punishment. By the time he’d come to marry Eleanor in one of those, he’d understood that his fears were unfounded. Still the habit was gone- and so was the appeal. Anyone who was raised religious and then stopped the practice could certainly relate. It brought forth a truly ridiculous feeling, showing back to these places of worship- of childhood wonder, and realising you've outgrown them by far, while everyone around you carries on dutifully like no time has passed.

He still dips two fingers in the stoup (what a word) and signs himself, surprised when he sees his friend do the same.

Morpheus raises an eyebrow at him, as if to say “when in Rome…”, and Hob tries to keep his laughter in. He still offers a rather crooked smile that Dream mirrors with his own- a small, discreet, incredibly smug thing.

He looks up at the arches, their elegant curvature disappearing into the darkened depth of the vault. The nave is scarcely lit by tapers. He can spot large paintings on the sides, and one further away, on the semi-dome of the apse. The artworks are blackened by time, obscure in the flimsy light of candles. He can only identify their content through his theoric knowledge and pattern recognition. It is a fairly empty church, apart from the presence of a few people sitting up front. All of them old and grey. Which is an odd thought to think, he realises. After all, these people are much younger than either he or Dream. It is to be expected, he supposes, with the fall of the mass attendance rate, and the fact that most people having lived through WW2 are now well and truly gone.

Not him, though.

He sits on one of the benches in the back. The priest finishes a sermon he doesn’t pay any mind to, focused as he is on taking in the smell and the sights and all the memories they call forth.

There are a few sentences in latin, though most of the rituals are nowadays done in english. Those sentences tickle his brain in a funny way- a mix of past and present, both the first times he learnt his letters and the recent moments in which he’d went back to study to become a teacher.

The organ starts playing. A few youngsters, altar boys holding candles, come forth from the back, and, walking in line, start singing.

Juvenile voices, pure and light and piercing start reverberating and wash over him and rise above higher and higher.

He looks at all this, he considers all that was and isn’t anymore. He thinks of those who would have killed to be there, on this day, and had killed, in fact, in the hope to live, only to fall to those who also were only trying to survive. He thought he had shed all his tears, and then some.

A few still manage to fall down on his cheeks.

He remains stoically seated.

After a while, he feels observed- he doesn’t look to check, however. He focuses on his breathing. On the songs and shrill voices.

A hand softly touches his own.

A tentative gesture. An offer.

He takes it.

The mass comes to an end, and Hob rises to his feet, followed by his friend, whose hand he doesn’t let go of- he ignores the disdainful look of an old lady as they pass- they’re outside again, it must be around nine in the evening, the night is young, the air is downright freezing, and, by God, he feels alive.

“You have anywhere you got to be?”

Dream seems to think on it, for a moment. Hob feels the flame of his hope flicker. Then:

“I can spare another few moments. I shall be made aware, if my realm requires me.”

“Well, let’s go somewhere fun, shall we, your Majesty?” he grins cheekily, and Dream looks at him with an expression of fond annoyance that does things to his insides. It could seriously push him to foolishness, for trying to see it again, and again-

“I know a place.”, he winks, and drags his impossible friend by the hand, feeling like a young lad again.

#dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dreamling fic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #the sandman

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 5

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.4k Warnings: canon rewrite, slow burn, canon-typical violence, sexual harassment/unwanted sexual advances, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining Summary: When you’re caught in a firefight with a bounty hunter and the Crest is damaged, you and Mando stop on Tatooine to find a job. A shadow of your past catches up with you. Notes: Sorry not sorry for making Toro even worse than he already is. Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @dincrypt @dunderr @honey-hi​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @mbpokemonrulez @red-leaders @speakerforthedead0 @theflightytemptressadventure @zoemariefit

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

After leaving Sorgan, you and Mando chose a second “backwater skughole” several systems away as your next destination. Mando set the nav, and the automated voice of the computer informed you that the trip would take almost five days. The thought of spending five days confined to the Crest was not appealing, but you knew it was important to keep your stops as remote as possible.

Time was a functionally meaningless concept in space anyways, hours and days bleeding together. Without the usual environmental cues to govern your circadian rhythm, you had to rely on a schedule to maintain some semblance of normalcy, keeping alarms on your chrono to remind you when to sleep. Mando, on the other hand, seemed so completely accustomed to this slippery sense of time that he needed no reminders; this was natural for him.

If you hadn’t already seen some of his skin, you might actually think he was a droid. Aside from his hard metal exterior, the most compelling piece of evidence to support this theory was the fact that he didn’t seem to need much sleep. He disappeared into his bunk for maybe four or five hours a day, plus twenty minutes here or there to eat. You suspected he settled into a half-asleep, half-awake hibernation mode when he sat in the pilot’s seat for hours at a time without moving. Once, he jolted so violently when the child sneezed that he had to catch him by his collar before he slid off his knee.

His relationship with the kid, though, was achingly, heartwarmingly, vulnerably human.

You lived for the glimpses of their bond—the way Mando would remove a single pauldron so he could rest the child’s head on his shoulder to lull him to sleep, whispering to him as he swayed gently. When the kid was restless and energetic from being cooped up, Mando would roll the little silver sphere from a control in the cockpit along the floor of the hull for him to chase. For a generally impatient man, his patience for the child seemed almost inexhaustible; he would hold him and pat his back endlessly while he wailed his way through particularly bad tantrums.

You collected these precious moments and held them close to your heart, unwittingly creating a catalog of comfort that you’d return to later. They weren’t necessarily your moments to claim, as a visitor in their world, but you treasured them nonetheless.

***

You were out of colored contacts. You could only wear each pair continuously for a month, and your current pair was due to be switched out any day. The morning you threw them away, Mando stopped you as you passed him in the hull with a light hand on your shoulder. The kid was tucked in his other arm.

He stepped in front of you, just inches away from your chest, tilting his helmet down to look at you. You looked up to meet his gaze, puzzled. He cocked his head, a silent question.

Not for the first time, you wondered about the color of his eyes.

You held your breath, unsure of what he was going to do.

He said nothing but brought his gloved hand up to your face, running this thumb along the crest of your cheek—so lightly, the leather was barely touching you. The tender gesture brought goose bumps to your arms, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

The kid reached up a tiny hand toward your other cheek, mirroring Mando’s movement. He babbled quietly, breaking the tense silence. You flicked your eyes down to watch him but remained still, not wanting to disrupt the spell of the moment. The baby wiggled his fingers and whined when he realized he couldn’t reach you. You smiled.

You looked back up into Mando’s visor. You wanted so badly to reach out and touch him back, to pull him closer, but you let fear keep you rooted to the spot.

To your astonishment, he dipped his helmet, as if he was going to lean his forehead against yours. He was inches from your face—you could see your surprise reflected in his visor and hear his steady breathing through the modulator. But Mando seemed to change his mind mid-gesture, and the moment was over before you knew it. He straightened, dropped his hand, nodded stiffly, and stepped past you. The child let out a frustrated cry in protest.

Without the kid’s lingering whines, you might have thought you imagined the whole thing.

Little by little, you were revealing your real self to the Mandalorian, placing your safety in his hands. This would have been harder to stomach if you weren’t getting pieces of him in return. Spending this much time in such close quarters with someone—even someone as closed off as Mando—was enough to get to know them fairly well.

For instance, you weren’t quite fluent, but you were getting really good at reading his body language. He relied on his armor to mask his intentions with strangers, and he wasn’t accustomed to people spending extended amounts of time with him—time to learn his patterns and tells. Over time, it became apparent just how many minute things there were to unpack: subtle tensions in his back and shoulders, clenching of his fists, tapping of his fingers, the lean in his hips, audible inhales or exhales, the tilt of his helmet. Plus, there were nuanced flavors of each movement: a sassy head tilt, an angry head tilt, a confused head tilt. Soon enough, you’d be able to create a dictionary of the Mandalorian’s body language. 

It was strange to think that you’d only been with him for a few weeks, and you might be the only person in the galaxy who could read him so well.

Something else you’d come to learn about Mando was that he was very particular about where his things were kept. This made sense—he’d clearly been living alone for years, if not decades. Of course someone with such a nomadic, unsettled lifestyle would want to carefully control what little in his environment that he could, but his compulsive organization was next level.

You came to this conclusion after you scooted his toothbrush and toothpaste over just slightly in the med cabinet to make a space for yours. The next morning, you opened the cabinet to find his things exactly where they had been before you’d moved them. You looked down to see that yours were sitting precariously on the edge of the sink, waiting to fall to the floor at the first sign of turbulence. Seriously?

That inspired you to devise a fun game—well, it was fun for you. You were pretty sure Mando hated it, though to his credit, he didn’t say anything about it for several days. Every day, you’d move one of his items just slightly to see if he’d notice and move it back. So far, he’d caught every tiny adjustment. He even reoriented his bar of soap when you moved it so it sat slightly off-kilter in its dish in the shower. He hadn’t even showered yet that day.

After three days, he finally cracked.

He was digging through a storage compartment, huffing dramatically though his modulator as he searched for something.

“I can’t imagine you’ve lost something,” you said, from where you were sitting on a crate sharing a ration pack with the kid, who was perched on your lap. “Not with how terrifyingly organized you are.”

“Yeah, well, that was only true before you started moving my stuff around.” 

You grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to say something.”

“I was wondering when you were going to stop,” he huffed, but you detected the lightest trace of amusement in his tone.

“I haven’t actually moved anything,” you laughed. “Just... adjusted.”

He harrumphed, still digging around in the box.

The kid chittered and reached toward your hand for more food. You gave him another piece.

“If you let me leave my toothbrush and toothpaste in the med cabinet, I’ll stop.”

He looked up. “That’s it?”

“I’m a reasonable woman.”

“Deal.”

When you went to brush your teeth that night, one of the three shelves in the med cabinet had been completely cleared for you.

As you slowly began to insinuate yourself into Mando and the kid’s life, the guilt of not telling him about the bounty on your head started to weigh heavier on your mind. He deserved to know, but you couldn’t imagine him letting you stay if he found out. Why would he assume any extra risk? I’ll tell him soon. We probably won’t be together much longer anyways.

***

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

The unfamiliar voice of the bounty hunter echoed over the com in the cockpit. A ship was hot on your tail, landing several shots that rattled the Crest violently. The child, who was strapped into the seat beside you, seemed to enjoy the excitement of the chase, arms raised and giggling. Mando maneuvered the Crest quickly and deftly, so the pursuer was suddenly directly in front of the viewport.

“That’s my line,” he said dramatically, as he pulled the trigger and obliterated the ship in his sights.

Despite the fact that your heart was pounding in your chest, you couldn’t help but let out an exasperated laugh at that. 

The chase had been short-lived, but the hunter had managed to inflict some serious damage. Alarms beeped and warning lights flashed along the console.

“Losing fuel,” said Mando. He was working hastily, his hands flying from one control to the next. He was trying to address several warning alarms at once.

“You work on that. I got this,” you said, unbuckling.

You stood next to him, attending to the controls in front of you.

“What are—Don’t do that,” he said, “Stop. I need to—”

He didn’t finish his sentence when he realized you were doing exactly what needed to be done to stabilize the ship.

“I thought you said you worked in programming.”

“I did. Mostly avionics.”

The second thruster sputtered and died. The cockpit went dark. All of the usual mechanical sounds that the ship made whirred to a halt. Mando turned in surprise, looking around. He clicked a few buttons. Nothing happened.

The child giggled from his seat.

“I’ll get it.” You walked to the back of the cockpit and wrenched open a panel to do a manual reset of the controls. Some of the lights came back on. Mando flicked several switches, and the displays came alive.

Together, you got the ship in good enough shape to limp to a nearby planet. Luckily, you were already close to Tatooine. The Razor Crest rattled alarmingly as it cleared the atmosphere, and Mando landed the ship with an unceremonious clunk in a bay in Mos Eisley.

Mando left the now sleeping baby in his bunk, despite your objections. That never works. He walked down the ramp to haggle with the mechanic.

Peli was a gruff woman, sassy and straightforward. You liked her right away. Mando deserved the sass Peli dished out, considering he had begun their interaction by shooting at her pit droids when they tried to approach the Crest.

He really hates droids.

You and Mando headed to the cantina to inquire about work. As soon as the ship went dead, you’d both known you’d need to pull a job to pay to fix the damage because there was no way the Crest was making it to your destination in its current state.

You trailed a few steps behind him, watching the intimidating way he stalked down the sandy street, his cape billowing behind him. He seemed less scary now that you knew he secretly had a sense of humor and an occasional flair for the dramatic. And that he once let you sleep on his shoulder. And tied your shoe for you.

When you entered the cantina, you shivered from the abrupt change in temperature. Outside the twin suns beat down; inside the dark cantina, it was cool.

Mando strode up to the bar. You followed him, taking in your surroundings.

“Hey, droid. I’m a hunter. I’m looking for some work.”

“Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine,” replied the droid in a stilted voice.

“It doesn’t have to be Guild work,” you clarified.

“I am afraid that does not improve your situation, at least by my calculation,” said the droid, continuing to wipe down the surface of the bar with a rag.

“Think again, tin can,” interrupted a smug voice behind you. You and Mando turned.

A young man, his legs propped brazenly on the table in front of him, continued, “If you’re looking for work, have a seat, my friends.” He gestured to the seats across from him.

“Name’s Toro, Toro Calican. Come on, relax.” He beckoned for you to join him again.

You and Mando exchanged a look and walked over to where he was seated.

Toro swung his legs off the table and slapped a bounty puck down in front of him as you slid into the booth and Mando followed.

“Picked up this bounty punk before I left the Mid Rim,” Toro explained. The hazy image of a woman with dark hair hovered over the puck. “Fennec Shand, an Assassin. Heard she’s been on the run ever since the New Republic put all her employers in lockdown.”

Toro had thick brown hair and dark eyes, a boyish face despite the scruff of five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. He couldn’t be older than 25.

“I’ve heard the name,” said Mando.

You nodded beside him. Fennec Shand was a legend. Having been chased by enough hunters, you were familiar with the big players.

“Yeah, well, I followed this tracking fob here. Now the positional data suggests she’s headed out beyond the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job.” He shrugged.

This kid clearly has no idea what he’s doing.

“Well, good luck with that,” said Mando, standing up. You stayed where you were, relaxed against the back of the booth.

“Wait, wait, wait, hey. I thought you needed work?” Toro looked from Mando to you, confused.

“How long you been with the Guild?” asked Mando.

“Long enough,” Toro spat unconvincingly.

“Clearly not. Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary. She made her name killing for all the top crime syndicates, including the Hutts. If you go after her, you won’t make it past sunrise.”

Mando looked at you and jerked his head to signal that it was time to go. He started to walk away. You stayed seated, saying nothing.

Toro looked at you, pleading. You nodded toward Mando: “You’ll have to convince him.”

Toro scrambled after him. Mando turned to face him, and Toro had to look up to meet his visor.

“This is my first job,” he admitted in a strained voice. “You guys can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild. I can’t do it alone.”

Mando looked to you. You smiled knowingly, and he let out a sigh and nodded.

The man cannot say no to someone who needs help.

Toro was visibly relieved.

“Meet us at hangar three-five in half an hour. Bring three speeder bikes and give me the tracking fob,” instructed Mando, holding out a hand.

Toro’s shoulders pulled together. Someone doesn’t want to let go of the fob.

Without any warning, he smashed the fob on the wall. It sparked.

Mando gave Toro his angry head tilt.

“Don’t worry, got it all memorized,” assured Toro, tapping a finger on his temple.

“Half an hour,” growled Mando.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me now, guys,” Toro said triumphantly, turning to look at you.

Mando pushed past Toro and walked back to the booth, leaning down toward you. “I am not that predictable,” he muttered in a low, irritated voice.

“You really are,” you smiled up at him. “I’ll meet you at the hangar in 20. I want real food.”

He nodded and left.

Toro looked very pleased with himself, grinning at you.

“You better go track down those bikes,” you reminded him, gesturing for a droid to come take your order.

Toro ignored your advice. Instead, he looked you up and down in a way that made your skin crawl and slid back into the booth across from you.

“You know what? I have an even better idea. Me and you can take Fennec ourselves. You look like a girl who can handle herself. Let’s ditch that rusty bucket right now and do this together. Fewer people to split the reward.” His eyes sparkled.

Is he fucking serious?

You already weren’t a huge fan of Toro and his cocky attitude, but the minute he called you “girl” like that, your regard for him plummeted. What little patience you had for this kid was wearing thin.

“Not interested.”

The droid came over, and you placed your order.

Toro, still looking at you expectantly, scooted around the table to sit next to you, and you moved in the opposite direction to maintain the distance between you.

“Mando is old, you know? I don’t know if you can tell, but I can. That’s an old man under that shiny armor. You look like you need someone younger to keep up with you.” He winked conspiratorially, as if the two of you were sharing a mutual joke.

You watched him through narrowed eyes, a sour feeling settling in your stomach.

He was clearly terrible at reading people because he responded to your disgusted look by reaching over to run a heavy hand along the inside of your thigh. He barely made it an inch past your knee when you ripped his hand off your leg, tightening your fingers around his wrist until your nails dug into his skin.

“Touch me again and lose a hand,” you spat at him, releasing him and pushing up from the table. You wrapped your fingers around the hilt of the blade at your hip.

“Whoa, whoa! I was just being friendly, sweetheart,” he said loudly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He looked around at the other patrons as if seeking outside confirmation that you were the one who was being unreasonable in this situation.

“You should leave.”

“I was obviously kidding about ditching Mando,” said Toro, shaking his head. “You really need to lighten up.” He didn’t even have the decency to look abashed.

You spared him a biting response, fixing him with a glare instead.

“I’ll go find those bikes.” He stood to leave, purposefully brushing past your shoulder as he went.

***

After finishing your meal, you stalked out of the cantina and back to the terminal to find Mando.

He was sitting at the top of the ramp of the Crest fiddling with an open control panel in the wall. He looked up to nod at you when he heard you approach.

“I don’t like that kid, Mando. I don’t trust him. I don’t think we should do this.” You stopped in front of him and put your hands on your hips.

“I know. He’s inexperienced, but he’s harmless.”

“No, that’s what I’m saying—he’s not harmless.”

“What did he say to you?” Mando continued working on the open control panel, only vaguely listening to you.

“He tried to talk me into ditching you and teaming up with him, so we didn’t have to split the reward three ways... He also hit on me.” You added the last part as an afterthought and grimaced at the memory of his gross hand on your thigh.

His head snapped up to look at you. “He—what?”

You looked at him, waiting for him to verbalize a more coherent question. You weren’t sure which part of what you’d shared horrified him the most.

“I—what—uh, yeah, I know... I don’t trust him either,” he continued, “but there are two of us and only one of him. We need the credits—and we’ll get the full reward, like he agreed, whether he likes it or not. We’re not going to find many other jobs here, and I don’t think he’s smart enough to pull anything.”

“I guess,” you shrugged. Toro doesn’t seem capable of critical thinking, let alone concocting and carrying out an elaborate scheme. The bounty was too high and other jobs too scarce to resist.

“We’ll keep a close eye on him. Let’s just finish this job quickly, and then you, me, and the kid can move on.”

“Okay,” you agreed, reluctantly. The way he emphasized the fact that you and him and the kid were a team was an obvious attempt to quell your worries. And it did. Mostly. It was a little startling how well he knew you already.

“Where’s the baby?” you asked, suddenly realizing the door to his bunk was open, and it was empty.

“He left the ship, and Peli found him. She agreed to take care of him while we do this job.”

Again, here he is, trusting a complete stranger.

“I told you he never stays put,” you scowled.

“Don’t worry, Peli already gave me an earful about how much I don’t know about kids.” He sounded defeated, so you decided not to pile on.

“You’re doing a good job, you know. The kid really loves you.”

He seemed surprised by your sincerity, his shoulders pulling back slightly. “I’m not, but thanks.”

It hurt your heart a little to hear him say that. 

***

When you left the terminal fifteen minutes later, Toro was outside, leaning against one of two speeder bikes with a cocky smile on his face.

Peli, who was holding the kid and arguing with Mando about payment, stood in the doorway to see you off. You caught the curious look that Toro gave the baby in Peli’s arms.

“Hey, what do you think? Not too shabby, huh? I could only track down two. You guys will have to share,” Toro said.

You and Mando looked at each other. Mando started to inspect the bike closest to you. Before he could beat you to it, you threw a leg over the speeder bike and sat down at the front of the seat.

“What are you doing?” Mando asked you.

“Driving,” you said, shrugging and reaching into your bag. You pulled on a pair of googles and wrapped a scarf around your nose and mouth. You secured your bag on the back of the bike.

When you noticed that Mando had made no move to join you, you looked at him and tipped your head back toward the seat behind you. “Let’s go.”

You could tell by the resigned drop in his shoulders that he knew it would be more work to try to convince you to scoot back than was worth it. He climbed on the speeder behind you, crowding you forward and reaching his long arms around you to grab the controls.

“Nope. Nice try,” you said, slapping his gloved hands away and grasping the controls yourself.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around your middle. You hoped he didn’t notice the goose bumps that appeared on your neck when he touched you. It was way too warm out under the two blazing suns to explain them away.

You jerked your wrists down and leaned forward to take off across the open sand, not waiting for Toro to mount his speeder.

“What the hell??” he yelled after you.

He caught up after a few moments.

After awhile, you let yourself relax back against Mando’s chest, and you smiled to yourself when he tightened his arms around you. 

The suns slipped lower in the sky as you coasted over the shifting surface of the Dune Sea.

***

You and Toro slowed your bikes to a halt when Mando released your waist to hold up a fist.

“What’s going on?” asked Toro.

“Look. Up ahead,” The rasp of Mando’s modulator in your ear and the concurrent rumble in his chest made you shiver, so you hastily hopped off the bike.

Mando stayed seated while you and Toro each pulled out a set of binocs to scan the landscape. Neither of you had the heightened vision that Mando’s helmet afforded him.

Through your binocs, you spotted two Tusken raiders standing beside two very hairy Banthas a short distance ahead. You lowered your binocs and scanned the immediate area.

“Tusken raiders. I heard the locals talking about this filth,” spat Toro, who was still watching them through his binocs.

You stepped back toward the bike as two Tuskens crested the hill you were on. Mando reached out a hand to grab your wrist, squeezing gently. You looked at him, and he nodded reassuringly.

“Tuskens think they’re the locals,” Mando said coolly, turning back to Toro. “Everyone else is just trespassing.”

“Well, whatever they call themselves, they best keep their distance,” Toro remarked.

“Yeah? Why don’t you tell them yourself?” asked Mando.

You grinned. There’s that flair for the dramatic.

Toro turned, and the two Tuskens screeched at him. You laughed at the way Toro positively jumped. Mando stood, raising a calming hand toward Toro, and told him to relax. You followed him as he approached the Tuskens and started gesturing to them, clearly proficient in their sign-based language.

Mando’s hands moved smoothly though deft, controlled movements. You looked down and bit your lip, trying to focus on twisting the toe of your boot back and forth in the sand to prevent your mind from wandering somewhere less appropriate.

“What are you doing?” Toro asked Mando.

“Negotiating.”

The Tuskens signed back to Mando.

“What’s going on?” asked Toro.

“We need passage across their land.”

“What did you think he meant by “negotiating”?” you said, raising your eyebrows at Toro.

“Let me see your binocs,” said Mando, holding out a hand to Toro.

“Why?”

Mando said nothing but kept his hand out, waiting. The two suns, now low in the sky, reflected brightly off his helmet. Toro handed them over begrudgingly, and Mando tossed them to the Tuskens. The Tuskens looked satisfied with their payment.

“He—hey! What? Those were brand new!” stuttered Toro in surprise.

“Yeah? They were.” Mando stalked away and remounted the speeder bike. You followed him.

And there’s that sense of humor. It’s sassy.

“You couldn’t have taken hers instead?” Toro asked, nodding at you.

“Nope,” said Mando.

You smiled sweetly at Toro as Mando scooted back in the seat and let you climb on in front of him.

***

The next time you stopped more abruptly. Mando raised his fist and barked, “Get down!”

You and Mando sprang off your bike in unison and crouched down. Toro, struggling to keep up with what was happening, fumbled with his goggles before following suit.

The three of you made your way to the edge of the dune in front of you, staying low. You set yourselves up on your stomachs at the top of the rise. Not far below, a dewback trudged forward slowly with what looked like a dead rider trailing after it, a rein wrapped around the figure’s limp ankle.

“Is that her? Is that the target?” asked Toro.

“I don’t know... I’ll go.” He looked at you to say, “You two cover me.”

You nodded.

He looked at Toro to emphasize, “Stay down.”

You and Toro pulled out your blasters. Mando ran hurriedly down the dune, his own blaster drawn. He approached the dewback slowly with a reassuring, “Whoa, whoa.”

Mando flipped over the prone body.

“So, is it her? Is she dead?” yelled Toro.

Mando turned, “It’s another bounty hunter.”

Toro turned to look at you. “He’s not planning to keep all that stuff for himself, right? I at least want that blaster.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Can you shut up for one second?”

He gave you a disbelieving look. You ignored him and focused your attention back on Mando.

Mando started to rise, turning suddenly to yell, “GET DOWN!” as blaster fire hit his pauldron, knocking him to the ground.

“Mando!” you yelled.

He scrambled back to his feet and broke into a run. He crested the hill as a second shot screamed after him. Again, it hit him in the beskar, sound reverberating off the metal. He threw himself down with a grunt, rolling towards you in a shower of sand.

“Are you okay? You didn’t get hit, right?” You reached out towards him.

“Yeah, it hit me in the beskar. And at that range, the beskar held up.” He sounded winded.

“What happened?” asked Toro, as Mando set himself back up on the crest of the hill, lying between you and Toro.

“Sniper bolt. Only an MK-modified rifle could make that shot.”

“Fennec,” you said. Mando nodded.

“Did you see where the shot came from?” he asked you.

“Yeah, from that ridge.” You pointed.

“Okay, we’re gonna wait until dark.”

“Well, what if she escapes?” asked Toro from where he was resting on his elbows on the other side of Mando.

“She’s got a good position,” you said. “She’s not moving.”

“Exactly,” agreed Mando. “She’ll wait for us to make the first move.”

Mando rolled over and stood only part of the way up, offering a hand down to you. You grasped it and got to your feet. You both hunched low to keep yourselves behind the protective swell of the dune.

“We’re gonna rest. You take the first watch. Stay low,” Mando said to Toro.

You followed Mando back to the bikes.

“Be extra careful. I don’t like you being out here with no beskar,” he said to you, more quietly.

“I will.” 

Your stomach clenched at the way Mando’s voice warmed when he was talking only to you. He spoke to Toro in a clipped tone, like he was scolding an unruly kid. He spoke to you like an equal, a partner. You couldn’t pinpoint when he’d started talking to you this way, but it had shifted recently. It was a tone you’d heard him use with the kid and with Omera. Something that felt a lot like hope sparked in your chest at this realization.

He slumped down against your speeder bike and reached up to pull you down next to him. You leaned back against the bike next to him, your body flush with his, and let your cheek fall against his shoulder.

After a few moments, you could hear a light snore rasping through his modulator. Apparently this man can fall asleep anywhere.

Eventually, you fell into a light sleep, not trusting Toro enough to sleep deeply.

***

You woke to Toro saying, “Time to ride, guys.”

“Come on, wake up!”

You opened your eyes and lifted your head. It was dark out; the last lavender traces of the sunset were disappearing along the horizon. Mando was still beside you, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

“Look at him, asleep on the job. I told you he was an old man,” leered Toro.

You felt the cadence of Mando’s breathing shift beside you.

“You’re right. He’s ancient—basically dead already,” you quipped, patting Mando on the knee to signal that you knew he was awake.

Toro couldn’t tell if you were mocking him or joking with him, so he just looked at you, slack-jawed, trying to parse it out.

“Not quite,” Mando said, jabbing you in the ribs lightly with his elbow. Toro started at Mando’s words.

You stood, this time extending a hand down to help Mando up. It was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else—he weighed way more with that armor on than you could ever lift. Nonetheless, he took your hand as he hauled himself to his feet.

“We’re going to ride as fast as we can towards those rocks,” explained Mando, pointing to where Fennec was presumably perched.

“That’s your plan?” scoffed Toro. “She’ll snipe us right off the bikes.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem remember the amazing plan that you came up with?” you sniped, raising your hands in disbelief.

Mando snickered, a short rasp through the modulator, and in answer to Toro’s question, he tossed a small item his way then handed something to you.

“They’re flash charges. You two will alternate shots. It’ll blind any scope temporarily. Combine that with our speed, and we got a chance.”

You looked down at the charge in your hand, noting the button that would set it off.

“A chance?!” blurted Toro.

You bit back a scathing retort, turning back to your bike.

“Hey, you wanted this. Get ready,” replied Mando, tipping his helmet at Toro.

Mando stepped close to you, lowering his voice. “Let me sit in front this time. In case she manages to make any shots.”

You nodded in agreement, appreciating his protective nature.

You mounted the bike behind him and wrapped your arms around his middle, the charge grasped tightly in your right hand. Mando wrenched his wrists down, and your speeder bike took off, with Toro in your wake.

Mando pushed the bike as fast as it could possibly go, launching it over the swells of sand. You gripped him tighter, and the wind whipped the edges of his cape against your legs.

Apparently Fennec spotted you easily from her vantage point on the cliff because she started her assault immediately, firing at Toro’s speeder first.

Mando reached one hand down for a moment to squeeze your arm, and you understood. Holding his waist tightly with your left arm, you reached your right one up into the air to set off the charge. It went off with a screech. Even through your closed eyelids, you registered the blinding flash of light.

Fennec recovered fairly quickly. She resumed firing only moments after the light dissipated. Mando weaved the bike in a serpentine pattern to avoid the shots.

He turned to Toro and yelled, “NOW!”

Toro let off a charge. Another searing light rippled across the landscape.

After a moment, Fennec fired again, her aim becoming more precise as you drew closer to the cliff. This time, she didn’t miss. A direct shot screamed across the sand and hit the front of your speeder bike. You let go of Mando in the jolt of the impact, and you both flew over the top of the bike and landed in the sand.

Ouch.

Toro zoomed past, looking back for only a second. You didn’t like how easily he left you both behind, but logically, you knew that someone needed to get to Fennec as soon as possible.

You stayed prone on the sand, lifting just your head to see where Mando had fallen a few feet ahead of you. You were relieved when he sprang to his feet and ran back towards you. Without any warning, he lowered himself down over you to protect you from any more incoming fire. He braced himself on his elbows and knees so his body was pressed against yours, but he wasn’t crushing you with the combined weight of his body and armor.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice right behind your ear.

“Yeah.” Your face was pressed against the warm sand. “You?”

“Good. You got the charge?”

You handed it up to him. Luckily, you’d managed to hold onto it during the impact. Mando fumbled for a moment, then lifted an arm to set it off.

After the searing light faded and the dark blanket of night returned, another blaster shot landed in the sand a few feet from your head. Mando edged forward and rested his helmet on the sand above your head. You were completely shielded.

“Thanks,” you muttered up to him, slightly self-conscious that this purely protective position was affecting you so much, a slow heat coiling tight in your stomach. His whole body was flush with yours, his breath heavy and fast in your ear, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his armored chest against your back. The places where he wasn’t covered by beskar pressed warmly against you. Think about anything else.

A shot pinged off his back. Mando tensed and grunted at the impact. You gritted your teeth and focused on burying your fingers in the sand, definitely not thinking about what other things might draw similar sounds from him.

“Alright, I think Toro got to her. Let’s go, but stay behind me,” Mando rasped in your ear, squeezing your shoulder with a gloved hand.

You nodded beneath him, stifling the shiver that was threatening to run up your spine. Think about anything else.

He rolled off you, and you both got to your feet. You breathed a sigh of relief and positioned yourself at his back, both of you drawing your blasters. In the dark, you could see red streaks of blaster fire on the cliff where Fennec had been perched.

“We gotta run,” you yelled, pushing him forward. “Toro wont be able to take her alone, Mando!”

You stayed close behind him, a hand on his lower back, so he knew you were with him.

When you reached the foot of the cliff, you could hear Toro’s groans and Fennec’s grunts, but you couldn’t see them. You and Mando scrambled up the sandy incline that was littered with boulders and crested the cliff right as Fennec wrestled Toro to the ground.

“Nice distraction,” said Mando, training his blaster on Fennec. She reluctantly released Toro from her hold and put her hands up in defeat. You waited, partially concealed behind Mando until you knew she was restrained.

Toro grunted in pain as he stood up slowly.

“Cuff yourself,” Mando ordered Fennec, tossing the cuffs in front of her.

“A Mandalorian. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of your kind.” She stood. “Ever been to Nevarro? I hear things didn’t go so well there, but it looks like you got off easy.”

Fuck, just how much has she heard about what went down on Nevarro?

Fennec smiled even wider when you stepped out from behind Mando. There was no avoiding her now. Sure enough, recognition flickered in her eyes.

Uh oh.

“Well, well, well... if it isn’t my favorite bounty,” she drawled, and before you could react, your name—your real name—fell from her lips. “You lead me all over the damn galaxy, sweetheart.”

***

Chapter 6

#my writing #tempered glass #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #reader insert #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

[lunaastoir]

Heyhey! May I request a childe x reader where the reader simps for him but he doesn’t know? Like what if she was online best friends with the tsaritsa but the reader doesn’t know the tsaritsa is the tsaritsa so she constantly simps for childe to her. Like “OMG HE’S SO CUTE.” AND STUFF LIKE THAT. So since she’s like besties with the tsaritsa the cry archon decides to set her up? Thank you :>>>>

AAAAA NONNIE holds your hands gently this is so cute i love it :,) 

genshin doesn’t have internet/technology but for the sake of this ask shhhhhh we’re gonna pretend they do

i hope i interpreted your ask correctly, if i didn’t just lmk <3 

crack, fluFF- LOTS OF IT???

the tsaritsa’s meddling

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all you wanted were groceries. that was all you wanted. you were standing in line behind the stall as you counted the items you needed to get. salt, milk, sugar, fowl, what else? you were lost in thought as you prayed that you had enough mora to buy everything - god knows how hard eating is as an adventurer. which was why, when you dropped your precious mora, your mind immediately went into panic mode. not now, not now, please don’t let the line move, you begged internally. in hindsight maybe if your mora hadn’t dropped, maybe if you weren’t at your wits end as a broke adventurer, maybe if you had just bought those damn ingredients sooner, you wouldn’t be in this position. as you breathed a sigh of relief after collecting your money and returned your gaze back to the stall, the only thing you could do was stare. where...did everyone go? instead of simply turning around and fleeing which should’ve been your first instinct considering how deserted the place was, you stood there trying to process the information. that was, until you saw a head of auburn hair peak up out of the stall. startled, you almost dropped your mora again. as the tuft of hair gave way to a very tall, handsome, blue eyed man, your brain short circuited. 

oh god how you wished you had run when you had the chance. you imagined you must have looked quite comical; mouth hanging slightly open, the list of ingredients fisted in your hands while mora was hanging precariously from your fingers. after what seemed like an eternity, the man seemed to finally notice you. 

“oh hey, you must not have noticed but this stall is sold out for the fatui” 

the sentence accompanied with his signature smile practically brought you to your knees. that smile? aimed at you? you would be surprised if you weren’t drooling. 

determined to not look like an absolute idiot you flashed him a smile of your own before saying, “sorry my bad, i must not have been paying attention” while doing what little you can to get some semblance of balance. tuck the mora here, try to balance your list more gracefully, move that piece of hair from your face. 

his eyes surveyed your undoubtedly disheveled appearance, before making a quick decision. 

“what items do you want, i’m sure i can spare a few ingredients for someone as pretty as you” 

one blink. another blink. did he just call you pretty? oh my- 

“oh no, it’s really ok, i can just get these later - it’s not that important anyway” you lied through your teeth. you needed those ingredients or you were most likely going to starve on the road but he didn’t need to know that. 

“don’t worry about it, as a harbinger i’m sure my subordinates can overlook a few missing ingredients” he smoothly said before gesturing you towards him. 

“i’m childe by the way, if you didn’t know” his eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“y/n” you offered while handing him the list. 

as he looked over what you needed, you tried your best to keep your breathing steady while your mind raced. if you didn’t know? of course you knew who he was, who didn’t? you would know better than most considering how often you thirsted about him to your mutual. if anything, you should’ve been the one saying that line to him. as an adventurer, you tend to not spend much time in liyue harbor, chasing down ruin guards and running errands was how you would rather keep yourself busy. however, ever since you saw childe in liyue, sharing a pot of tea with zhongli of all people, you started swinging by the harbor more often. fascination was what kept you seeking him out wherever you went. you had heard about the infamous eleventh harbinger, supposedly the youngest of them, all while being quite easy on the eyes. you had brushed off all the talk you had heard to just that - talk. international affairs wasn’t something you cared for and if anything, seeing the fatui made you wary. however, your curiosity grew after seeing him whenever you were in town. you chalked up your eyes subconsciously seeking out his figure to the fact that he was just an interesting guy. nothing wrong with wondering about a peculiar fellow, right?  you went through excuses upon excuses until finally, you had concluded that perhaps, maybe, you had a little crush on him. tiny, you assured yourself. just a tiny crush on a very attractive man. 

that crush then trickled over to your time spent talking to your mutual. it started off with little hints of “oh there’s this guy i saw and i thought he was kinda cute” to full blown hysteria of “PLS SEND HELP HE LOOKED SO GOOD TODAY.” @cryogoddess definitely had a lot of patience putting up with your thirsts over a man she didn’t even have the name of. you felt horrible sometimes since more than half of your conversation was about the newest detail you had noticed about childe - however your protests on boring her were met with reassurances about how no, you weren’t boring her, and yes, this is the most lighthearted talk she’s had her entire day so please keep going. you weren’t exactly sure what this woman did, or even how old she was. all you knew was she was someone who was constantly stressed (maybe a fellow adventurer?) and she was quite honest (which you happened to appreciate). despite how busy she was, she seemed to always make time for your texts which made you feel like you could trust her with anything.

“is that all? do you need anything else?” childe’s voice interrupted your mental tirade as you owlishly looked at him. 

“oh! yes that’s fine thank you” you smiled before taking the bag from him. grabbing the mora, you rushed to hand out the correct amount before he stopped you. 

“don’t worry about it, it’s on the house” he laughed slightly before waving your mora away. 

it’s on the- excuse me? did he just give you all this for free? is this what fatui hospitality is like?  

rushing to close your mouth, you quickly recovered while slurring out a quick “thank you so much” before shouldering your bag. your brain was currently running on fumes and you were very sure that if you stayed there any longer you might just combust. 

“well, i’ll be off then, thank you again” you shot him another smile before quickly scurrying away. 

without turning back to look at his expression, you moved as fast as humanly possible while trying not to seem like you were about to jump out of your skin. you didn’t know what was more embarrassing, your thumping heart or the dopey smile on your face. there was no way you were ever going to get over this, not with the way he looked at you the entire time. sighing, you put your bag down near a bench and pulled out your phone. at least you had an update for your friend that consisted of something other than just mindless thirsts. 

your mind was still reeling over from what happened as you texted her with shaking hands. the reply was immediate: “wow, you finally got up the courage to talk to him huh.” you rolled your eyes playfully at her blunt message. “bY ACCIDENT- IT HAPPENED BY ACCIDENT,,, guess he couldn’t keep himself away from this sexiness 😩” another blunt reply: “right.” smiling softly, you responded: “thanks for hyping me up bestie i really appreciate it <3 ok but maybe childe and i belong together??? is this a sign from the archons???” you stared waiting for her reply, however you were met with a read 8:45 pm. you’re lucky i love you bestie, leaving me on read during my crisis you whispered to yourself as you shouldered your bag once again to head home. at least you won’t be starving tomorrow on your commissions. 

as soon as you entered your house, your phone lit up. “wait. as in childe, eleventh of the fatui harbingers, also known as tartaglia, feared by many on the battle field, currently stationed in liyue, major pain in the ass, and is currently ignoring some of his paperwork???” - @cryogoddess. your eyebrows furrowed as you read her message, “yes that’s him but why do you sound so freaked out and how do you know sm abt him?” another notification: “i can’t believe you’ve been thirsting to me abt CHILDE.” you: “KDJKSFJ YOU DIDNT ANSWER MY QUESTION - also??? i thought i told you his name did i not??? 😀” her: “no??? wow this definitely is...interesting” you: “BESTIE ANSWER MY QUESTION DO YOU KNOW HIM???” her: “i’ve gotta go, work is calling.” 

you sighed in frustration as you tossed your phone on your bed. why was she so freaked out? you weren’t dumb, you knew there was something she wasn’t telling you but you trusted her enough to know she’ll let you know if it was important. you wondered as you pulled the covers over your head, if you’ll meet childe in your dreams and if you do, hopefully, in a less embarrassing scenario. 

the next morning, you awoke to a barrage of texts from none other than @cryogoddess. they were all along the lines of you should go to bubu pharmacy and stock up on medication this evening (i heard they’re having a sale). you responded back with a maybe, if you had time today after your commissions and if xiangling didn’t stop by with some food. however, your mutual made you promise you would visit in the evening, even if it’s just for a few minutes. you gave in because a) you never could say no and b) she made it sound like it was urgent so maybe she was obsessed with medicine? hmmm you would have to figure out where she lived so you could send some to her. 

you walked toward bubu pharmacy while tiredly sheathing your weapon, loosely taking in your surroundings. kids playing near the pond, teenagers chatting at the steps, adults keeping a watchful eye over their kids while laughing about the day’s events. your eyes studied the sign outside of bubu pharmacy. sale? what sale? there doesn’t seem to be anything regarding a sale?

“y/n?” a mildly familiar voice called your name. you whipped around looking for whoever uttered those words before your eyes fell on none other than one blue eyed harbinger. he was holding a few silk flowers in his hand as he stared at you with a sheepish smile. 

“hi” you stuttered out. your mind was blank, what was happening? 

“oh sorry, these are for you. i don’t mean to make you uncomfortable but i heard that you might be interested in me? you caught my eye at the stall yesterday, so i was wondering if you would want to grab lunch from the third-round knockout and then go watch the sunset at mt. tianheng? there’s this really cool trick i can do with my hydro vision where i can make the sunlight dance across the waypoint.” 

you stared at him as you wordlessly took the silk flowers from his hands. the golden light of the setting sun cast his face in a beautiful sheen, softly showing off the gentle blush on his cheeks and the brilliant blue of his eyes. his auburn hair seemed to grow alive at the touch of the fiery light and all you could do was stare. 

childe’s confidence seemed to wane with every passing second that you gazed at him, open mouthed, so he decided to save himself the embarrassment before hesitantly opening his own mouth. 

“yes, i would love to” you quickly said. you smiled gently up at him. 

“i would love to watch the sunset with you” 

you felt your cheeks burning up as you looked at him with soft eyes. when he returned your expression with a dazzling smile of your own, you could feel yourself relax. yes, your heart rate was off the chart right now, but you were content. the sunset, childe, and the silk flowers was something you never knew you needed, but were glad you got. you had enough time later to worry about the oncoming mortification of how he found out you liked him. 

a single notification appeared in your phone as the two of you walked laughing towards the mountain. 

“you’re welcome <3″

BONUS: 

“i know i’m too sexy for you to not fall in love with me” childe sighed dramatically as he leaned against you for support as the two of you went up the stairs. 

you promptly rolled your eyes and pushed him down the steps as you walked ahead with his protests falling on deaf ears. 

#BYE I FORGOT TAGS KAJDHDHS #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin impact #childe x reader #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin childe #tartaglia x reader #genshin tartagalia #tartaglia #genshin impact childe #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin crack

[shaynawrites23]

For Family Or For Love

Pairing: adult!Remus Lupin x reader

Word count: 2492

Prompts: “Are you scared of me?” “No. Never.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think. I love you, and that’s what matters.”

Written for @johnmurphyisbisexual’s writing challenge!

Special thanks to @the-moon-and-the-book for both beta reading and coming up with the title!

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

The heavy door to your private chambers creaked open to reveal the room’s other occupant; your husband, Remus Lupin. He carried an enormous stack of tests to grade in one hand, two cups of coffee in the other, and he held a newspaper clenched between his teeth. He shut the door the same way he opened it; with his foot.

You leapt forward to help him, taking some of the items from where they balanced precariously in his hold, constantly on the verge of falling. He breathed a sigh of thanks, pressing a kiss to your temple as you made your way to the bed.

Upon closer inspection, you realized half the papers he had brought in were actually yours. You taught Herbology and had recently assigned an essay. You hummed in gratitude when Remus handed you a pastry and a couple of colored muggle pens. You knew the older members of the faculty preferred quill and ink, but you chose pens. They were easier to use and much less tedious to maintain.

He smiled softly, humming in acknowledgement as you both sat down to mark papers. The room lapsed into silence, the only sound being the clicking of pens and the occasional mutters of disapproval when either of you saw something you didn’t particularly like.

A tapping on the window broke you out of your concentration. You spun around, eyes searching for the source of the sound when you spotted a small brown owl perched on the windowsill, rapping its beak against the glass.

A messenger owl.

You jumped up, hurrying over to fling open the window and welcome the creature inside. The poor thing was soaked through; it was pouring outside.

“Rem, will you get me a towel for the owl?”

“Sure thing, love.” He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and emerged moments later with a navy blue towel.

You gently wrapped the owl up in the cloth, hoping it would help the animal get warm and dry.

There was a small cylindrical vessel strapped to the owl’s back, colored a deep red, like the darkest red visible during a sunset. You undid the clasps holding it in place, popping off the cap and peering inside. The case held a sheet of paper, rolled up tightly in order to make it fit.

“Who’s it from?” Remus’s gentle voice inquired.

You didn’t reply immediately, unfurling the note and letting your eyes fly over the words first.

“My parents,” you finally answered. “They want to have us over for dinner tomorrow evening.”

“That’ll be a welcome distraction from marking papers,” he remarked.

Remus was on relatively good terms with your family. They were somewhat sceptical of his background at first, but decided they would be happy as long as you were. Your father gave a very nervous and jittery Remus his blessing shortly before he proposed, and you had been happily married ever since.

You laughed. “Definitely.”

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

When you awoke the next morning, your hand searched the bed for Remus, for his warmth. You found nothing. Only when your fingers reached the edge of the bed, the precipice between the sheets and the floor, did you open your eyes.

You blinked blearily, letting your eyes get accustomed to the light entering through the small gap between the curtains. Remus was nowhere to be seen.

Throwing on your robes, you shuffled over to the bathroom and peered inside. Where was he? He was indeed a morning person, but there was no reason for him to be up this early in the weekend.

Your incessant internal questions were soon answered when you heard the telltale creak of the heavy wooden door. Remus entered; you could tell from his hunched shoulders he was deep in thought. The dark circles under his eyes told you he had probably not slept much the past few hours.

“Rem? Remus, is everything all right?” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes, simply holding up a newspaper and muttering, “See for yourself.”

So you took the paper from him, sitting on the bed as you turned the pages in an attempt to find out what exactly was troubling him so. The sound of the paper crackling under your fingers which usually held so much satisfaction for you, gave you no pleasure this time.

“Oh no.”

You now knew what it was, you knew what had upset him. The fifth page of the paper held a picture of him; it depicted him perfectly, there was no chance of anyone not recognize him. And on the off chance someone didn’t connect the dots, his name was printed right below it. The article revealed his true nature, his lycanthropy, informing everyone who didn’t yet know that Hogwarts’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was a werewolf.

You glanced up. Remus stood at the open window, both hands leaning on the windowsill as he looked out over the school grounds. You could tell from his posture he was incredibly worried, and he had every right to be. No one would hire a werewolf, much less send their child to a school which had one employed as a teacher.

“Remus?”

“How could this happen?” His voice cracked and you knew he was trying his very best to keep control of his emotions. “We were so careful, how is this possible?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured. “But we’ll handle this the way we always do; together.”

“There’s nothing left to handle.”

“Remus, my love, don’t give up hope. There’s always something. Perhaps my family can help; they have a well-respected name.”

He didn’t reply immediately, instead gazing out over the field where students were playing, studying, or just hanging out.

“They don’t know yet, do they?” It was not a question, more like a statement, as you both knew it to be true.

“They don’t- they didn’t,” you sighed. “But my family knows you. We’re married, for Merlin’s sake. They’re not going to shun you.”

“We shall see about that,” he muttered, straightening up nevertheless. “In the meantime, I should probably have a talk with Minnie. I’ll see you later for lunch?”

You nodded. “As always.”

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

Fastening your hairpin, you gave yourself a final once over in the mirror. You were dressed to the nines, and yet you wouldn’t classify your attire as too fancy for the occasion. Satisfied with your appearance, you exited the bathroom adjoining your shared bedroom to go look for Remus.

“Rem?” you called. “You ready to go?

You opened the door separating your bedroom from the hallway with its incredibly high ceilings, as could be expected from any old building. Your husband stood outside, leaning against the wall as he waited.

He hummed in confirmation, a soft smile spreading over his face at the sight of you. He reached for your hand, entwining his fingers with yours as he twirled you around slowly, admiration plain in his eyes. Pulling you close, he pressed his lips to yours, gingerly, as though you were the most precious treasure one could possibly imagine.

“Rem!” you laughed, “We have to go! You know my mother hates when we’re late!”

“As my lady wishes.”

With that, he waved his wand and you disapparated, reapparating right outside your parents’ large house. Walking up the cold stone steps, you felt Remus stiffen slightly, and you squeezed his hand. A comforting gesture, one he immediately returned.

The doorbell sounded loudly, chiming once, twice, three times before falling silent. You waited as quick, light footsteps approached, flinging open the door.

“Auntie (y/n)!” the young girl cried, jumping up and down in excitement. It was your young niece Ada, dressed in a pretty pink skirt and with her hair coiffed in cute, bouncy curls. “It’s auntie (y/n)!”

Another set of footsteps approached, slower and calmer than Ada’s. Your mother appeared in the doorway, smiling and greeting you and Remus as she ushered you inside.

“Dinner’s not ready yet,” she remarked casually as she returned to the kitchen, presumably to continue preparing the meal.

Little Ada remained by your side, dragging you by your hand to come look at her latest drawing. Remus still stood in the hall, but the young girl kept you so occupied you could do little more than glance at him every few minutes.

Your father and your brother soon entered, laughing loudly at what must have been an incredibly funny joke.

“Ah, (y/n)!” your father exclaimed when he spotted you sitting in a corner with Ada on your lap and a children’s book in your hand. “I see Ada’s gotten to you already.”

“Yes, she has. I didn’t remember her having this much energy the last time,” you joked, but Ada tugged on your arm to remind you you were supposed to be reading her fairytales.

“Ah, and Remus.” You couldn’t help but notice how much less enthusiastic your father’s greeting was when it was addressed to your husband.

“How’s Edward doing?” your brother cut in. “Not causing too much trouble, I hope?”

Edward was your brother’s eldest child, older than Ava by six years. He started his first year at Hogwarts that year, and your brother was rather anxious about his progress.

“He’s doing very well in his classes,” Remus replied. “Naturally, he’s pulled a couple of pranks here and there, but that is to be expected from such an energetic young lad like him.”

“I see. And no issues with… supernatural creatures?”

Your head snapped up at that. Ada whined for you to continue reading, but you simply told her to wait a moment. You were certain there was a venomous serpent hiding somewhere in your brother’s words, and when it would jump out to ambush you, someone was sure to get hurt.

Remus remained perfectly calm. “None that I am aware of. The boy’s a very talented wizard; he has proven himself very capable of defeating any creature we presented him with.”

Your brother’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and as if struck by a lightning bolt of insight, you know this was heading downhill. It was only a matter of moments before he’d attack Remus about his lycanthropy.

You were right.

“Lupin, you’re a danger to the children! It’s not safe for them to be around you.”

“He is not!” you burst out. You stood up and stalked over to them, the fairytale long forgotten.

“He’s a werewolf.” Your brother spoke in the same tone you’d heard him use when explaining things to Ada; things that one would expect to be obvious.

“He’s also a professor, and has been for years. Nothing’s happened.”

“Maybe not yet, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

Your mother emerged from the kitchen, clearly wondering what on earth was going on. Rather than engage herself in the argument, she stood in the doorway, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe.

Remus’s hand searched for yours, entwining his fingers with yours as soon as he found it. You noticed your brother’s gaze fly towards the gesture, as if he feared a more nefarious action. But Remus was simply holding your hand, squeezing gently as if to say, ‘calm down, love.’

“(y/n), get away from him.” Your brother’s order hung in the air like a sword dangling above both your heads, waiting to see who would give in first. Your parents seemed to want to intervene, but you could tell they didn’t know what to do.

“No.”

“Excuse me?!”

“No, I won’t.” You felt like a defiant child arguing with a parent, but that didn’t matter to you. “He’s my husband and I love him. Werewolf or not.”

“It’s okay, darling,” Remus whispered to you, tone low enough that no one else could catch his words.

“What, are you threatening her now?” Your brother was clearly beyond seeing reason, too angry to think logically.

Remus was caught off guard by that accusation, and unfortunately for him, his split second’s hesitation was plain to see. “I merely told her it was okay, that she doesn’t need to fight for my honor.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I am not in the habit of lying. I am an honest man and am telling the truth.” There was a stark contrast between your brother’s wild accusations and Remus’s calm demeanor. You only hoped it would not simply pour more oil onto the fire.

“You’re a monster,” he finally spat, as if the words themselves were pure poison. “How do we know it’s not only a matter of time before you hurt (y/n)?”

That was a low blow and you all knew it. Your mother gasped, hand flying to her mouth in shock.

“I would never hurt her.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t, but what about the wolf?”

Neither of you could answer that, both fully aware he didn’t have that much control over his other half.

“Please excuse me,” Remus muttered, glancing at your parents before grabbing his coat and leaving the building.

“There. Look what you’ve done. That was low and we all know it,” you seethed.

“(y/n), he’s dangerous! He could kill you!”

“So what? So could any other wizard. So could you, or mom. So could Ada, if she were determined enough.” You crossed your arms as you reached deep inside yourself, attempting to maintain your composure.

“But you can trust we won’t.”

“What? I can trust the same of him. He wouldn’t hurt me, I trust him.”

“So you would trust a wolf not to attack?” Your brother took two steps forward, as if his subconscious wanted to intimidate you into losing the argument. Nice try. You weren’t easily intimidated.

“He’s not a wolf! He’s Remus. My husband.”

You saw the surprise on his face when you emphasized your relationship with Remus, and you took that opportunity to continue.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” With that, you stalked out as well, waiting until you disappeared behind the hedge outside to run after Remus.

He probably heard you coming, because you found him standing around the corner, as if he were waiting. The look in his eyes told you he had probably fought with himself to decide whether or not to wait for you to catch up.

“Rem, please ignore what he said. I know it’s hard, but he’s spewing nonsense.”

“Love, are you scared of me?”

“No. Never.” He had barely gotten his words out before you replied, without a moment’s hesitation.

“Your family seems to think you should be.”

“Remus, it doesn’t matter what they think. I love you, and that’s what matters.”

His eyes glistened with unshed tears. He stepped closer to you, cradling your cheek gently, as if he were afraid you’d shatter like glass if he was just slightly too rough with you.

Leaning in slowly, he captured your lips with his in a sweet kiss. And that alone conveyed all he needed to say.

“I love you too.”

taglist: @the-moon-and-the-book @decalcomanei @emcchi

#ryswritingchallenge #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin fic #adult!remus lupin x reader #professor lupin x reader

[nightwingmyboi]

Ehem..... wouldn't you have... more of those headcanons of Dick & Bruce early years together?? 👀

I have some thoughts. Starts at the sad beginnings, and then gets fluffier. 

Dick following Alfred around like a baby duckling, because he’s lonely and Bruce is (looking for Zucco) never around.  

In canon, Dick once said that he felt like a “Christmas puppy.” He thought that Bruce took him in for the novelty of having a circus kid around, and that he was going to throw him out onto the streets once he got bored. 

Feeling unwanted and unneeded was something that crept up on Dick a lot, even when he’s been at the manor for a while. 

I feel like he’d deal with that by just...hiding somewhere when he was upset because he didn’t think they’d still want him around if he was being “difficult.” Even as an adult, he tends to isolate when he’s distressed. 

Cue Bruce freaking out at baby Dick just vanishing into thin air. 

Over time, they begin to learn where Dick’s places are. On the roof facing the sunrise. In the big oak tree on the south side of the grounds. Among the wild plants in the clearing behind the garden shed. So on.

Usually somewhere high and outside. 

Alfred tends to bring him inside immediately, give him a mug of something warm. But Bruce will sit with him. 

The finding is the most important part. 

Being Robin changes everything. That’s Bruce letting Dick in to know all the pieces of himself. They spend more time together, after that. 

And Dick begins to heal. 

That’s when the shenanigans begin >:) 

See, baby Dick was both an angel and a gremlin

He was an angel, in that he was very emotionally intelligent, especially for a child, and that meant he understood all of Bruce’s fumbling attempts at parenting and emoting. Dick’s always been kind. 

But he was also a gremlin in that he regularly gave Bruce and Alfred heart attacks. 

As in, what’s the highest, most precarious place in the room? Why, what a perfect spot for some cartwheels! 

Bruce, heart nearly beating out of his chest as Dick does a handstand on the railing to the stairs 20 feet up off the ground: “Dick can you please get down from there” Dick, oblivious, shifting all of his weight onto one hand and making his position even more dubious: “Why?” 

Bruce, returning home after a busy day at work. Dick, leaning almost entirely out the window, only the tips of his toes touching the ground, waving enthusiastically “Hi Bruce!!!! :D” 

Lots of attempted secret keeping from Alfred.

“No telling Alfred about the broken vase or the take-out or the ice cream, ok Dick?” Dick nods solemnly. 

“Alfred we missed you! But everything was totally fine while you were gone!” Nailed it. 

Alfred was the one that usually drove Dick to and from school. I like to think they chatted on the road, and that Alfred knew all of the school gossip. 

“Tiffany did what? And after Claire stood by her during the ketchup incident. Oh dear.” Dick, nodding vigorously: “I know.”

The first time Dick hugs Bruce (not a I’m crying because my parent’s just died hug, but a proper hug), Bruce is stumped. Doesn’t know quite what to do with his hands. Ends up awkwardly patting Dick on the back. 

Dick finds this uproariously funny (”haha, you’re such a weirdo :D”), and takes to surprise hugging Bruce so that he can “practice his form” 

I like to imagine Alfred getting Dick ready for galas. He'd comb his hair and untangle the tie Dick tried to knot and put it on properly, while Dick struggles to stand still. Dick sneakily slides on some outrageously patterned, colorful socks with his dress shoes and Alfred pretends not to notice. 

Then Alfred moves on to wrangling the other child. Bruce hates galas. 

In public, Dick Grayson tugs twice on the bottom of Bruce’s shirt, and the mountain of a man bends over and lets the little boy whisper something in his ear. 

Alternatively, in private, Dick climbs on furniture (or Bruce himself) like a monkey, and whispers the joke into his ear just like that. 

Dick is dead on his feet after a patrol goes longer than expected, and Bruce carefully carries him to bed, tucks him in, makes sure the windows are closed, that the curtains are drawn....he wants to make sure every little thing is right. 

Dick going on his very first field trip outside of Gotham, and Bruce running a background check on every single person involved. 

Idk, I’m obsessed with the idea of Bruce treating Dick like he’s something precious. I feel like the love sneaks up on him, until he can’t imagine his life without Dick in it. 

But he’s also a big tease with Dick too. 

“Ice cream? I don’t know Dick, it’s pretty late....” “B, c’mon don’t be cruel” 

It’s all about that banter. And lots of hair ruffling I think. 

I’m going to stop before this gets (more) out of hand. 

#i'm not a headcanon kind of gal so i hope these are alright #-_- #thanks for the ask! #ask #dick grayson #nightwing #robin #bruce wayne #batman #alfred pennyworth

[thenovelartist]

Game Over: Be Mine

Happy (late) Birthday to my friend @galaxyofconstellations​

“I swear, Adrien, you frickin’ blue shell me, I am going to kick you out of my house right now.”

The young man sitting beside her just laughed. “It’s not like I have the option of who to blue shell, though.”

“You have the option to not blue shell me in the first place.”

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that?”

“Adrien Agreste,” Marinette growled.

He shot her a smug grin. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette huffed. To say this was out of the ordinary for her to sass a supermodel would be a lie. She’d met the man beside her a couple years ago when her best friend happened to start going out with his best friend. And then game nights between the four of them began to transpire every once in a while. And then once a month. And now about once week. However, there were times Alya and Nino, due to their schedules, wanted to ditch game nights so they could actually have a date night that week.

Just as they had done tonight.

And that was all right by Marinette and Adrien. Because they had become plenty close over the past couple years and had learned to enjoy solo game nights without the lovey-dovey couple getting all lovey-dovey on them.

“I am not kidding.” Marinette warned.

“I’d love to see you try.”

“To kick you out?”

“Yeah.”

“I will.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t underestimate me. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I’m not. I’ve seen you lift flour bags. I know full well what you’re capable of.”

“Therefore, you know better than to use that blue shell on me.”

Marinette snuck a glance at Adrien, who was wearing a smile that she Did. Not. Like. It was that smile that always meant trouble yet caused her heart to flutter. It was not fair that he looked extra attractive wearing that grin. Being a fashion designer, she’d seen her fair share of models. She hardly cared for them beyond being able to display her creations. Attractive men who constantly made passes at her while she fitted them with clothes were a dime a dozen.

However, the model next to her with his tongue slightly sticking out while his brows furrowed deeply in concentration could not be so easily tossed under that blanket statement, even if he had jokingly made passes at her while she tailored his outfits. Honestly, she found herself wishing more often than not that he’d meant them despite knowing he hadn’t.

“Well…” he said, shooting her a quick wink before turning back to the screen, “knowing and doing are two different things.”

“Adrien Agreste.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“About pressing this button?”

“Yes.”

He moved his finger.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oops.”

“Screw you!”

Marinette watched as the blue shell flew through the course and struck her, causing her cart to explode right before the finish line. Before her cart could even fully recover, she watched as Adrien’s cart zipped past her across the finish line.

“Winner!” he shouted, tossing his hands in the air while wearing a beaming smile.

“You mangy—”

“Hey hey, be nice.”

“Nice?!”

“Yeah.” He shot her a smile that did not under any circumstances cause the butterflies in her stomach to swirl. “It’s not becoming to be a sore loser.”

Marinette sputtered. “It is when you’re a cheater!”

“How’d I cheat? I merely used what the game gave me.”

“You strategically planned to screw me over.”

“But but but…” he began with a pout. “That’s kinda the point of Mario Cart.”

She let loose a growl before turning away from him. “Honestly, you’re such a piece of work.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

The words were said in jest. Marinette knew this. Her heart could not take it in jest. Not when she had developed a healthy crush on the man who was now behind her.

“Mari?”

Adrien’s concerned voice floated towards her, and her anger was already fading. She couldn’t stay mad at him, even if he did win this game five times in a row. She wasn’t a sore loser, but she also knew she was better than this.

“Maaaaariiiiii.”

His voice now resonated right by her ear. She could feel the couch cushion sink under his weight as he crawled across the couch to now be right behind her.

“Get lost. I’m sulking,” she snarked, turning her face away from him in hopes to hide the smile growing on her face.

“Oh, are we now?”

“We are,” she resolutely returned.

“Oh.”

There was a pause, and Marinette felt the cushion under her return to normal as Adrein shifted off the couch entirely.

“Well,” Adrien said, rounding the arm rest to place himself right before her. She had to cover her mouth in hopes of hiding her grin just a little while longer. “I do know one way to get you to stop sulking.”

Marinette froze for a second, hand falling away from her face—her smile was long gone now—as she looked towards Adrien.

He was grinning.

She began panicking.

“You wouldn’t.”

His smile only grew in responce.

He would.

In a flash, Marinette spun around, planning to bolt off the couch and out of his reach.

Unfortunately, she was not fast enough to escape. And she squealed as he began his attack.

His tickle attack, that is.

“Adrien!” she shrieked, collapsing onto the couch in a fit of laughter. She tried to wiggle away from him, but it was no use. He had crawled over the arm of the couch and was now hovering over her. “Stop.”

“Never!” he cried, wrapping his arms fully around her to hold her close as his assault on her sides continued.

Marinette let out another shriek, laughing so hard tears were forming in her eyes as she tried to wiggle her way out of Adrien’s grasp. He was now laughing along with her as he pinned her fully beneath him to the couch, his arms around her waist that held her tightly enough to continue tickling her sides. “Give up,” he cried, giggling all the while.

“I give!” Marinette screamed, still laughing as her back arched and hands pushed against his shoulders in an unfortunately futile attempt to escape his grasp. “I give! I surrender! Please.”

He held his hands still, though his fingers still lingered on her exposed skin right between her pants and where her shirt had ridden up on her hips. He propped himself up best he could and pulled her back towards him, close enough for his face to hover right above hers. “No more pouty Mari!”

“Yes, yes! Okay. You win. Stop!”

With that, he fully halted his attack, allowing Marinette a moment to breathe. Wide smile still lingering on her face, she let her eyes shut as she took heaving gulps of air that she wasn’t able to get during her tickle-induced laughing attack.

Faintly, she became aware of Adrien also breathing heavily, a short chuckle escaping him here and there. “Hey.”

She opened her eyes, only to come face to face with Adrien. “What?”

“I didn’t go too overboard, did I?”

With a heavy sigh, she let her eyes drift closed for a moment before shaking her head. “No. No more than usual.”

“Good,” he huffed, clearly relieved.

While the two were coming down from their giggle fit high, Marinette became increasingly aware of their very precarious position. At the moment, she was pinned to the couch, a fact she had already been aware of, but not to this extent. Adrien’s face was barely hovering above hers, looking every bit as handsome as he possibly could be while he laid on top of her, their legs intertwined and his arms fencing her in.

She felt all her blood rush to her cheeks that moment. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be able to have this affect on her. He was a model like any one of the dozens she was frequently surrounded with.

But he was also her friend. And a huge dork. And great at video games. And skilled both in the art of cheering her up and melting her heart. And and and…

And it just wasn’t fair how badly she’d fallen for him. Or how badly she wanted to kiss him right now.

“Adrien.”

“Hmm?”

“What… what if…”

She bit her lip. Just what did she think she was doing right now?

“What if I told you you did go overboard? What would you be willing to do to pay me back for it?”

He paused, distress slowly beginning to shadow his pretty features. “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“I have Nino, who’s my best bro. But beyond that, the person I’m closest to… is you,” he quietly admitted. “I’d do whatever it took to make it up to you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Her heart was racing as she looked at the handsome man before her, the one she’d come to care for deeply and sincerely. She knew better than to take advantage of this situation. She knew better than to be manipulative like this. And yet, as Marinette looked at him, she also wasn’t sure she cared. “Then, close your eyes.”

Without hesitating, he did just that.

It wasn’t lost on Marinette the amount of trust he put into her. He was the kind that asked “how high” when asked to jump, but only for a select few people. Everyone else could take a long walk off a short pier for all he cared.

It made her realize once again just how precious that trust in her was.

Which made her rethink what she was about to do.

Ultimately, she shoved doubt aside as she raised her hands to cradle his cheeks, and he sucked in a sharp breath at her touch. They were soft to the touch yet very well defined. He was so handsome. A model through and through.

And maybe, she should stop saying such things, because what did it matter that he was a model. That was the one thing she could care less about when it came to him. Not when he had so many other qualities that shone far brighter.

Slowly, she started pulling him closer. And he came willingly. Yet, at the last moment, she froze.

In the end, she couldn’t go through with it.

“Adrien.”

“Please tell me you’re going to kiss me.”

She gasped quietly, unsure how to proceed or even answer that question. “I…” Words choked up in her throat. “I… wanted to.”

“Wanted to?” Adrien asked, eyes cracking open to match hers.

Her hands fell from his cheeks, curling together on her collarbone. She glanced away shyly. “I don’t… can’t take advantage of you.”

His hand reached up to brush aside her hair before cradling the back of her neck, bringing her attention back to his soft and sweet smile. “You’re not,” he gently assured. “Not by a long shot.”

“Then…” Marinette once again reached up to cradle his cheeks, and Adrien took that as his cue to pull her close and kiss her.

It was a single kiss, one that was a firm, lingering press of their lips together.

And in that moment, Marinette knew this was game over for her and her heart. Adrien had won again. But this time, she hardly minded.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Adrien whispered. “But… seems like you were braver than I was. It never felt like the right time, and I was too chicken to push my luck when I knew I could end up losing you.”

Words now completely failed Marinette. What was she supposed to say to that? How was she supposed to respond? “I… get… how you feel.”

Above her, Adrien’s loving smile grew. “So, does this mean I can press my luck and get a favorable answer when I ask if you’d be my girl?”

Marinette was quick to nod. “Yes.”

Adrien visibly relaxed, faint blush growing on his own cheeks. “I’m… really glad to hear that.”

A short silence passed between them.

“Second question.”

“Yeah?” Marinette whispered, her heart already over the moon and head completely in the clouds.

“If I asked to kiss you again,” Adrien said, leaning closer. “Would that answer be a yes?”

Those words wracked around in her mind for two seconds before short-circuiting everything. Forget speech, because that had become physically impossible, Marinette just grabbed his cheeks again.

Right before she could pull him down to grant his request, she could hear him chuckle softly. “I like that answer,” he whispered. “But…”

His lips brushed against hers as his voice got low and so quiet she could barely pick up on the words that fully destroyed her. “I like you even more.”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #slight au #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #fluff #romance #these two dorks #got to love them #Happy Birthday my friend!

[ssa-sugar-tits]

Before It's Too Late

Request: this one

Have this scenario in mind: Hotch is working on a case where the victims look like the reader and he feels he should tell her his feelings before it's too late like what happened to his ex wife. Smutty or fluffy, it's your decision

Pairing: Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner x Reader

Content warnings: canon typical violence (torture/murder), mutilation, cursing, mentions of haley's death, smut, oral sex (male receiving), penetrative sex

a/n: yeahh we're doing the classic there's only one bed shit. enjoy, my horny lovelies.

The entire team saw it, instantly. When JJ pulled up the victims with an uneasy gaze. They looked like you. All four women. You saw yourself in their cold, dead eyes. Your hair matched theirs too under the bloodstains. Hell, they could all be your sisters. The only difference was the glaringly obvious: the terror spilled all over those poor women's faces before they'd been tortured and murdered.

Wheels up in 20.

Hotch's meaningless words echo in your head as you stare deeper and deeper into your victim's eyes.

Hotch sits at his desk, the team's leaving in 10 minutes. He can't shake what everyone knows damn well. The women. They look like Y/N. They look like his clandestine love, Y/N. Hotch won't let anything happen to you, he'll die a thousand times before that happens. But he can still feel Haley's heavy, limp body in his arms and his heart shattering. It took a long time but piece by piece, you put it back together and now you hold Aaron Hotchner's heart in your oblivious hands.

"Y/N, we're leaving," Emily yells to you, walking with JJ out to the jet. You're forced to leave your trance and join the others. You feel hazy and have to focus your breathing as you take a seat next to Hotch.

"Hey babygirl, you're on." Derek places a laptop down with Garcia's live image displayed. Quickly looking up at the team and not wanting to show any sign of weakness, you share your thoughts.

"Well clearly, our guy's got a type. Same ethnicity, hair color, even the lip shape is insanely similar. I'm thinking surrogate." Receiving nods from the team, you hope precariously the profilers beside you don't notice how you're doing everything you can to avoid looking at the crime scene photos. Hotch agrees with you, not looking up from his file for fear of showing just how miserable the very idea of something happening to you is making him.

"Y/L/N is right. Garcia, start by looking at men in the area 20 to 40 years old who are related or romantically involved with a woman fitting the physical parameters of our victims. It'll be long but somewhere to start."

"Yes sir!" Penelope says enthusiastically, already beginning to click away at her keyboard. JJ stays at the back of the jet, making a phone call and Emily speaks up.

"Actually Penelope, cut that down to only romantic involvement. The torture and mutilation of the women's genitals is an act of sex in itself, I doubt he'd be doing that for a mother or sister. And the rage is evident so focus on recent breakups or rejections." Rejection. Why does that word stand out to Hotch?

"Very helpful, my raven-haired beauty," she chirps. "We are down to... 2700 matches!"

The word rejection still makes its way, floating around Hotch's mind like an annoying song he can't get out of his head. That's it, isn't it? You're the song he can't get out of his head. A song he loves, one that may not feel the same way. A song he can't lose.

"Garcia, try looking for large places of residence. Our unsub wouldn't torture in an apartment where neighbors can hear or in a house with other people around." Reid says.

"Look for areas with basements, sheds, garden houses, and such." Rossi adds.

"Hit you back later! P.G. out," she signs off.

Instead of, as he probably should be, doing his job, Hotch lets himself get lost in his thoughts. Thoughts about what happened to Haley, what could happen to you.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Those three gunshots ring in his mind.

Is this why your marriage fell apart, Aaron?

Foyet's words taunt him. How can he let himself love someone again? After failing Haley, at the cost of her life? At the cost of Jack losing his mother.

"Hotch?" you tap him lightly. "We landed, the team's outside."

"Thank you." He gathers his things, taking a quick deep breath.

"Sir," you say it with a careful tone. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine Y/L/N," he reassures you quickly and starts to leave but looks back at you. "Are you? We've all noticed that the victims...."

He trails off but you know what he's talking about.

"It's scary," you admit. "Definitely offputting, but I'll manage."

"If you need anything, let me know."

Your heart skips a beat. He's only being a good boss, you tell yourself.

"Thank you Aaron."

A rare sight, Hotch smiles at you. It's the first time you've called him by his first name.

The team sets up in the precinct and it's a slow day for the case, all in all. The suspect list is narrowed, slowly but surely, and interviews are conducted but no arrests are made. Most of your friends have turned in for the night, urging you to get some rest but you can't. Not when you're-- and you hate to admit it-- fucking scared. How could you possibly not be? Every time you look at the bloody photos, it's almost like looking into a future mirror. Hotch stays in the next room, alone. Gazing down at the file, he has to wonder. Is it really protecting you if he hides his feelings for you? Or is it a selfish attempt to guard his own fucked up fears? He doesn't have time to think about it much, interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Hotch?" You call.

"Come in, Y/L/N."

The object of his misery enters.

"I'm going back to the hotel for the night, I came to see if you wanted to ride back with me." Saying it confidently, not worrying he'll know your true desires. He almost objects but can't resist, especially not when he's made the decision to tell you before it's too late. To tell you he loves you.

"Give me a few minutes, I'll meet you outside."

"Got it," you smile genuinely, pleased that he agreed.

Checking into the hotel, the owner gives you a key, saying it's their last available room. Not a problem, you think. You step into the elevator and notice a hitch in Hotch's breathing.

"Y/L/N, I need to speak with you regarding something."

He cringes at his own words. How formal does a goddamn love confession need to be? This is stupid, what is he even doing?

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" you laugh, unlocking the room. He doesn't respond but one thing catches your eye when you walk in. You turn to face Hotch and your face is mere inches from his, able to feel the heat of each other's body.

"Hotch," you breathe out your words, low and shaky, feeling the tension you'd convinced yourself you'd been imagining all this time. "There's only one bed."

"That there is." He says calmly, not breaking eye contact. With a small burst of confidence, you place a hand on his rising chest.

"What'd you want to talk about, Aaron?" He almost moans just at the way his name sounds on your precious lips.

"This," he growls. You don't resist when he grabs your face to mash his lips against yours. In fact, you throw yourself on top of his and deepen the kiss. Without breaking the kiss, you push him onto the bed and straddle him. You take grip of his shoulders and he wraps his hands around your waist. He grunts and you take the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth, attacking his with yours. Hotch tilts his head to have more access to your mouth and you feel his growing bulge against your thigh. You throw him down and smirk as he stares lustfully.

"Is this what you want Aaron?" you tease. He doesn't give you an answer, only exhaling and undoing his belt.

"Y/N, I need you." he pants, hungrily.

"Yes sir."

Pulling down his strained boxers with one swift movement, your mouth salivates at the sight of his already hard cock. His pink head glistens with precum and you bring your head down to swipe your tongue on it, making sure he's watching you.

"Fuck," Hotch moans, grasping a handful of your hair. You slide your mouth down on his cock, moaning against him and stroking what you can't fit with your hand. A long noise escapes him and he grips your head tighter while you bob your head up and down.

"Just like that baby, so good Y/N."

"Mmm," you hum, savoring every moan that travels from his mouth. Tears pricking your eyes, you take him down your throat determined to taste every inch of him, making him hum with delight. Cupping his balls in your hand, you work on him with your hands and mouth at the same time and you feel him near the edge. You pull your head up from him, a string of saliva connecting your lips and his dick.

"I was close," he mutters roughly. You lift your shirt over your shoulders and pull down your skirt, leaving you in your lacy white bra and panties set. Glad I wore something nice, you think. When he sees your body hovering over him, he's a man captivated. Rapidly, he unclasps your bra and takes in the view, starting to knead them sensually.

"Fuck me, Aaron." you command, somehow sounding sweetly. Hotch pins your wrists above your head and kisses you again, like he's waited his whole life to have you. He takes hold of your hips and moves your underwear to the side, holding his shaft to enter you. You moan in sync and he enters your pussy all the way.

"Aaron, fuck."

"You feel so good, baby." He praises.

"God yes!" you scream with his first thrust. "Fuck me as hard as you can, please sir."

You plead and Hotch complies. As he fucks you faster, moaning all the while, his hands tighten on you. You're sure he'll leave bruises for the morning but you don't care experiencing the pleasure you have right now. His fingers roll your nipple in his hand, pinching and squeezing lightly and he thrusts hard and passionate.

"I'm gonna cum," you warn and your pussy's blissful walls tighten around his nearing cock.

"Me too Y/N," he grunts. Exploding inside of you, he throws his head back messily and moans, pushing you over the edge. Your juices drip down your thighs and Hotch pulls out of you.

Breathing heavily, neither of you say a word. Only holding on desperately to any last drop of what you just did.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm in love with you."

You stare into his deep brown eyes, still floating internally and inhaling the smell of sex. You trail a hand down his firm arm. It wasn't in your head.

"I'm in love with you too, Aaron."

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch hotchner #agent hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch smut #hotch fanfiction #hotch imagine

[abarbaricyalp]

@sambuckylibrary

SamBucky Halloween Prompt 4: Bobbing for Apples

Bucky and Sam babysit at the school halloween festival

Rated G (AO3 link in the notes)

Break the Tender Peel

“He came with me, I’m taking him back!” AJ shouted as he tugged on Bucky’s hand, trying to drag him away from the group of kids that had been taking turns using face paint to color in the plates of Bucky’s arm.

AJ’s classmates objected and Bucky shot them an apologetic look before pretending to stumble as AJ kept pulling on his arm. “Jeez, kid, what’s your mom feedin’ you, huh? You’re stronger than your uncle is,” he said and scooped AJ up to hold him on his hip.

“Am not,” AJ argued back. He looped his arms around Bucky’s neck and leaned against his shoulder. “Uncle Sam and Cass want to bob for apples,” he eventually explained.

“Your uncle wants to bob for apples?” Bucky asked dubiously.

“Yeah! He’s the one who told me to go find you! He says me ‘n Cass can race you ‘n him.”

Overhead, Monster Mash looped back on for the umpteenth time and Bucky was wondering if the Halloween playlist he knew Sam had would be considered safe for a school function. Probably not. Definitely not.

Sam was indeed standing by large wooden buckets with Cass, splashing water at each other. Bucky rolled his eyes and ignored the squeezing of his heart in his chest.

“This doesn’t seem very sanitary,” he said as he walked over. AJ giggled even though Bucky didn’t think he knew what sanitary meant.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Sam said with an easy grin that had Bucky going light headed. “They switch out the water every time someone plays. And I’m pretty sure no one else has been over here for ages.”

“That seems wasteful.”

“Man, shut up. There’s a whole ocean over there to get water.”

“I doubt they’re using seawater for apple bobbing,” Bucky pointed out.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” Sam asked and scooped a handful of water out to splash at Bucky, who laughed and danced away, arms coming up around AJ to hold him closer.

“Hey! Precious cargo and all that!” he said, nodding to AJ. AJ squirmed out of his hold and ran over to his brother’s side.

“I don’t think it’s fair for you two to race us,” Cass said when and Aj finished horsing around together.

“What? Come on, dude, it was your idea,” Sam said, still all easy and happy. Bucky threw his elbow up on Sam’s shoulder to lean against him.

“Yeah, but then I thought about it and you two have a lot more practice than AJ and me.”

“How much practice do you think we have?” Sam asked.

“I dunno, like, a hundred years.”

“Well, Sam definitely does,” Bucky agreed. “He’s ancient.”

Sam elbowed him roughly. “Alright, toughshot. Me and AJ, you and Bucky?”

“I wanna partner with Bucky!” AJ objected before Sam could even finish talking.

Cass screwed his mouth to one side before relenting. “Fine, you can partner with Bucky this time, but I wanna be his partner when we play the dart game.”

“Deal,” AJ said and let Cass give him a fist bump. Bucky turned to press his face to Sam’s shoulder because he couldn’t bear watching for much longer.

“Nice artwork,” Sam said as the boys picked apples to throw in the water.

They both looked at his purple, green, and orange arm. “Yeah, put me in a museum,” Bucky agreed drily.

“Oh, being all over history museums isn’t enough for you?”

“Hey, you’re the guy who's been bobbing for apples for a century. You deserve your own museum display.” 

Sam rolled his eyes and stepped away when AJ and Cass ran over to direct them to either bucket of apples. A teacher looked at them skeptically.

“Bucky and me first,” Cass said, standing over the bucket.

Bucky sank down to his knees on the other side.

“Looks good,” Sam said lowly. “Real natural.”

Bucky jammed his elbow into Sam’s thigh. “Shouldn’t you be cheering on your teammate over there? He’s gonna be all the speed on your team. AJ’s gonna wipe the floor with you. Get outta here.”

Cass grinned at the taunting and handed his glasses over to Sam. “No way, we’re gonna kick your butt,” he said with a confident grin. “Uncle Sam can do anything.”

Sam gestured to Cass in agreement.  The teacher counted them down and Bucky ducked his head into the water. He hadn’t been bobbing for apples since he was barely older than Cass, but definitely didn’t remember it being this difficult. He could hold his breath for upwards of ten minutes, but he was pretty sure he was going to have to come up for air unvictorious.

“Uncle Sam! I did it!” he heard, muffled, followed quickly by AJ patting his shoulder and shouting encouragement.

Finally, he got his teeth around a stem, which was not how he wanted to play the game, and came up for air. He shook his hair off like a dog shaking, sending Cass and AJ shrieking away.

AJ hurried back and quickly dove in for an apple. Sam had elected to bend over the table instead of kneeling and Bucky let himself appreciate the lines of his body. Him being headless currently was much less sexy.

Sam started to sit back before AJ and Bucky quickly reached over to flick the apple from whatever precarious hold he had on it. “Cheater!” Cass shouted as Sam sputtered and ducked back down for a different apple.

AJ came up a split second before Sam did the next time. He grinned and held his apple up victoriously.

“No way,” Cass said. “Uncle Sam totally did it faster. Bucky cheated.”

“Nuh-uh,” AJ sniffed.

“How would you know? You were underwater.”

“Hey, I think the real point is that we all beat Bucky,” Sam said, mediating the situation quickly and turning both boys’ desire to brag against Bucky. 

“Hey now!” Bucky said. “Give an old man a break. Respect your elders and all that.”

“Oh, now you’re an old man?” Sam asked, raising a single eyebrow. Bucky shrugged. “Hey, come pick out your prizes,” he said, reaching for AJ’s hand to pull the boys back over. They both grabbed a handful of candy instead of a set of pencils, then turned big brown eyes up to Sam.

“Uncle Sam, can we go back on the ferris wheel?” AJ asked, because he was always the one used to beg something off Sam.

Sam fished out a few dollar bills from his pocket. “Go tell your mom before you get in line, alright? And make sure you’re back down in time for the hayride.”

“Are you gonna come with us?” Cass asked, reaching for Sam’s other hand.

“Yeah, Uncle Sam,” Bucky said with a grin. “Go on the hayride.”

“No way. I’m too scared of it,” Sam said, shaking his head with his own grin.

“No way!” AJ said. “You’re not scared of anything!”

“Alright, alright, then I’m too old for it.”

AJ considered this and then nodded his agreement. “Alright. Cass, where’s mom?”

Bucky and Sam watched them run off to the last booth Sarah had been volunteering at. “Y’know, I think babysitting means we’re supposed to walk them over to Sarah and stand in line with them.”

“God, I can’t stand in that line again,” Sam said. “She’ll walk over with them. Especially since it’s so close to the hayride time.”

“Why don’t you wanna get on that thing?” Bucky asked when he watched Sarah come out of the bakery booth and collect the boys.

“‘Cause I know the high schoolers are hiding in the maze in monster costumes.”

Bucky gaped at him. “And you’re just gonna let your nephews get terrorized?” he asked.

“It’s a rite of passage. Besides, yell at Sarah. They’re her sons. She knows what’s coming too.”

“Yeah, but she’s gonna be next to them.”

“Hey, if you wanna join them, by all means.”

“Well, I mean…” Bucky grinned at Sam and shrugged. “Maybe getting the shit scared out of him in a maze ain’t the best course of action for a guy with PTSD.”

“Good choice,” Sam said. He ran his hand through Bucky’s hair, shaking his fingers through it to spray more water everywhere. “Come on, let’s go take over the photo booth for a few minutes.”

“A few minutes? You’re being optimistic.”

Sam rolled his eyes and tugged Bucky away by the collar.  Bucky couldn’t help his jack-o-lantern grin.

#sambuckyhalloween2021 #sambucky #sambucky fanfic #sambucky fanfiction #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon #winter soldier #captain america #halloween #sambucky halloween #writing #bingo

[val-aquenta]

Here folks. Take an impromptu Mace centric fic as a token of my affections xD

Here on ao3

 1. It takes 14 seconds to fall from the Chancellor’s office to the ground. Mace counts them slowly. Almost a meditation. Each second stretches for eternity, each centimetre passing with an agonizingly slow speed. Mace blinks and even that feels like it takes forever. Mace feels, well he really can’t feel his hand. His wrist, however, is another matter entirely. It throbs and throbs and does not stop. He supposes that soon he won’t have to worry about it. 

2. Mace has time to feel betrayed. Feel the sting of anger and hurt for a moment before he is occupied by other things. He has known of a shatterpoint poised around Anakin, precariously on the point of breaking at any point. He had hoped that when it broke, the balance would be restored, but now… well the rise of the Sith is hardly balance. There is a moment of this anger, that Anakin could not have chosen better, did not deem balance important, but within moments it leaves him. He can do precious little now, weakened as he is, to stop his fall. He can only think about what he is about to leave. 

3. He wonders how Depa is. Alone in the darkness of the world, struggling with her padawan, the newest member of their lineage. He wonders how young Caleb is. Whether the clones have befriended him, whether he has seen some interesting animal or tradition that he would have shared over tea next they met. He wishes, oh how he wishes, that he could see them one last time, could whisper his farewell to them, could press against their essence in the Force and feel them, feel his family, his daughter and her son.  

4. Mace feels something twang, some kind of resignation from up above, from the office he has just been thrown out of. The dark, cold, oppressive feeling suffocated the surroundings. Young Skywalker, he realises, is truly stepping for the dark. He feels pain because that is where the path will end. With Anakin and all of Anakin’s friends in pain. The shatterpoint that has hovered over Anakin for all the man’s life breaks and shatters with an intensity he has only felt a few times before. Of course, it would be Anakin that aggravates the pain of his death in such a manner, he sardonically notes. However, the loneliness, the fear, the pain, and the resignation is painful to feel. Part of Mace feels bad for Anakin considering the path that he will walk on guarantees pain. He hopes that Anakin will turn from this path, but already he feels the strings of fate being drawn together as though this inevitability has been years in the making and is finally culminating in the man's fall.

5. The Force is dark. It has been darkening throughout the war, and even darkening before that. Slowly, but surely, using the Force to sense things had become akin to wading in a swamp through fog with nothing to provide light. True darkness had hidden within the despair, anger, and hate of the general populace, tired of the galactic war that sucked up resources. The war machine, fueled by uncaring individuals who had sought profit had pushed and pushed and pushed until it had taken up every thought. Until classrooms became war meeting rooms, and until the mosaics and gentle art of the Temple were chipped and left in disrepair as it simply became too expensive to keep clean and intact. 

6. There is regret he feels for not having noticed what Palpatine was, what the man was capable of. He has never truly liked Palpatine. The man was a slimy politician like many others who somehow managed to put off a kind font for all his friends. The man has never done something like that for Mace, and Mace has always found the act somewhat manipulative. He spares an idle thought, wishing that the Zillo beast had somehow succeeded in eating the Sith. As a Jedi, he probably shouldn’t entertain such thoughts, but Palpatine is a sith lord who has orchestrated a galactic war. He hopes the Force will cut him some slack. 

7. Obi-Wan. His friend. What devastation the man will feel. He has lost his Grandmaster to the clutches of the dark, lost his own Master to a Sith monster from his nightmares, lost his Grandpadawan to the greedy clutches of the Senate and the war, and now he will lose his own Padawan to the darkness. He wishes he could comfort his friend the way he had done after Qui-Gon’s death. Mace hopes his death will not hurt so much, but he knows Obi-Wan takes it very personally when someone he loves dies. He… he wishes he could also meet with Obi-Wan, wishes he could bring some joy, some calm, something positive to the man who will no doubt feel the most devastating feeling of loss when he realises his family has torn itself apart, has hurt each other in such a horrid way. 

8. The Jedi in the Temple. There are so few, most of the older ones scattered throughout the galaxy, but he fears for the younger ones. With Anakin, himself, Kit, Saesee, and Agen gone, most of the defences in the Temple are gone. Now only the youngest of padawans, the younglings and the oldest members of their order remain. He knows, feels it in his bones, that the Temple will be attacked. It is impossible for Palpatine not to have planned something ensuring the death of his family. He hopes that the younglings might escape, that the few Knights might keep those younger safe, that the recovering Jedi in the healing rooms escape. However, Mace has always been logical. The best he can probably hope for is a quick painless death for the members of his family, one with as little pain as possible. Knowing Palpatine, the man who gladly played two sides of a galactic war, he knows that it won’t be so. His family will suffer more than just a quick death, they will suffer and he… he finds he hates the idea of it. What he would give to save them. He would die for them. Would take all their pain to save them. His family, the warmth he has always known will disappear, this he knows. 

9. His lightsaber is falling too. Ahead of him. The crystal which has been by his side always is mourning with him, feeling the and echoing his betrayal, winking brightly just like he is before Mace dies. One hand stretches out and calls the blade to him. If he was to feel one last thing in his life, his lightsaber and the warmth from it would be high there. His intact hand grasps the blade and clutches it close, looking for that warmth, that light that he has had by his side since his childhood. The crystal hums on his level, reflecting joy at being united with him, sadness at the coming doom. His faithful friend has been by his side through many dangers but now is the end. He recalls the first time he picked it up, surrounded by darkness and cold and ice the crystal had sat, glowing and colourless. The blade had been purple, much to the surprise and delight of both himself and his family. Sure, he had tweaked the hilt as he had grown, but the crystal had remained the same. He reached out for it and let its calm force envelop him one last time, letting the light peace wash over him moments before his death.  

10. Time seems to blur. He sees the past melding with the present. The future seems to push back and reaches him in strange visions, flickers across his vision. There are ghost feelings of something entirely alien drifting across his mind. The future, he realises with a quiet gasp, reaching back and showing him small flickers of it. Mace accepts it quietly. He accepts the flickers of death, destruction, and terrible darkness as they fall across his vision. He sees the lone figures of light as they leap across an indifferent galaxy, attempting to fight the suffocating darkness. There is a shadow of a togruta, old and unfamiliar with blades of pure light against one red and black shadow flickering across his vision, followed by a robes figure facing off a dark machine, a strange imprint of betrayal and sadness. Another shadow of green and red blades against each other followed by a sky of flickering light, illuminated by lightning. More and more visions flicker across his vision and finally a balance. He feels relief keenly as the light stretches past the few points it was reduced to. In the end, balance will prevail, he knows, and he rests easy with that knowledge.

11. His clones, he wonders, will be sad when they find out he is dead. He has somehow gained their respect and admiration. With that, as he and his colleagues had quickly found, came a need front he clones to keep them safe. Through many battles, Ponds watched his back, offered advice, and shared his pain. In turn, he has done the same, but it always feels like it is not enough. For all that he loves his troops, he can not save them from the Republic’s scorn and the Senate’s indifference. He has tried to save them, tried to keep the other military leaders from recklessly using the clones as a battering ram against the Separatists, disregarding the lives they will lose, but still he ends up with dead men. Ponds. He wishes… something. He wishes he could have said goodbye. Told him he wished he could have done more, could have saved more men. But, the time for that has passed and he cannot save them or comfort them. He only hopes that they will be safe and healthy and happy in the wake of his death. That someone will step up to take care of them. 

12. His family… the Jedi… He can feel them dying. Something is… something is killing them. Someone is killing them. He has failed. Failed to protect them. Failed to save them. Their pain rips through the Force as they are killed, betrayal, pain, and anguish suffocating the Force. No! He feels his bonds, some of which have been in place since childhood, be ripped mercilessly from him. Depa’s still glows bright, alive, but there is something painful growing around her. It feels as though the end is coming soon, both for him but also for her. Lights flicker and are put out mercilessly. From the old elder Jedi who had been a mentor in the past to the young Rodian child he had comforted two weeks ago. They burn brightly, like stars, and then disappear, cementing darkness in the universe. 

13. Mace Windu, moments before his death, sees something. He’s always seen things. Breaking points in people, situations, and things. He’s grown up with them. Now, in the seconds before he hits the ground at breakneck speed, he sees something different. An impossible possibility. The culmination of a billion small things resulting in the perfect world. So out of reach, so… impossible. It flashes for just a moment, blinking for an eternity. He observes it, observes the choices, observes the outcomes, the unfolding of events. It is almost as though he experiences it, almost like he lives through it, but not quite. This ‘what if,’ this best-case scenario, is an imagination. Nothing he can do will bring it to truth, and yet still Mace wishes.

14. Fourteen seconds. Mace Windu fell from a window fourteen seconds ago. For fourteen seconds he has fallen down the side of the building. Now, he hits the ground as darkness swallows the universe. It seems almost fitting that he would die the moment the Jedi are about to die and the universe is about to be swallowed by darkness. Mace closes his eyes a fraction of a second before he hits the ground at breakneck speed, the rapid speed of descent slowing abruptly in a split second. With the end of his fall, Mace Windu's life ends too.

15. Mace wakes in the light which he has chosen. The light which he has always chosen and which he will always choose. The dark of the world is behind him. Ahead, only light, warmth, and happiness remains. Each step into the warmth, leaving the dark world he’s lived in, is like coming home. He takes each step until he isn’t Mace anymore, not really. He is the light, he is the Force. Mace sighs and finally, he releases himself into the Force, into home. A thousand troubles, hundreds of sleepless, millions of deaths, countless memories of pain fade away until Mace is unburdened. Mace breathes in slowly, meditatively, and he steps into the light. As darkness falls, Mace steps into the light. And so ends Mace Windu. 

#star wars fanfic #fanfiction #star wars #mace windu #mace windu appreciation #obi wan kenobi #depa billaba #pro jedi #jedi appreciation #pro jedi fic #duna writes

[fangirlcenteral]

Action

Request:  Hey love! I recently found your blog and I'm OBSESSED so happy to binge read 😂 Also I was wondering if I could request a smut? Reader and tom being lovers irl, but they're both actors. Maybe before they shoot for the day they have a tense argument, then whilst filming a love scene together Tom gets cheeky and actually puts his dingaling inside you, you're both covered by blankets but the cameras are rolling 😅😅 sorry if it's too descriptive! - @slutforhiddlebum

A/N: I have spent literally all day thinking about this. I have seen stuff like this before, but I put my own little spin on it that I haven’t seen before.

Warnings: SMUT (Semi-Public) 

Taglist: @just-the-hiddles​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @introvertedrambling​ @marvel-madness-forever​

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You and Tom were usually very happy, and got along very well. This particular week however you were fighting about everything. You weren’t really mad at anything in particular. The lack of sleep and the stress from the shoot were just bubbling on the surface, and being taken out on each other. The only difference was last night got bad. Worse than it had ever been. Usually no matter what you would end up in bed together, tangled into each other. But something about the way everyone at the tiny bar you had decided to go to to calm down was staring at Tom, your Tom, made you explode. You fought so bad that you decided to sleep in your separate trailers on set. Neither of you slept very much. Too lost in the thoughts of what the morning would bring. At some point your alarm blared forcing you out of the crying induced trance you had found yourself in. Tom on the other hand laid awake thinking about how he could apologize to you. He planed to go to your trailer before filming to apologize to you, but as soon as he woke up there was a knock on his trailer door. He jumped up hoping it was you, but was disappointed as soon as he heard his makeup artist’s voice outside. You were in a similar situation with people already putting you together for your scene when a production assistant walked in with the script for the scene you were about to film with Tom. After looking at the scene you were even more nervous about this scene. You had never done a sex scene before, and the only calming thing about it was that Tom would be here to help you. Now you were so unsure of what would happen when you saw each other.

After the both of you were done with hair and makeup you were instructed to undress and put on some uncomfortable nude underwear and nipple pasties. You tried to cover yourself as much as possible with the robe before leaving your trailer to walk to the set. You tried to walk as quickly as possible to the set. Thinking the sooner you got there the sooner it was over. As soon as you walked onto the set Tom’s heart broke at how nervous you looked. All he wanted to do was hold you in his arms and tell you everything would be alright, but he felt that you were still mad at him. After the director went over the scene with you both you laid down on the bed and covered yourself with the blanket, looking at him terrified. He quickly walked over to you and carefully laid on top of you. You were hyper aware of the few people in the room. You were too lost in your thoughts to notice the crew leaving to let your get set up while they finished setting up. As soon as they were out of the room he unknotted the robe for you and helped you take it off. He quickly shed his own robe and looked down at you. You covered your breasts with your hands until he pulled them away.

“Don’t worry baby, I won’t let them see anything,” He said smiling down at you. You smiled back and kissed him lightly, your fears diminishing from the soft press of his lips. He leaned back, and began adjusting his nude underwear. You didn’t think much of it until the crew funneled in, and you felt him pull your underwear the the side. “let me make it up to you baby,” he whispered in your ear. You nodded and put your hands around his neck. While you laid there waiting a camera guy came up behind you to set a camera looking at Toms face. Tom instinctively leaned over to cover you more, unknowingly pushing his tip into you. A moan attempted to escape, but you covered it with a cough.

As soon as action was yelled Tom was kissing you deeply and thrusting into you slowly and harsh. You threw your head back against the pillows with a loud moan. Your eyes screwed as you got lost in the moment. Forgetting that you were surrounded by people recording you for a second. Only feeling Tom’s gentle kiss and rough thrusts. When you threw your head back further and your eyes shot open, when Tom’s tip brushed your sensitive spot, and you looked right into the camera. You quickly brought your eyes back to Tom and closed them as he laid against you. Just as you felt like you were teetering precariously between the heaven of your orgasm and the shocking reality you found yourself in, the director yelled cut. Tom stopped immediately and pulled out of you. You closed your mouth and attempted to control your breathing, suddenly very aware of the people surrounding you. You felt a heat move up your body in embarrassment. You put your head against Tom’s chest. You couldn’t tell if the heat spreading all over your body was from the orgasm that was just ripped away from you, or the embarrassment and excitement of what you just did. In your slight haze you didn’t notice Tom shooing everyone away until he was kissing at your cheeks while adjusting himself back into his underwear. He pulled himself up, and helped you into your robe. You sat up and looked at him with wide teary eyes, almost begging him to not leave you hanging like this. He simply looks at you and chuckles at your pouting. He cups your chin, and makes you look up at him. He leaned down and kissed you before pulling you to stand. 

“We have a while before out next scene, why don’t you go wait for me in your trailer. I need to get some stuff, then i’ll meet you there. Okay,” he said looking at you carefully. It was times like this where you were so needy that he handled you like a porcelain doll. You nod slowly, and he helps you stand. Carefully observing to make sure your steady on your feet before letting you go. You quickly scurried back to your trailer, and shed the weird half clothes you were given before laying on the bed. You got on your hands and knees, arching your back slightly to present your glistening folds to Tom as soon as he walked in. You didn’t even have to look back to know he had walked into the room. The deep groan that left his lips, and the quick heavy footsteps approaching you. Suddenly you felt his smooth hands groping at your ass. He moved his hands slowly to your hips, pressing your ass and folds against the rough material of the jeans he must have put on. You whine out slightly, and let your head fall forward. You felt him shift and soon you felt him blow a cool breath against your drenched folds. You shuddered slightly and started to fall forward, but his hands held you in place with a firm hold.

“Hold on darling, I’m gonna make you feel real good. Over, and over, and over again,” he said darkly. You could practically hear the smirk on his face when you whine and grip the bed sheets till your knuckles were white. You very suddenly felt a firm lick from your entrance to you clit. When he reached your sensitive bud he lightly nipped at it. Again, you nearly fell, but he used one of his hands that was holding your thigh to wrap the whole arm around your thighs to hold you tightly against his face. He moved his other hand to rub your clit, and began roughly eating you out. You were positive that anyone near your trailer could hear your pathetic, whiny screams of pleasure. Tom continued to stab his tongue into you rapidly. You started shaking against his hold. When he felt this he went even faster. Using his whole body to both throw you over the edge and hold onto you so you don’t physically fall. When you finally let yourself fall over the edge he doesn’t let up. He focuses all his energy on making making you feel everything he will give you. When you finally stop screaming in pleasure, he pulls back slowly and looked up at your trembling body. He smiled to himself as he laid a soft kiss on your backside. He then helped you move to lay on your back. He helped you get comfortable before tracing his ridiculous long fingers up your inner thigh.

“Do you think your ready for me baby. I wouldn’t want to hurt my precious girl,” he said rubbing his fingers up and down your slit, occasionally flicking at your clit. You mewled out and grabbed at his belt weakly, too lost in pleasure to speak. “Okay baby, okay,” he laugh at your attempt to get his pants off. You whined as he pulled away from you, causing him to put his hand on your stomach, and rub soothing circles.

After he got his pants off he grabbed your hand and brought it down to his cock. You wrapped your hand around him and looked up at him. The way you look at him could have finished him. You looked so innocent with your massive bright eyes, and soft opened mouth. He let go of your wrist and let you stroke him slowly. You sat up and looked at him. He leaned in and kissed you deeply. You slowly rubbed your thumb over his tip, applying a bit of pressure to make his squirm. As you did that he broke the kiss with a moan. You them released him and traced your finger on the underside of his head.

“Alright. That’s enough of that,” He said as he pulled your hand off him and pushed you to lay on your back. He kisses up your body until he us face to face with you. He leaned down and kissed you sweetly as he rubbed his cock through your folds. You broke the kiss with a moan as you threw your head back as he pushed into you quickly. He didn’t give you time to adjust before he was pounding into you. He leaned down and began kissing at your neck, and speaking sweet nothings in your ears. You held onto him tightly as he moved your leg to his hip to thrust into you deeper and harder. Hitting a part inside of you, you always forget about until he hits it. Over, and over, and over again. He laid soft kisses on your cheeks and held onto your leg tightly. You suddenly felt a course of electricity shoot through your body. You didn’t even have time to warn Tom before you were screaming so loud you were sure you would be hoarse later, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. To blinded my the immense pleasure you were feeling. You felt Tom grip harder on your leg and grunt above you as he spilled into you. You rode out your highs before he stilled above you, and started panting heavily. After a few moments of breathing heavily he slowly put your leg down and eased out of you. He shushed you and rubbed your forehead as you whined at the loss of contact.

After he cleaned you up, and helped you slip on one of his shirts he helped you under the covers. He held you close to his chest. 

“How are you feeling darling? Not too bad I hope,” he said cuddling close to you. You shook your head as he made you drink some water. He nodded as he put to water on the night stand before pulling you to his chest. You quickly began nodding off.

“Sleep tight my love. I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he whispered in your ear as you fell asleep.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading. It took a little longer than I had hoped, but I actually really like it. My requests and tag list are open. I hope your having a great day/night. Sorry if the ending is rough. I’m exhausted, but can’t sleep.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddleston smut

[hlizr50]

Unveiled

Spoilers for From Blood and Ash

Poppy is unveiled to her new guard. Alternate POV.

Read on AO3

Everything had gone according to plan.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But the end goal had been accomplished.

Swift booted footsteps echoed down the hall as Casteel and his “commander” made their way to the Duke’s office. Jansen had been explaining how the meeting would proceed; the Maiden would be escorted in, Duke Teerman would explain the need for a new guard with the Rite coming so soon, some prattle about why they chose Hawke Flynn to be that guard, the Maiden’s unveiling, and the fealty oath…

He would see her. Finally. No ridiculous veil, no mask. He would see the puzzle complete, how the eyes as green as spring, the full pink lips, the soft creamy skin all fit together. He was sure she would be beautiful, if what he had seen and touched and tasted were any indication. He had a goal in mind, to be sure. But she had intrigued him. He wanted to see and know more of her.

And he always got what he wanted.

“Hawke. Are you listening?”

He turned his amber gaze on Jansen. “I’m sorry?”

“Do you remember the oath?”

“Of course,” Casteel rolled his eyes before reciting. “’With my sword and my life, I vow to keep you safe Maiden, the Chosen. From this moment to the last moment, I am yours.’ Quite melodramatic if you ask me.”

“Keep your voice down,” the commander growled softly. “You are a dedicated guard of Solis swearing fealty to the future of the kingdom, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Casteel sneered. “I haven’t forgotten. And it would do you well to remember who is leading who, Commander.”

“Of course. My apologies.”

The prince knew that Commander Jansen was on a very precarious ledge. Being a Descenter in the heart of Masadonia was dangerous in the best of times. In a position of power, Jansen could pull a lot of strings and make a lot of things happen. But he had a hand in a number of plots, and if just one person was found out or turned against him… his own demise would be the least of the consequences. It could be catastrophic to the schemes they had put in motion years ago and set back the resurrection of Atlantia for literal decades.

The arrived before a heavy wooden door flanked by two of the Duke’s personal guard. Jansen greeted them by name and Casteel gave each a nod. Then they pulled the door out, opening up the room to the pair. This was the beginning of the end.

So it hadn’t gone completely to plan. The prince knew he needed to get close to the Maiden, so he could steal her away right from under the thumb of the Ascended. That had meant an opening needed to come available for one of her personal guards – it wouldn’t do to just work in the castle. Jericho had been tasked with taking out her guard during her almost-daily evening walks.

And he had done it.

But then he’d tried to go ahead and take the Maiden, and that had gotten him into trouble. He hadn’t known she would be armed and dangerous, and when you cross a wolven with pointy things it’s bound to get a little messy.

And Jericho wasn’t known for being calm, cool and collected on a good day.

The Maiden had gotten in a few good strikes, but she had received quite the blow as well. He’d seen the angry swelling around her mouth and jaw at Rylan’s funeral. He only imagined the bruising extended far under the veil, over her cheek and temple.

That was unacceptable.

He hadn’t enjoyed cutting off Jericho’s hand. But he would not allow Penellaphe to be hurt. And to teach a lesson you had to be firm. Unyielding. Deadly, if warranted, and definitely a bit unhinged. Just to keep everyone vigilant.

“Commander Jansen,” Dorian Teerman greeted them. “And you must be Flynn.”

“Your Grace.” Casteel bowed to the Duke, something it almost physically hurt him to do. But he was playing a part, and he could spend more time later creating enticing scenarios in which he destroyed Teerman in any number of ways. “I have summoned the Maiden. She and her guard should be here shortly.”

The Duke hadn’t bothered to introduce his wife, Duchess Jacinda Teerman. Casteel wondered if he even acknowledged her existence much of the time. He didn’t know much about Duke Teerman, but he seemed self-absorbed, self-righteous, and cruel, which was not much different than any of the Ascended he had encountered. Their unyielding refusal to “petition the Gods” so the Tulis family could keep their third son, when their first two had already died so young, was only further proof of their evil. Of course, those first two hadn’t been lost to a “blood disease”, but to the Ascended’s bloodlust – they had been fed upon until there was nothing left. And yet the Duke and Duchess would only insist on taking the third as well. Had it been one of them who had bled those poor children dry? It made his stomach twist to stand with Jansen, making small talk with the pale blonde Duchess as they waited for the meeting to start.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open again. And there she was.

This was how he had expected to meet the Maiden. Veiled, so he could only see her lips and chin. Hair pulled back so it was not visible beneath the veil, either. That was a shame. Her hair had unlocked something in him that night at the Red Pearl. It had been so unexpected. And then there was the ridiculous, frilly, white lace and pleats of a dress that covered everything from her neck to her wrists to her ankles. Surely a garment such as that was an affront to the Gods, sleeping though they were. This was the Maiden, pure and docile and silent. It was a stark contrast to the woman who had snuck into his room not so long ago. In a brothel, no less.

“Please. Close the door Vikter,” the Duke nodded as he sat behind the black painted desk. Casteel looked toward the older guard with the sandy blond hair as he pulled the doors closed. He knew more about Vikter than he should for his supposed station, but what was most important was his closeness with the Maiden. Penellaphe. He would need to be thorough in his dedication to win over the seasoned soldier.

“Thank you.” Teerman nodded. “Please, sit, Penellaphe.”

He watched the Maiden as she lowered herself to the bench. Gods he hated that dress. It was such a pity to hide the curves that he knew were underneath. It was an effort to keep himself from smirking. If only those in this chamber knew what she had been up to.

“I hope you’re feeling well, Penellaphe,” the Duchess spoke, a sickeningly sweet voice that felt practiced and false. The veiled Maiden nodded. “I’m relieved to hear that. I was worried that attending the city council so soon after your attack would be too much.” Casteel had watched the Maiden through the entirety of the meeting, trying to decipher anything from the full lips and curve of jaw that he and the rest of the world were allowed to see. Had he seen her skin flush while the Tulis family begged for their son’s life? What had she been thinking as her keepers were tearing yet another family apart?

“What happened in the garden is why we’re all here.” The Duke’s voice was cold. “With the death of… what was his name? The guard?” It made the prince angrier than it should, that this beast could not even be bothered to know the name of the man who had given his life to protect their precious Maiden.

“Rylan Kiel, your Grace,” Vikter answered.

“Ah yes, Ryan. With Ryan’s death you are down one guard… Again. Two guards lost in one year. I hope this isn’t becoming a habit.” What that a joke? Was he trying to imply that this girl could have stopped it? Casteel had to contain a sneer. The guards would continue to fall, if it meant getting his brother back and burning Solis to the ground. Nobody would stop him – not the Maiden, not the Teermans, not Vikter, not the Blood Queen herself. “Anyway, with the upcoming Rite, and as you draw closer to your Ascension, Vikter cannot be expected to be the only one keeping a close watch on you. We need to replace Ryan, which - as I’m sure you realize now - explains why Commander Jansen and guard Flynn are here. Guard Flynn will take Ryan’s place effective immediately.”

“I’m sure this is surprising, as he is new to our city and quite young for a member of the Royal Guard. There are several Rise guards in line to be promoted, and bringing on Hawke is no slight to them. But the Commander has assured us that Hawke is better suited to this task.”

And so the diatribe began about why he was just so good at what he did that he was the next natural choice. Fresh eyes to see new threats. An impeccable record on the Rise and experience beyond it, which would naturally come in handy if the Queen summoned the Maiden earlier than anticipated for her Ascension. It could happen. Teerman Castle had been compromised more than once in the last week. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Queen Ileana determined that they were no longer capable of keeping the Maiden safe here in Masadonia.

If only they knew.

If only they knew that his sense of hearing and smell made him aware of an enemy’s presence long before the enemy knew he was there. If only they knew how much he had to dumb himself down to appear to be a mortal man, counting seconds so he wouldn’t move too fast or relaxing his muscles so he wouldn’t seem too strong. If only they knew that their Commander was a Descenter himself and was planting Prince Casteel himself – the Dark One – into the role of Royal Guard Hawke Flynn. If only they knew that today they were delivering the Maiden into the hands of the most dangerous creature in their nightmares.

“The Descenters and the Dark One are not the only things to fear out there, as you know,” the Duchess had been speaking. Gods they were making it terribly difficult not to laugh. They were so ignorant. The pale blonde Ascended turned to Casteel now. “As a member of the Maiden’s personal royal guard, it is likely that a situation may occur where you will see her unveiled. It can be distracting seeing someone’s face for the first time, especially a Chosen, and that could interfere with your ability to protect her. That is why the Gods allow this breach.”

“Commander Jansen, if you will please step outside,” the Duke gestured toward the door and Jansen took his leave. Casteel stood alone, now, looking toward the veiled young woman now standing before him. Oh, had he been looking forward to this.

“You are about to bear witness to what only a select few have seen: an unveiled Maiden. Penellaphe, please reveal yourself.”

She was too still, and Casteel could tell that her breathing was shallow. What could she be thinking? He was sure that part of her was anxious that she’d be found out.

“Penellaphe. We do not have all day,” the Duke cut out and his wife tried to soothe him.

“Give her a moment, Dorian. You know why she hesitates. We have time.”

Why did she hesitate? Of course, she was concerned about being recognized, but he couldn’t imagine the Duchess would know that. And why did the Duke have that glib smile plastered on his face? Casteel returned his gaze to Penellaphe as her lady’s maid assisted with the chains on the headdress before it fell from her head.

Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were dark as her gaze remained pinned on the Duke. He could only see the right side of her face as she glared at Teerman and from the corner of his eye he could see the Duke’s expression fall into icy stone. Then she took a breath and turned to face Casteel, lifting her chin slightly.

Gods. She was stunning.

Those lips, her jaw, those eyes as green as Atlantian spring. He was ready for those things, had seen them that night at the Red Pearl. He’d known even then that she was beautiful, and now with her stony gaze it was only confirmed. And then there were the scars. Two scars tracked down from her temple, one over her cheek and toward her nose and one down through her eyebrow. Where had those come from? Who or what had done that to her? He gazed at her, taking in every detail of her face before meeting her eyes. Those eyes. They were dark and stormy, betraying the lack of emotion on her face. It was as if she were steeling herself, although he didn’t know what against.

“She’s truly unique, isn’t she?” She flinched as the Duke spoke again. “Half of her face is a masterpiece, the other half a nightmare.”

That bastard. Her arms tremored slightly, and Casteel realized what she had been hardening herself to feel. He knew that this moment, where he could make Penellaphe feel small, was why the Duke had that slimy smile upon his face. Appearance was a fickle thing, and beauty and perfection were highly touted by the Ascended. The Maiden, chosen but scarred, was being raised and educated under the thumb of a man who likely took every opportunity he could to tell her what a shame it was that her face could never be pleasing to any of them. She was a pawn, a possession to them. But he saw her here, just as he had seen her in the Red Pearl. She was a person, with feelings and desires and insecurities. She was Penellaphe.

He made an oath to himself that he would only treat her as such.

“Both halves are as beautiful as the whole,” he stepped forward then, wishing he could see the Duke’s face when he said it. Her sharp intake of breath made him want to smile for her. She hadn’t been expecting that, and that was the nightmare – that she was not aware how truly lovely she was.

He gave a shallow bow and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. “With my sword and with my life, I vow to keep you safe, Penellaphe. From this moment until the last moment I am yours.” Bowing to Duke Teerman had been torturous, but bowing before her was almost natural. So was swearing his fealty to her. The ease with which he did so kindled something inside of him. He had come here to play a part and set into motion the resurgence of Atlantia, and that was exactly what he was doing. But those emerald eyes, lush red lips, and two pink scars were already threatening to unravel him.

And he wasn’t so sure that he was going to fight it.

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