#Miss Fortune Maker

[teafiend]

[lqveharrington]

steve harrington - you are in love <3

congrats on 2k!

You Are In Love | S.H.

summary: you and steve have been best friends forever, but overtime, you both realize that there's something more to your friendship than you both thought there was.

pairing: steve harrington x hopper!reader

includes: fluff, minimal usage of Y/N, oblivious idiots, kissing, el and reader are siblings, robin and max play match maker

a/n: cutie patootie stevie! (rules for celebration here!)

Steve Harrington was the type of man girls would go crazy over. From the way he behaved to the way he dressed, they would do anything to get his attention. Luckily for you, he deemed you to be his best friend since childhood. When Tommy and Carol whined about you always hanging around them in high school, Steve would swiftly change the subject. He really only liked hanging out with you anyway.

When you both graduated, something shifted between the two of you. Without the hindrance of Tommy and Carol, you and Steve were free to do whatever you wanted. Whenever you would hang around him, it felt like time would stop. He kept you on your toes despite knowing him for so long.

Weekly dinners around Hawkins during the year would soon become a tradition between the two of you. In your eyes they were friendly dates, but to the kids, you were practically dating. From the whispers as you hung back with him when taking the kids around the mall to the silver necklace he bought you during the summer — they saw something you and Steve couldn't.

They had to do something about it. Fortunately for them, you both made it quite easy.

"Harrington, are you taking me to dinner today or should we reschedule?" You hop onto the counter of Family Video, crossing your legs and smiling brightly at him. "Henderson told me you might have to drive him home after his DND thing or whatever."

"First of all," He started and pulled your legs to the side, sending you a bored look. "I'm at work and you can't bother me." You jokingly pout and follow his movements, watching him restock the bowl of candies at the front. "Secondly, we're still on for dinner. Dustin can get a ride from Munson."

You throw your head back and laugh, "Ah yes, the shared custody of your child."

He rolled his eyes and looked past your head, narrowing his eyes at Max and Eleven. "Why did the girls want to come here again?"

"Uhm, they said they were checking out a new movie that came out." You shrug and slide off the counter. You look in their direction to find them giggling and whispering about something you almost wanted to know about. Almost. "Anyway, don't miss me too much. I'll see you in a few hours, Harrington."

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of your head and pushed a stray piece of hair away from your face. "I'll see you in a bit, Hopper."

You grinned at him and sent him one last wave before rounding up the girls, dragging them back to your car. Before you could even ask them to buckle up, they began hounding you with questions you never expected them to ask. One of the more odd questions sticking out the most.

"Have you ever slept with Steve?" Eleven asked, making you whip around with wide eyes and mouth agape. Her own eyes widened in fear and looked at you with concern. "What?"

Your face flushed a dark red and you began to stutter over your words, unsure of where the question even originated from. "Well, I— No, I haven't but I'm— I'm sorry? What's happening? Do you even know what that means?"

"That you sleep in the same bed as him." She tilted her head and giggled at your red face. "Is that not what that means?"

Max shook her head but found it all amusing, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows at you. "You seem a little flustered, Hopper. What's up with that?"

"Nothing." You glare at her from your rear view as you pull out of the parking and begin the drive to her house. When Eleven still stared in confusion, you sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. "Yes, I have slept in the same bed as Steve before. And not like that, Mayfield."

"What?"

You shake your head and follow the road down, eyes occasionally flickering up to look at the girls who were still giggling. You didn't understand what they were trying to get at. You've always been able to sleep in the same bed as Steve since an incident years ago, but that was the extent of it all. Sure, you would occasionally sleep in one of his shirts and he would make you breakfast in the mornings, but that was it.

"Have you ever been on a date, Y/N?" Eleven asked again and fiddled with the ends of her sweater, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. "Like the ones me and Mike go on?"

"Uh," You signal and stop at a red light, fingers tapping the steering wheel in an effort to keep your cool. "I have, but it's been a while since I've been on a date."

As you turn, Eleven makes another comment that nearly makes you swerve right off the road. "I thought you and Steve were dating."

You choke on your spit and grip the wheel harder, face redder than Max's hair. Although you knew your sister's words were somewhat innocent, you knew the other girl was behind all the questioning. Steve was nothing but a friend to you. Your best friend. It would be weird to think of him as anything other than that, right?

Since childhood, he was nothing but your best friend. Sometimes you couldn’t help but think what would happen if anything else came out of it, but only in your dreams. When you realized how quiet you were, you silently cursed yourself for staying silent for too long as the girls came to their own conclusion.

"He kisses you a lot." Max drawled and bit back a smirk when your face reddens again, the sight nearly making her laugh once more. "Like more than you study for your exams in college—"

"What will it take for you two to be quiet for the rest of the ride?" You continue to glare at the red-head in the backseat and squint when she opened her mouth. "And your answer will not be money."

Max sighed and looked at Eleven, their eyes meeting and silently communicating with each other. They grinned wickedly and looked over at you, tone overly sweet when they answered your question.

"Admit you're in love with Steve Harrington."

"Oh, Stevie!" Robin grinned widely as she sauntered back in from the break room, leaning back against the counter. She met his confused eyes and tilted her head, still wearing a mischievous grin. "I have a tiny, little question for you."

Steve dug through the boxes underneath the table and waved his hand, barely listening to the girl. "Which is?"

"Could I just — I dunno — take a peek at your wallet?” She asked and pursed her lips to stop from laughing when she saw his incredulous expression peek from underneath the counter. “I just want to make sure my assumptions are right.”

"About what?" Steve sighed in exasperation and ran his fingers through his hair, praying that his hair still looked perfect after how many times he had done it.

"Just give me your stupid wallet." Robin huffed and snatched the leather from his hands. She scrunched her nose at him before opening the wallet, gasping when she found what she was looking for. "Oh my gosh."

Steve creased his brows and looked at the contents of his wallet. There was nothing but cash, his license, cards, and picture he’s had since high school. If Robin was planning on stealing, she picked the wrong day.

"What?"

"You do have a picture of Y/N in your wallet!" Robin all but squealed like a child, causing the customers in the store to look over at the commotion.

Steve sent them a strained smile before grabbing his wallet back from Robin and tucking it away, muttering quiet obscenities to the girl. Robin rolled her eyes, but the smirk that curled her lips overtook her emotions. He knew that some kind of electricity between the two oblivious idiots.

"You like her!" She spoke in a sing-song voice, lightly punching his shoulder. Robin laughed in excitement and shook her head before pausing, turning to look at Steve like a behavioral analyst. "Unless it's something more."

He looked to his left and to his right before raising a brow at her. He would never admit it out loud, but somewhere along the line he fell for you. Hard. From summer car drives to coffee at midnight — you were the one for him. Yet he didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had.

When Steve stayed silent for too long, she started to punch his shoulder in excitement again. It was the silence between asking about love that seemed to trigger everyone today.

"Oh, you're in love! Steve 'the hair' Harrington finally falls in love with his one true love!" She dramatically put a hand to her forehead and leaned back on the counter again. "I thought I would never live to see the day that happens."

He huffed and lightly shoved her, rubbing his hand over his face. "She's my best friend."

"And?" Robin pushed him back and continued to smile, clearly finding his reaction amusing. It wasn’t rare for her to tease him about his dates, but knowing that he was deeply in love with you made it so much more fun. "She clearly likes you too."

"She does?" Steve perked up and rolled his eyes when she winked at him. He flipped her off and pretended to be busy again. “You’re so annoying.”

"Stevie is in love!" She laughed again and sighed softly, tapping her fingers against the counter. "You're going to dinner with her tonight, right?"

He sent her an odd look and nodded, brows furrowing in confusion. "Yeah, what does that—?"

"Confess tonight! I'm sure she loves you too, Harrington." She slammed her palms down onto the counter, once again attracting the customers in the store. Steve sent them another apologetic look before turning his head to glare at the girl. By the end of the day, he swore that they would get a complaint about Robin.

Robin put a hand up to his face when she saw he was going to speak. “And before you back out, the girls and I already made a plan so nothing becomes awkward between the two of you if it fails."

Steve’s eyes widened and pushed her hand out of the way, mind reeling at all the knew information. "Wait what?"

"Nothing!"

After dinner, you both decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. The temperature was perfect and you and Steve had plenty of calories to kill before heading to bed. Besides, you both had unspoken words to say to one another.

"Are you okay? You've been acting strange since you picked me up." You nudged your shoulder with his and tilted your head, eyes worried with concern.

As you walked through the neighborhood, the orange lights from the posts began to flicker on as the sun set in front of you. On instinct, you moved closer to Steve, accommodating to the warmth you were losing. He hid a small smile and pulled you close by the shoulders.

Steve shrugged and kissed the side of your head again. The gears in his head were loudly turning and he wasn’t sure how to make them stop. He met your eyes and smiled softly when you smiled up at him.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the new diner?" He nudged his head back toward the diner.

You hummed and tapped your chin in thought, snapping your fingers when you figured out how to put it. "A solid six and a half. They threw us a dirty glare for being too loud, but their milkshakes were perfect."

He raised his brows and chuckled softly when you rolled your eyes at him. You were always such a sucker for strawberry milkshakes. "Yeah?"

"Yes, Harrington.” You send him a teasing smile before extending your arm and flashing him your left hand adorned with the wrapping from the straw wrapper. “I even got to make us our paper rings."

You turned to face him properly and grabbed his left hand, lacing them together to show the matching rings. You went to say something else when you found him already staring at you, making your mind instantly blank.

Steve swallowed and squeezed your hand, taking a step closer to you. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?" You murmur and take your own step closer until you were chest to chest.

His gaze dropped to your lips before looking back into your eyes, eyes filled with so much emotion. You gave him a curt nod and let him cup your cheek, shutting your eyes when he leaned in.

Your lips met and for the first time, you really believed time truly stopped. It was just you and him on the sidewalk of Hawkins, Indiana. Your own hands came up to grab the lapels of his denim jacket, deepening the kiss when he pulled you impossibly closer.

When you finally pulled away, your mind was still blanking and the first thing you could say was —

"Oh, my strawberry milkshake." You whisper out before groaning, hiding your face in his shoulder. "Now the thing I say after we first kiss will always be strawberry milkshake!"

Steve kisses the top of your head and gently squeezed your waist. "You're cute."

You scoff before looking up, playing with the buttons on his jacket. "Did Robin put you up to this?"

"Yep." He chuckled and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, narrowing his eyes at you when he realized what Robin meant. "Did the girls?"

"Yep." You sigh and push up on your toes to give him a quick peck. You tilt your head when he smiles, "We're not going to tell them about this and make them feel bad, right?"

"Of course not.” He laced his hands with yours and began the trek back to his car. "We're only best friends after all."

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[twinsimming]

Boarding Schools Skill, Career, & Trait Additions by Twinsimming 🏀🎶🏐🎻🎥

The boarding school feature from The Sims 3: Generations wasn't updated to include any new skills, careers, or traits from subsequent expansion packs, so I originally made this mod to fix that.

Then I realized that there were also some base game traits and careers missing, as well as most of the hidden skills, so I added those too!

This is a tuning mod that can be placed in your Overrides folder.

Requirements

This mod requires The Sims 3: Generations.

Skill, Career, & Trait Additions

Additions are in bold.

Removals are struck through.

Prep School

School Traits: Ambitious, Snob, Charismatic, Schmoozer,  Genius, Bookworm, Perfectionist, Proper

Offensive Traits: Couch Potato, Slob, Easily Impressed, Inappropriate, and Rebellious

Learnable Skills: Logic, Writing, Charisma, Chess, Homework, Golfing, Social Networking

Recommended Occupations: Business, Political, Medical, Journalism, Writer, Education

Military School

School Traits: Neat, Handy, Good, Brave, Disciplined, Computer Whiz

Offensive Traits: Loser, Slob, Couch Potato, Over Emotional, Clumsy, Insane, Party Animal, Inappropriate, Rebellious

Learnable Skills: Homework, Logic, Athletic, Martial Arts, Handiness, Inventing, Scuba Diving

Recommended Occupations: Firefighter, Military, Law Enforcement, Criminal, Private Eye, Lifeguard, Inventor, Scuba Diver

Art School

School Traits: Virtuoso, Artistic, Dramatic, Charismatic, Photographer's Eye, Natural Born Performer, Savvy Sculptor, Avant Garde

Offensive Traits: Can't Stand Art. Couch Potato

Learnable Skills: Dancing, Club Dancing, Piano, Bass Guitar, Guitar, Drums, Painting, Charisma, Sculpting, Photography, Street Art, DJ Turntable

Recommended Occupations: Music, Stylist, Interior Designer, Nectar Maker, Painter, Photographer, Sculptor, Writer, Film, PT Film, Art Appraiser

Hippy School

School Traits: Loves The Outdoors, Artistic, Green Thumb, Vegetarian, and Environmentally Conscious, Good

Offensive Traits: Mean Spirited, Hates Outdoors, Snob, Evil

Learnable Skills: Child Cooking, Gardening, Cooking, Fishing, Inventing, Nectar, Science

Recommended Occupations: Science, Culinary, PT Bookstore Clerk, Fisher, Gardener, Inventor, Nectar Maker, Fortune Teller Career, PT Grocery Store Clerk, PT Mausoleum, PT Day Spa Specialist, PT Day Spa Receptionist

Sports School

School Traits: Athletic, Loves The Outdoors, Handy, Adventurous, and Disciplined

Offensive Traits: Loser, Slob, Couch Potato, Clumsy, Hates Outdoors, and Rebellious

Learnable Skills: Athletic, Handiness, Martial Arts, Foosball, Homework, Trampoline, Blocks, Golfing, Skating, Snowboarding, Ping Pong, Bowling

Recommended Occupations: Professional Sports, Law Enforcement, Criminal, Firefighter, and Sports Agent

Conflicts & Known Issues

Conflicts with any mod that edits the BoardingSchool xml file. This includes Madam Doofie's Higher Boarding School Costs mod.

Credits

EA/Maxis for The Sims 3, s3pe, and Notepad++

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-fi 💙

Download @ ModTheSims

[laylaplease]

Warnings — SEX POLLEN, dub-con, Master x Padawan, power imbalance, intoxication, abuse of authority, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of pain, brief nipple play, brief fingering, degrading if you squint, pet names, praise, swearing...

Word count — 3.3k

Notes — Thank you, Anon for the request! This is the first time I write a fic this length, I hope it's enjoyable! I truly hope I didn't miss any warnings; it's currently past 3am and my head is fried.

“You know this is completely unnecessary; you are overexaggerating…” Anakin complains as you wrap a thick linen rope around his wrists, securing your master in place. “I swear, I’m fine. Look,” He leans forward, putting his face on display. So close, you could feel his soft breath on the tip of your nose.

You inspect his eyes, deep blue eyes with slightly dilated pupils; if it were somebody else, they wouldn’t have seen a difference, but you… Oh, you were different. You knew his eyes a little bit too well for just a Padawan, and you were certain: something was wrong. You could sense his heart pumping blood through his veins a little bit too fast, his irregular breathing, you spotted things he failed to notice about himself. Maybe all those stolen glances at his undeniably gorgeous face and broad body will pay off, giving you something else than just fantasy material for all the lonely nights.

“No.” You reply bluntly. “I’m sorry, master.” You tie a last knot around his wrists. You wanted to explain; tell him all the things you sensed were different: the way his gaze twisted when landing on your body, the way he squirmed just slightly as you bind his limbs together, the way he… Smelled. It wasn’t just a regular Anakin scent, no. It was sweeter, almost milky, and it made you want to burry your face into his skin, so naturally, you could never reveal your reasoning.

Anakin sighed, leaning his back against the remains of your spaceship, his tied hands resting on top of his lap, hiding the slowly-forming tightness you both failed to notice. He could swear everything was perfect. Well, aside from the fact that you both were left stranded on an unknown planet and after hours of wandering in search of life and help, you ended up back at the crash site. 

“You realize I would never hurt you, right?” He stares at you, visible annoyance present on his features. “There is nothing wrong with me, I didn’t even touch anything unknown.”

He was right; he touched nothing. He… Inhaled it. And (un)fortunately neither of you knew.

“I know….” You look into his eyes pleadingly, trying to convince him to stay put in case he goes on some kind of rampage that your whole body senses is coming. You wanted to deny your gut feeling, but the gleam in his eyes told you it was a bad idea. 

Time passes slowly, and Anakin is growing more and more impatient as he watches your failing attempts to fix the transmitter and possibly reach someone. 

“Give me that.”

You stare at him from a short distance, thinking whether it’s smart to approach him, but your doubts are quickly wiped away when that sweet scent reaches the inside of your lungs with the help of a soft breeze. You stand up and bring him the broken device.

Anakin grabs your hand instead and pulls you down to your knees in front of him. Your face meets his with a surprised stare, and before you can complain about the invasion of your space, he speaks. 

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. Fast.” His stare is intense, and he holds your hand tightly in his restricted grip. “Got it?”

“Yes, M-master.” You stutter, stunned by his sudden change of demeanor; you can’t even move. And the worst part is that he smells even better this close.

“Good girl.” He keeps staring into your eyes, grasping your hand as if he doesn’t intend to let it go. “Maker, you are such a pretty thing, I could tear you apart…” He contemplates out loud, his words surprising the last part of his sane mind as he’s becoming more and more vulnerable to foreign planet’s drugs.

“What?”

He slowly frees your hand, swallowing a lump in his throat. He’s starting to feel it —  pants failing to hide a very prominent arousal, mouth watering at the sight of your cleavage, you look fucking scrumptious; and he needs to devour you. He snaps his head to the side.

“Sorry.” Anakin mutters, seemingly regaining some of his senses. He shifts on the ground as you stare at him dumbfounded, not only because of his sudden vulgarity but also because the outline of his dick was now very visible and your eyes couldn’t help but glance. 

“Master?”

He groans. “Don’t say that.” He shamelessly palms himself in front of your eyes as if he were in pain from how tight his underwear was. “Don’t call me master. Not now, sweetheart.” His voice softens just for a moment.

“Master, are you okay?” You deny his request. Involuntary. Maybe because it was a habit, or maybe because some part of you really wanted him to get unbearably hard for you.

He yanks you towards himself with his sluggish grip. Tied hands wrap around your throat, and he hisses. “I fucking mean it. You call me that again. I’m going to bend you over this wreck of a spaceship and bruise your insides until someone finally comes and gets us off this forsaken planet.”

If you weren’t surprised before, you are now absolutely bewildered. You pushed him away, landing on your butt and quickly crawling reversely to create some space between yourself and the animal that possessed your master’s body.

Anakin stood up and leaned himself against the wreckage as if trying to fight something that’s been trying to claw its way out of his body. His back turned to you, shoulders rising up and down repeatedly as he struggled to speak.

“Go. Now.” He groans, trying to hold his panting in.

“Anakin?” You rise yourself from the ground and take a step towards him, hesitating to move or speak more.

“Fucking RUN.” A growl slips from his throat; you’ve never heard such an animalistic sound coming from him. It wasn’t an order; it was a warning, a head start for you. And if there was a perfect time to listen to his advice about doing everything he’s telling you — that was it.

So you do.

You feel the wind blowing through your ears and burning your throat as you try to get away as far from Anakin as possible. Your pulse is thudding rapidly, your limbs are shaking, and yet your insides are throbbing, aching to have relief from the extreme arousal created by your master’s primal behavior and the image of his hardening cock imprinted in your head. 

You turn your head slightly, glancing behind you, expecting to see Anakin making his way towards you, but instead you are greeted with the sight of nobody. Anakin’s nowhere to be seen. You look around, panting heavily, trying to spot movement somewhere between the trees. You fear him and what he could do to you, but the fact that he’s gone frightens you even more. Your master could never hurt you, right?

“Master?!” Your voice echoes through what seems to be an empty grove of an unrecognized planet. The only sound you can hear is your own breathing, and you realize how loud it is, how easy it is for any predator to hear you. Anakin's hunt was simple when his prey served herself on the plate before him.

A gust of wind passed through your ears at the same moment as Anakin’s hands gripped you from behind and harshly pushed your quivering body against a tree nearby. His wrists bruised red from the rope, which he seems to have torn apart. Your vision blurs for a moment from the force he’s grabbed you with. His lips press on your ear.

“I told you not to call me that, you stupid girl. Now look what you’ve done.” He whispers into your ear as his bulge presses against your ass. 

“A-Anakin-” You whimper, miserably trying to push him off you but instead just creating more friction on his already painful core.

His hand snakes into your robes, grasping your breast roughly, making your back arch. It’s hot and desperate to tear your flesh apart. And it feels so so good. So pathetically good that you almost feel like you’re the one taking advantage of him and not the other way around. He toys with your nipple, rubbing it between his fingers as his free hand grabs onto your thigh and presses your body onto his clothed cock.

“S’ alright, sweetheart… Your body’s so perfect…” He sinks his teeth into your neck and pulls on your delicate skin. “I’m so sorry—fuck—Sweetheart… I can’t stop-” His soft voice was a complete contrast to his forceful grip on your curves. His hands boldly groped you, kneading every bit of your body he could reach — all while grinding himself against you like an animal in heat.

“No- You can’t,” You whimper, trying to fight him and your own desire. “Anakin!” You gasp in pain when he presses your body into the tree, bruising your cheek.

“Shhhh… ‘s alright, just let me—” He pulls your robes, his hand making its way down your stomach, cupping your dripping heat. He inhales into your neck. “Don’t be scared.” He shushes your whines.

And it’s not like you’ve never imagined Anakin fucking you; you have. Way more than you should have, and yet you were shaking in fear, especially knowing that he was under the influence of something wicked.

“No, master-” You gasp as he inserts a finger inside you, wasting no time before fucking you with his hand. “S-stop-”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” He whimpers into your shoulder as your walls clenches around his digit. He slips another in. “What a perfect cunt… I’ll fucking ruin it." It was almost as if Anakin’s alter ego was overtaking his normal self — the one who would never dare to touch his Padawan like that, to taint her precious body with his pathetic touch.

“Ah!” Your back arched into him involuntarily. It was wrong. So so wrong and yet deep inside you never wanted him to stop, not when your walls spasmed around him for a sweet release. 

“That’s it, good girl, come here.” He pulls his fingers out, making you pulse and whimper at the lack of pleasure. He quickly lands you both on the ground, spreading your thighs apart for himself. “Look at that,” He bites his lower lip. “And you say you don’t want it? You’re fucking soaked.”

“We can’t-” You whimper yet again. “You wouldn’t- Ah!”

He grins as he slaps his cock against your clit, rubbing it up and down your entrance as the wet, slippery sound reaches your ears.

“I’m going to fuck you one way or another, so you just might as well enjoy it, after all…” He leans on top of you, lining the crown of his cock with your hole. “…master knows best.”

He slides in with one swift movement, filling you to the brim as you claw his back with your nails. He’s big, way bigger than his fingers, forcing your walls to stretch wide open to welcome both his length and girth. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust much when he pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, earning a loud whimper from you.

“Pretty girl…” He coos, stroking your cheek as he repeats the movement more urgently. “Master’s cock feels good, hm?”

It did, Maker; it felt amazing. Every vein bruised your gushing hole just right as he thrusted into you, long and powerful strokes, head hitting your cervix at the perfect angle to make your toes curl. Each time his sack slapped against your ass, an electric sting flashed through your cunt, forcing a pathetic moan out of your mouth. Your vision is so blurry from how hard you are rolling your eyes back, you don’t even see how Anakin comes forward and presses his lips onto yours.

His kiss is starving, depraved of you. He tries to say something, but it’s pretty incoherent, muffled by your saliva mixing with his. He tugs on your lips, sticking his tongue far up your mouth, smearing spit over your chin. His teeth clash against yours every time he attempts to reach into you deeper, as if trying to devour you from the inside out.

“Fuck,”—thrust—”So…”—thrust—”Fucking…”—thrust—-”Tight-” He moans into your mouth, and you swear you can feel his whimpers inside your body.

Anakin props himself up on his forearms — each on the other side of your face. He snakes his fingers into your hair, making you look at him.

“Look at me, baby. Look at me, and tell me you love it. Beg me to fuck you, come on, baby…” 

He’s a mess, and he’s messing you up too; he wants you to plead, but there is no reason to; he’s already balls deep in you, abusing parts of your body nothing and nobody has ever reached before. 

“M-master…” A feeble whimper is all your body can muster when your whole lower half twitches from pleasure. “…Stop...” You claw on his chest, trying to push him off, maybe because you know how sick it is to allow him to turn you into a drooling cockslut, or maybe because you don’t want to cum so fucking soon.

“What’s the matter, angel? You wanna cum, yeah?” A wicked smile spreads across his face, as if he were listening to all of your thoughts while you laid there spread open. “Yeah? Your little cunt can’t take master’s cock at all, hmmm?” He mocks you, and you know you deserve it, for one reason or another.

His filthy words and a couple of powerful strokes are enough to have your juices coating his whole shaft as your back arches and hardened nipples rub against his chest. The orgasm he’s giving you blinds your mind; it drowns out every other noise that’s not his moans of pleasure or your wetness spurting around him.

“Thought so.” He laughs in your face, gripping the backs of your thighs and pushing them up — his cock still inside you, soaking up all you had to give it. “That’s alright, angel, it’ll hurt less now that you’re all stretched out and drenched.”

“N-no…” You cry when he adjusts your position to reach deeper into you, seemingly not even caring that your soaked walls are still aching from him fucking you over the edge just moments ago. “A-Ani…” It’s a bittersweet pleasure — the way he keeps going through your body desperately, trying to push him out and stop the ache inside of you.

“Look,” He releases his grip on your thigh and grabs your chin. “Look how perfect your little cunt is…” He slides all the way out and slowly pushes back in, his pubic hair tickling your skin. “As if it’s made to take me.” He forces your head to look down between your bodies and admire the mess he’s creating.

The more he sees you struggle to look without squirming, the more precise his movements are. He angles his painfully thick cock to scratch your spongy insides, your throbbing cunt squeezing him enough to force delicious grunts out of his mouth. 

Your eyes are blurry from the tears you didn’t know formed; you blink rapidly, attempting to catch a glimpse of Anakin’s face. You were self-evident about the desperate mess he’s turned you into, drenched in sweat and cum, your body sore and bruised, it was obvious, however, you didn’t expect Anakin to be as disheveled as well. His lips were apart, soaked in spit, the blue of his eyes barely visible from the expansion of the pupils, dirty locks sticking to his forehead, your master looked and, quite obviously, behaved like a brute beast devouring his prey. And yet, he was angelic.

Your idealization of Anakin was the root reason why you resisted digging his eyes out with your nails and putting up a violent fight against him for corrupting your body inside and out. Because, essentially, Anakin is still your master. The one who teaches you, the one who tends your wounds, the one who is now currently fucking you over your second orgasm with no mercy in his bloodshot orbs. And honestly, you are starting to genuinely enjoy it. 

“Just like that, pretty girl, keep squeezing me…” Anakin presses his lips against yours, forcing his tongue in and making you answer his desperate kiss. One of your legs is stretched up painfully, foot dangling over his shoulder, while the other almost involuntary wraps around him and makes sure he’s plunging deep into you with no chance of escaping. “Good girl, that’s it,” He moans into your mouth, “I’m going to cum, yeah, s’ like that, let me fill that tight cunt.”

“P-please…” You reach for his head, grabbing him by the roots of his hair to lock your lips back together. “Master- fuuuuuck!” There it is again — you are cumming all over his cock, slurping onto his tongue while milking him to his own orgasm. You can barely see or make sense of your surroundings; all you know is that he’s pounding you into oblivion, and you love every second of being stretched out for your master to use.

Anakin is grabbing your body, toying with your flesh. Even when his dick starts to fuck long threads of his thick cum into you, he can’t stop frantically abusing your body in every way possible; grabbing, biting, kissing, and fucking all come at the same time, sending your body into a sensory overload, and you can swear you are about to lose your mind and die right there and then.

But there is no time for dying, not when you realize Anakin has emptied himself deep inside you and yet is nowhere close to stopping. His cock, still hard, surrounded by the mix of your and his cum, is slamming into you with sensual yet forcible strokes, making it seem like you can taste the sourness of his release in your mouth. 

“So needy, going to make sure to fuck it deep in you, angel.” He whispers into your neck, you can’t help but whimper and dig your nails into his shoulder blades in hopes of him easing up on you, but he only pulls his face off your shoulder and greets you with a filthy grin. “If I knew how beautiful your fucked-out expressions and little whimpers were, I would have devoured this pretty pussy much earlier…”

“M-master…” You cry out for help, for pleasure, for him. Everything ceases to exist except Anakin. His expression softens just for a moment. He settles his cock inside of you and reaches out to wipe the mess of drool and tears from your cheek.

“It’s okay, my sweet Padawan." He whispers, his hands gently caresses your hipbones in a subconscious attempt to soothe your aching muscles. Anakin leans down to kiss your lips one more time. You can feel his whole length throbbing and begging for friction while the wetness of your releases seeps down your cunt. “I know you can take more, yeah? Just like when we train, alright? You want to stop…”—Thrust—”But I’m the Master…”

Your eyes roll back when your sex is rewarded with a glimpse of more pleasure, a little promise of what he can give you if you just enjoy it like he’s commanded you. So you buck your hips into him, seeking yet another release.

“There she is…” Anakin’s deranged expression makes its way back between his perfect features. To your surprise, he swiftly pulls himself out of you, which makes you whine from the lack of fullness and feeling of the mix of liquids trickling down your body. “Let’s see how useful your other holes are, mmm?”

And with that, you know — whatever he’s infested with still has yet to wear off.

[dyaz-stories]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

���Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXXVI)

Chapter 36: ‘So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Time for an adorable first date!!! Also, a reminder that this is not meant to be read by minors…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3839

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Of love

I have been in love more times than one, thank the Lord. Sometimes it was lasting whether active or not. Sometimes it was all but ephemeral, maybe only an afternoon, but not less real for that. They stay in my mind, these beautiful people, or anyway beautiful people to me, of which there are so many. You, and you, and you, whom I had the fortune to meet, or maybe missed. Love, love, love, it was the core of my life, from which, of course, comes the word for the heart. And, oh, have I mentioned that some of them were men and some were women and some—now carry my revelation with you— were trees. Or places. Or music flying above the names of their makers. Or clouds, or the sun which was the first, and the best, the most loyal for certain, who looked so faithfully into my eyes, every morning. So I imagine such love of the world—its fervency, its shining, its innocence and hunger to give of itself—I imagine this is how it began.

Mary Oliver, Red Bird

Andrew looked at his reflection in the mirror, hesitated, freed his hair from the bun he had gathered it in.

He heaved a sigh, trying to slow down his heart, to alleviate the knot in his stomach.

He was so fucking nervous. God, Andrew had not been this nervous since his first date with Samantha. No, scratch that. He had not been so nervous since he had presented his thesis.

He checked his outfit again, pondered his choice for the hundredth time. A black shirt, black pants, black vest, brown leather shoes. Was it too much black?

He shook his head. He looked good in all black, his mother had told him so, and he trusted her with this. He readjusted his glasses. Should he wear contacts? Sam liked him better with contacts rather than glasses…

Fuck Samantha.

Andrew preferred wearing glasses, and so he kept them perched on his nose.

Hair up, or hair down?

He couldn’t choose, thought his hair looked good enough today even if he let it loose but then again he didn’t want to have his hair always falling before his face. He opted for the middle ground, tied up only a few strands in a half bun and let the rest fall loosely to his shoulders.

Yeah… he looked good enough.

He added a little bit of his cologne, just to make sure he smelled nice. He turned towards his dog, who was lying behind him on the floor, his head resting on his front paws.

“So… Elwood… what do you think? Do I look nice?”

The dog lifted his head at the sound of his name, making Andrew chuckle. He walked over to pet Elwood behind the ears.

“Yeah, I agree. I look decent enough. Wish me luck! I’m gonna need it.”

Andrew had made sure he wasn’t going to be late, even if he had to drop Elwood at his brother’s. He had set up five alarms to mark the passing of time. And indeed, when he knocked on your door, he was two minutes early.

He was picking you up tonight. For your first date he was the one planning everything. He hoped you would like the evening he had planned for you. He wanted to impress you, to be honest. He wanted to show you that he could be better than Frank, that you didn’t have to regret your choice…

He took a couple of deep breaths as he waited before your front door, looking at the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Your favourites, he had made sure to choose them. He hoped you would like them.

When you opened your door, he was left speechless. He froze, stared, couldn’t help his eyes from raking your frame. You in your emerald dress, the one he had bought with you and that he had dreams about, the way you had tied your hair, the light glimmer of a jewel around your neck…

You… you were… so fucking…

“Gorgeous.”

You raised a surprised but amused eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips now. And Andrew blushed all the way up to his ears…

He cleared his throat, tried to overcome his embarrassment. God, he really was the worst…

“You… Hi.”

“Hi,” you let out in an excited breath, grinning up at him.

“You… you look beautiful,” he complimented you, making you shy away a little.

“Thanks. You look nice too.”

He grinned at that, a wave of pride washing over his heart.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

He handed you his flowers, and you thanked him again, breathing in their sweet scent.

“These are my favourite flowers.”

“I know,” he nodded, and you seemed touched by his answer, emotional now.

“You’re ready to go?” he asked.

“Sure! Just have to put these in some water and grab my purse. Come in.”

He obliged, waited while you were getting ready. He was fidgeting when you came back, his shoulders bent, nerves making him want to disappear. He had to bend to pass your doorframe, and he hadn’t straightened his posture after that.

You noticed as you walked back from your kitchen, found him still standing before your door, rubbing at his palms. And you were frowning now, slowly approaching him.

God… were you second-guessing this already?

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

He looked at you, surprised.

“’Course. Just… a bit nervous, I guess.”

The understatement of the century. He was this far from shitting his pants…

You reached out, placed your hand on his upper arm. His heart quickened at the touch, he felt his muscles relax without being able to control his own body.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look smaller than you are.”

He raised a surprised eyebrow, but didn’t straighten his posture.

“You do that when you’re sad, or feel bad, or just… want to disappear. Are you… Are you uncomfortable with us going on a date?”

“Uncomfortable? No, of course not… I’m… nervous. Terrified that I’m going to do something stupid and ruin our date, but… no, I’m not uncomfortable with us dating at all, on the contrary.”

“I like it, you know? How tall you are. I really like that about you. So… no need to shrink down when you’re around me, alright?”

His heart was filled with warmth, and finally, Andrew stood straighter again.

“Besides… I’m already in love with you. So… no pressure. It’s not like you have to seduce me or anything.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Right…”

You offered him a tender smile, narrowing your eyes a little at him, mischief painted all over your features.

“Actually… can you bend down for a second?”

He frowned.

“Why?”

“Just for a sec.”

Slowly, he obeyed.

“A bit more…”

He bent down again, until you were raising to your tiptoes and kissing his cheek.

You gave him a toothy grin, a mischievous one that made him giggle like a lovesick fool.

“Alright, now we’re ready to go,” you smiled, and he followed you outside of your flat again, his skin burning where your lips had touched him, feeling a little light-headed after your gesture, dizzy with your perfume.

He drove the two of you outside Dublin, all the way down to Wicklow. Andrew finally started to relax during the drive, conversation settling smoothly, as it always did with you. The sun was setting, it would soon be nighttime, but for now the light was painting the sky with golden and red, stripes of purple stretching towards the horizon.

“You haven’t even told me where we’re going!” you noted, and Andrew smirked.

“That’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Hmm… I hope you’ll like it. Had to ask for some help from locals to get everything ready.”

“Really?”

“Hmm.”

“What have you planned?” you asked, fully intrigued by now.

“Ha! Won’t say! It would spoil everything.”

You mumbled something about Andrew being annoying, and it made him laugh.

Indeed, he had asked a few friends to help him set up the scenery he wanted for the date. He was also using a part of the land owned by some family friends.

You frowned as you entered the property, but didn’t head towards the house; Andrew aimed the wheel towards the small wood instead, that stretched beyond the fields of barley.

“Where are we going?” you asked again.

“This property belongs to some friends. My parents live nearby, they’re practically neighbours, have been friends for decades. I asked if I could spend the evening on the edge of their wood. We shouldn’t be disturbed.”

“Oh… right…”

“They own the whole farm,” Andrew explained.

“Okay…”

“Don’t worry, no one is going to come during our date. I just needed a nice spot to set up my terrible plan.”

You chuckled at that, let Andrew drive the rest of the way in silence.

He parked by the edge of the trees, opened the door for you, and you smiled at the gallant gesture, a tinge of teasing in your smile.

“Oh, thank you, dear knight in shining armour…”

He rolled his eyes.

“Come on, don’t take the piss. Let me be romantic tonight, alright? The lad is doing his best…”

“Alright, alright… sorry.”

“Right, you need to close your eyes now.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes. This is a surprise. Don’t worry, it’s just behind those trees. And I won’t let you fall.”

He offered you his open palm.

“Trust me.”

His smile was kind, infinitely tender. You stared at him, but he didn’t read hesitation in your eyes, your expression was a little too emotional for that. Still, you nodded, slipped your fingers in his hand.

“I do trust you, Andy,” you tenderly smiled up at him, before closing your eyes, and Andrew struggled to breathe at your words, his heart feeling warm again.

“Although… I don’t know if I should,” you joked, back with your playful tone. “You are a pretty clumsy lad…”

He laughed at that.

“A clumsy giraffe, that’s what I am.”

Still, when he gently pulled on your hand, you followed him.

You walked for no more than a couple of minutes, before reaching a tiny clearing. Nothing impressive, but there was enough space between the pines and oak trees for Andrew to set up his plan.

He had hung a large set of white sheets between two trees, had set a projector so you could watch a movie. A blanket, some cushions and a picnic were set to eat during the film. He had borrowed some fairy lights from his parents to hang them around the clearing, and his brother and Alex had helped him set them up.

It looked nice. He hoped you would like it…

“Alright, you can open your eyes.”

You blinked, gasped as you took in the view. You looked around, found no words to say.

“Andy…”

When you turned to him again, you had tears in your eyes.

“This… this is…”

He offered you a shy smile, trying to take in the view as well. The way the sunset was painting your frame with orange hues, how the fairy lights shown in your eyes…

“Do you like it?”

You laughed, blinking tears away.

“I love it. This is… this is better than what I had imagined.”

“Good,” he whispered, burying his hands in his pockets, feeling himself relax.

“What are we watching?”

“A movie you like,” he answered simply, moving towards the cushions so you would both take a seat.

The picnic was simple, nothing too fancy, but you were glowing, a grin permanently glued to your lips, and so Andrew reckoned that he was doing something good. When the evening turned into night, that the sun finally disappeared beyond the Wicklow Hills, and that the moon and stars were left to light up the heavens with silver, Andrew proposed to watch the movie while you ate your dessert. You nodded eagerly, waited patiently while Andrew was setting up the movie with his laptop.

You recognised Pride and Prejudice with the first frame, gasped at the sight.

“This is perfect, Andy,” you breathed.

You leaned closer, letting your shoulder and head rest against his arm. He kissed your hair.

“Are you having a good time?” he asked in a quiet voice, warm and deep, and he noticed how you leaned even closer, until he was snaking an arm around your waist.

“This is… perfect,” you repeated yourself, and Andrew grinned, feeling proud and content.

“Good… That’s grand…”

“Andy… you know I… don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, by any means. This is magical. It’s… no one has ever done anything like this for me.”

He tightened his hold on your waist without noticing, his heart speeding up as he felt dread replace peace.

“But?” he encouraged you to continue.

“But you don’t need to impress me, you know? I… I love you. This is amazing, but spending time with you is enough to make me happy. Okay? I don’t need all of this to be happy to be with you.”

He felt tears rising to his eyes, but he blinked them away as he nodded.

“Thank you…”

“No, thank you, Andy. Thank you for tonight, thank you for everything…”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, picking up some fruits and watching Elizabeth and Darcy fall in love all over again…

You helped Andrew pack up everything in his car, leaving the clearing undisturbed by human activity again but for the fairy lights hung in the trees, Andrew would come back for these later. You failed to spot the owl you heard before leaving, but you didn’t mind. You took one last look at the small clearing, at the moon almost to its fullest above your head, at the stars shining bright and clear against the inky sky, and you thanked them for keeping a warm and bright weather for tonight.

Andrew drove you home, you chatted all the way, sang along to the songs on the radio and laughed at the lyrics you invented. He walked you to the door of your building, and you both remained standing there for a couple of minutes, under the pretence of finishing your conversation when, really, you simply didn’t want to part. At last, once neither of you had anything left to say, you looked up at him in silence, hesitating. You didn’t want him to leave…

You noticed how his cheeks grew a little pink, how his gaze grew more intense, entrapping your stare. They held such tenderness as they rested upon your features, such fondness… you dared to call it love…

And Christ, Andrew was so handsome like this. All in black, elegant and so damn tall, with his hair held back to reveal his features. You wanted to trace the edge of his sharp jaw, you longed to feel the roughness of his beard under the pads of your fingers, to kiss the bright pink of his lips… And in the streetlights the red in his hair and beard shone brighter than usual, his eyes a darker shade of green and brown. Your heart was pounding at the sight, your entire body heating up at the thought of reaching out to touch him…

“Y/N?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can I… Can I kiss you?”

You grinned at that, reassured. He wanted the same thing as you did. Andrew wanted you too…

You finally noticed that his breathing was irregular, loud and slightly trembling. That his fingers, as they reached for your hand, were warm and calloused and unsure. He seemed vulnerable, waiting for your answer. As if he didn’t really believe this was happening either, as if he too was unconsciously awaiting a rejection.

You closed the space between your hands, intertwined your fingers together, and Andrew released a long breath.

You stared right into his eyes as you spoke.

“Please… kiss me, Andy.”

Something changed in his expression, then. It held the same tenderness still, the same loving expression, something close to adoration. But instead of doubt and fragility, his gaze darkened, he seemed more confident again. His grin was bright and a little dreamy as he reached up to cup your face in his large hand. And if it made you feel small, his touch also made you feel safe.

Slowly, he bent down, while you went to your tiptoes to meet him halfway. When he finally kissed you, it was like the world had disappeared, like you were the only beings left in the universe, like time itself had stopped to grant you this moment. You let go of his hand to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Meanwhile, his now free hand was resting on the small of your back, pressing you against him. For how long you kissed, you couldn’t have guessed. All you knew was that when you finally pulled away, gasping for air, head spinning a little, your chin burning because of his short beard, all you wanted was to kiss him again, and again, and again…

“Andy?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to come in?”

He blinked his eyes open, stared at you, but there was nothing but want, desire and awe to find in your gaze. And so, Andrew let out a shaky breath.

“You’re sure?” he asked anyway, even if the answer was obvious, written all over your features.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nodded.

Before you could add another word, Andrew was kissing you again, more urgently this time, something filled with sparks and want, kissing you like he never wanted to stop…

He did break away though, nodding, his nose brushing against yours in the process.

“Yeah… yeah, I definitely want to come in.”

You giggled at that, noticed he was blushing, but you still took his hand and guided him inside the building.

In the elevator, his lips were back on yours, he was pressing your back against the wall, hands holding tightly your waist. You had rarely felt so wanted in your life, and you were not even in your apartment yet, let alone your bedroom.

He followed you to your door, you noticed the way he closed and opened his hands repeatedly, as if refraining to reach out and touch you.

The second you were locking your door, Andrew was kissing you again, pressing your back to the wooden surface, holding onto you tightly.

“Y/N?” he whispered against your lips, and you hummed quietly to encourage him to continue. “You… I trust you to tell me if anything feels wrong, if you don’t want me to do something, if you feel uncomfortable or… whatever. Alright? No matter what it is. Okay?”

You looked up at him, pupils blown, and panting with want, hair already made a mess by your fingers, glasses a little lopsided upon his nose. You had never felt as safe as you did in this moment.

“Okay. Same for you. I trust you to tell me. And I trust you to stop, too.”

He gave you a reassuring smile, silently nodding. He kissed you again, tenderly, softly this time. Slow and loving.

“I love you,” he whispered against your mouth, stealing all the air from your lungs.

“I love you too, Andy. I love you…”

You kissed him once more, passion making your movements more urgent again, he groaned when you gently captured his lower lip between your teeth.

“You’ll be the fucking death of me…” he murmured.

He let out a breathy chuckle, the kind that revealed he seemed barely able to believe this was real…

“Can I undress you?” he asked, voice deep and low, the sound alone making your entire body tremble.

“Yes… God, yes… Can I undress you?”

“Please, do…”

A second later, his jacket was on the ground; your shoes soon followed.

You felt the tip of his fingers glide up your waist, sneak behind you to touch the bare skin of your back. Every fibre of your being was on fire, boiling, burning, burning…

“Any boundary I should know about before we do this?” he asked, voice so deep, you thought you were losing your mind.

His warm breath was fanning over your lips and chin, reminding you how close he was.

“Erm… I don’t know… Nothing that could hurt, I guess…”

He chuckled sweetly.

“I’m not much of a bdsm kind of guy either, if that can reassure you.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed, you absolute softy…”

“Anything else?”

You couldn’t think straight, had nothing to add. You asked back the question.

“Nothing I can think of right now… but then… it’s hard to think at the moment.”

You both giggled at that, and if you were still both highly turned on, you bathed in the solace of the moment, all trust and tenderness.

“You’re still okay with me undressing you? With me touching you like this?” he asked, and you nodded.

“You too?”

He chuckled, something darker in his gaze as he bent closer to kiss you again.

“Y/N… you have no idea how much I want you…”

His lips moved to your jaw, your cheek, your neck. He nibbled at the tender flesh over your pulse, kissed and tasted your skin with a brush of his tongue…

Your legs were shaking, you were ready to combust right there, against your front door.

His fingers were back to your waist and then moved up your frame as he spoke again, a path excruciatingly slow across the velvety material of your dress, from your waist to the edge of your breasts. He flattened his hands on your stomach, and you took a sharp intake of breath at how big they felt across your torso.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he confessed into your ear, before sucking on the skin behind it. “Dreamt of you… Christ… I want you so fucking bad. The sins I want to commit with you…”

Then his hands left your stomach to travel down to your arse, and then to the back of your thighs, a silent demand to let him carry you to your bedroom. You didn’t hesitate as you jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his torso and kissing him again. You undid the buttons of his shirt while he walked to your bedroom, letting your fingers cover his breasts, touch his chest hair, fall across his stomach. He shuddered under your touch, his breathing stammering, and you felt so powerful like this, held within his arms and able to summon such reactions from him.

“God… I want to taste you so bad,” he confessed, and you were surprised at how straightforward he was about this. “Can I? Can I put my mouth on you?”

“Yes… yes, please…”

The undressing resumed, he peeled off your dress, your stockings, your underwear from you, and you pushed away his clothes as well.

There was so much awe in his gaze as he took you in, eyes travelling your body as if to make sure he would remember every inch. When he caught your gaze once more, you could read nothing but want and adoration in his dilated pupils.

A silent question, one last checking in to make sure you were still fine to continue, and you nodded, reaching up to touch him, no matter where, you only longed to feel the warmth of his skin under your palm. You untied his hair, the last item remaining on his body, while his glasses had been discarded to your bedside table a while ago. His hair fell down around the two of you, you giggled as it tickled your shoulders, and so did Andrew. When he lowered his lips to your skin again, it was with the intention to touch and kiss every inch of you, make sure you knew how much he longed to worship you.

Your eyes closed with his lips reaching at long last their final destination across your skin, and the groan he let out when you pulled on his hair as a reaction to your pleasure made you question whether this was real or merely one of your dreams.

[thefrogdalorian]

My Pain Fits In The Palm Of Your Freezing Hand

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When you and your Mandalorian companion are ambushed by a group of bandits, you hope that his stubborn nature will not make the task of treating his wounds any more difficult than it needs to be. But that is not the only obstacle. You also hope that the depth of your unrequited feelings for Din will not impact on your ability to care for him...

Word Count:  2.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence briefly described, reader provides first-aid to minor, bloody injuries. ✯ Author's Note: A daydream about holding the stubborn tin can man's hand turned into whatever this is!! I've never written unrequited feelings for Din before but it made my heart ache in the best possible way. Hope you enjoyed!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Once the adrenaline of your latest brush with death subsides, your focus immediately pivots to caring for your Mandalorian companion. Although the heightened emotions leaving your body render you a trembling, shaky mess, your priority is to ensure his well-being. Maker knows he will never take care of himself.

As you approach the Razor Crest, you mentally scan yourself for painful areas. Casting your mind back towards the encounter as you try to recall anywhere you could have been hurt. After all, you will struggle to assist him if you are not healthy.

You recall that you had taken a couple of painful blows to the side during the skirmish, but your clumsy assailants had fortunately missed all of your vital organs. Aside from a pounding heart and dry mouth, you have mercifully made it through the ambush unscathed. 

Satisfied that there are no immediate areas of concern to treat, you turn your attention towards Din. You cast your mind back over the altercation, towards any wounds he may have sustained. It is easier said than done, considering how many of them leapt out of nowhere and caught the two of you off-guard as you walked through the thick forest towards the ship.

You remember how many of them Din fought off with his bare hands. Well, through his gloves. Still, you know they will have provided scant protection, so you are keen to check them for injuries. 

You momentarily struggle to remember what happened after Din had seen most of them off as you crouched behind a bush, hiding. 

Then, you recall how one of your assailants had slashed at Din’s hands when he grabbed the remaining pair of them around the throat. It had been a frenzied attack, which momentarily worked as his grip loosened. Just when you had feared that all hope was lost and they were going to escape, Din brought his boot up to deliver a swift kick in the stomach to the slower of the duo, which sent them careening into each other.

Din had used many parts of his body, as well as all of his wits and expertise as a warrior to see your attackers off. He had done a formidable job, considering how much they had taken you by surprise.

Still, the state of his hands concern you.

You are pretty sure they sustained the most severe damage. Plus, as they are vitally important for everyday function, treating them takes priority.

It is settled... Din’s hands are the first area you will treat. 

If he will let you, that is.

Your Mandalorian companion does not possess a reputation for being the easiest man in the galaxy to take care of... a willing patient, Din Djarin is not.

As the two of you ascend the ramp up to his beloved ship, you hope for both of your sakes that he makes this process as painless as possible.

“Din, sit down and let me get the medkit,” you order when you finally enter the familiar old ship's hull. 

“Let me initiate the launch sequence first,” Din stubbornly responds.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head as you fold your arms, glaring at him.

“Fine,” Din mutters in annoyance. 

It seems your sternness has done the trick. 

Din perches atop a crate as you grab the medkit in preparation to treat his wounds. You hope he does not make it harder for you than necessary. Din has never made any secret that he is comfortable being fussed over. You are no stranger to the fact that he hates being taken care of like this, but if you do not tend to his wounds, you know he will never do so himself. 

“Your gloves,” you nod towards the two-toned leather which covers his hands, “Take them off, Din.”

Din sighs and lifts his gloves beneath his helmet, seemingly biting at each finger to loosen them before repeating the process with his other hand. You feel like a voyeur and wonder whether you should turn your head and look away, as though his gloved hand disappearing beneath his helmet is somehow sacrilegious. Despite your inner turmoil, you cannot help but watch, unable to tear your gaze away until finally, he slides the gloves off and bares his flesh to you. 

It is not the first time Din has removed his gloves in your presence, yet you still feel a thrill travelling across your body at the faintest sight of his skin. 

For Din Djarin’s bare hands provide you with the tiniest peek at the man that lies beneath the cold, hard beskar. To catch a glimpse of the human side of the formidable warrior, the side of him you yearn to know entirely.

You remember how stunned you had been the first time he had removed his gloves in your presence while he was repairing a blaster several months ago. 

You had been sitting elsewhere in the hull as he worked at the bench, tools spread out as he dutifully performed much-needed maintenance on one of his many beloved weapons.

A grunt of frustration indicated that the parts had been far too intricate to repair with his cumbersome gloves. So, he had pulled on each finger one by one, tugging them off. Seemingly uncaring about baring himself, even ever so slightly, in your presence.

You had tried your best not to look, but you had been unable to resist sneaking a glance at who he was underneath his armour. Although for the most part, you kept to yourselves, there was no lingering frostiness in your dynamic. You and Din were amicable, possibly even friends... if he could even have such a thing.

That day, you watched as his hands meticulously repaired his blaster. You noticed the smattering of dark hairs across the back of his hand, the surprisingly tanned skin and the calluses and scars which littered the back of his hand. It was a fascinating glimpse into the man who hid so much of himself from you, yet you still felt you knew enough about him to believe he was, deep down, a good man.

Your mind ran wild with so many questions. Was his skin a similar colour elsewhere on his body, or was it tanned because his hands were the only parts of him that saw the sun? Did the dark hairs on the back of his hand mean that the hair on his head–if he had any–was a similar colour?

They were questions you knew you would likely never get answers to. Nor did you expect to.

When Din had hired you to care for The Child and attend to maintenance on his ship, he had informed you of the rules regarding his armour and helmet. He would remove neither his helmet nor armour in your presence. You were never to question the reasons why or attempt to subvert this stipulation in any way.

That was why glimpsing a sliver of his skin had thrilled you. It had exposed the man you had been yearning to see in a way that was not a violation of his Creed.

Yet, when you see his hands this time the circumstances could not be more different. Neither could the emotions Din’s bare hands provoke in you. 

Rather than feeling a thrill at the sight of his skin, now you cringe when you see the wounds that litter his flesh. His knuckles are split and bloodied, contusions that will surely colour shades of blue and black before eventually healing. There are also angry red gashes in all directions, a result of the bandit’s vibroblade making contact with his hands. 

You steady yourself, mentally preparing for the gargantuan task of providing first aid to a stubborn Mandalorian. Din values all you do for him. You are certain of that fact, even if he does not often vocalise it. Still, having someone take care of him is an uncomfortable prospect for a man who has spent so long leading a solitary, nomadic existence.

When you finally take his calloused, yet soft, skin in your hand, Din sucks in a harsh breath at the sensation. The sound is amplified and crackles slightly through the vocoder. A reminder that, although he has bared some of himself, he is still mostly hidden from you. He feels like more machine than man sometimes.

You take a bacta wipe from your medkit, and the antiseptic’s sour smell lingers unpleasantly in the air. You hold Din’s hand still, as you carefully bring the wipe towards his skin, your brow furrowed in concentration. 

“This is going to sting,” you murmur apologetically. 

Din nods. You hear him inhale deeply as he braces for the first contact with the remedy. You prepare yourself to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to make the process needlessly painful for him. 

At the first touch of the bacta wipe against his bronze skin, he jerks away from your touch, groaning slightly in pain at what you are sure is an uncomfortable, stinging sensation against his cuts.

“Hold still,” you sigh, flashing a disapproving glance in what you hope is the direction of Din’s eyes, hidden by his helmet. 

“Sorry,” he huffs.

You cannot help how your lips curl upwards at the sight of him sulking. This hulking man, all broad shoulders and gleaming beskar, reduced to a wounded child. You wonder if he is pouting beneath his helmet.

Din flinches again when you resume your task, but this time, you do not chastise him. Instead, you are thankful that he is not making this any more difficult than it needs to be. 

At least he has not told you he can look after himself. 

Content with his behaviour, you diligently tend to Din’s wounds. You ensure each one is cleaned thoroughly with the bacta patch and then wrapped in a bandage. It will take a few days to heal, but he will have plenty of time as you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro again. Unfortunately, it will mean he likely has to refrain from being the hands-on father you know he loves to be. 

When your task is almost complete, you move to sit by his side on the crate. You need to steady your hands by placing your elbows against your thighs as you wrap a particularly nasty wound, which already streaks angry red tendrils across two knuckles. 

Din groans again in pain, and you quickly reassure him, “Almost there,” you whisper encouragingly. 

With the task finally completed, you cannot resist gently taking his hand in yours. Ostensibly, to check him for any wounds you have missed. In reality, it is borne out of a selfish desire to feel his skin against yours. Precious contact you had been yearning for since you first laid eyes upon his skin all those months ago. 

If Din notices the way you subtly lace your fingers with his and hold his hand in your lap for a few moments longer than necessary, he does not say a thing. Only when you disentangle your fingers from his grip does he speak again.

When you move to stand up from the crate, he places his arm across your stomach to stop you. You look at him questioningly, wondering what is going on beneath that bucket of metal. 

“Thank you,” Din finally whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You move to open your mouth, to respond. Before you can, Din’s deep voice cuts through the stillness.

“For everything… I…” Din pauses, sighs deeply, then continues, “I appreciate everything you do for me.”

You simply nod, too taken aback to speak. It is unlike Din to be sentimental or emotional, not with anyone other than Grogu. It is part of what makes him such a respected and feared hunter. Yet, here he is, confessing his appreciation for you. It causes hotness to creep up your neck and face, embarrassed by his earnestness. Desperate to respond, but not entirely trusting that you can keep it together. 

“You’re worth it, Din,” you smile, daring to believe that this moment will change something for the two of you. You hope he will finally realise the depth of the feelings you hold for him; that you have always held for him. 

As you take his hand in yours once again, you sit back on the crate. You take up a more comfortable position and daringly lean your head against his shoulder. The pauldron is bitingly cold beneath your cheek. But with how warm your skin suddenly feels at his words, it is an altogether welcome sensation.

Din noticeably inhales at your gesture, and you momentarily fear you have hurt his tender skin. Until he relaxes once again and squeezes your hand as best as he can considering his injuries, a reassuring gesture that soothes your worries.

As you sit there holding hands in the relative darkness of the hull, you imagine a shooting star passing somewhere far in the skies above.

You wish on it and dare to dream that, one day, Din Djarin will love you, too.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

[wowcatboys]

trinkets for a magpie.

♡ Lucanis/AFAB Crow Rook ♡

♡TW's: Lucanis's PTSD, implied violence/torture, Lucanis is a little bit of a nasty freak ahhh, Masturbation♡

♡NSFW♡

♡Divider by @cafekitsune ♡

It begins with something small, and almost entirely innocent.

Lucanis awakes to find that Spite has packed them tightly into a previously-unmaterialized closet of the Lighthouse. He’s surrounded by ordinary things—a broom, a large wooden bucket, a fat-bottomed coffee mug stuffed full of paintbrushes. The air tingles with tin and dust. Spite, angry at having control snatched away, snarls in his ear. Give. it. Back! A headache prickles at his temples and the back of his eyes. 

Damn this demon. How long has he been out?

Lucanis scrapes his palm against the Lighthouse’s rough walls, grounding himself. Not in the Ossuary. Not in a cell. Back in control. And then he begins to filter through the mental checklist he keeps for when he comes to, in the middle of Spite’s ‘outings’.

He scans the fronts and backs of his arms, feels for broken ribs, gingerly puts all his weight on one foot and then the other. No new scrapes, sprains, or—Maker forbid—tattoos. (Spite had asked a lot of questions after they’d passed by an abysmally drunk pirate in the Hall of Fortune, getting a beetle inked into the fold of their asscheeks. The implication there fills Lucanis with cold dread.)

When he wiggles his toes in his boots, Lucanis realizes he’s missing his left sock. But before he can ask Spite about it, his attention pulls away. There’s a small weight in his breast pocket that wasn’t there before. It’s round and light, and it presses into him gently but insistently.

He fishes it out. It’s cool, fragile. When he opens his hand he sees it’s a dainty glass bottle, no bigger than one of his fingers. It catches the light and bends it softly, shining like spilled lamp oil. A crystal stopper plugs the top. In the bottom, a few drops of clear liquid make a shallow pond. Lucanis recognizes the bottle. He knows immediately where it’s from. 

He knows the merchant that sells this. He bought shaving cream from her once, and he remembers the dry soft leather of her hands as she carefully pressed his change into his palm. One of the last kind touches he felt, before he was dragged into the Ossuary and almost forgot such a thing existed. 

It’s why he remembers the encounter so well. For a time, before Spite, he unspooled that memory through his brain to soothe himself. To remind himself there really was a world above, beyond the pain and screaming and all that dark, dark water.

The perfume. He blocks his thoughts from revisiting the Ossuary, and focuses on the perfume. He knows it costs thirty four gold pieces and is supposed  to smell like sea breeze. 

Gingerly, Lucanis twists the glass stopper and holds the bottle to his nose. He inhales.

Sure, there is a bit of sea foam there. But also, underneath, something else. Some kind of spice? Lucanis’s eyes flutter closed. His mind fills as he takes another deep sniff. A hint of patchouli. Post-combat sweat. A kind smile. The color of her hair…

Rook.

 Of course it’s Rook’s. Who else would have Antivan perfume?

Panic squeezes his chest as he realizes Spite must’ve stolen it from her. His eyes fly open, and he sends the demon an accusing look. 

“You cannot take peoples’ things, Spite,” he rebukes. “Where did you get this? Why did you take it?”

Spite mirrors Lucanis, scowling. His lips curl back from his teeth, and he snarls his response. 

“She. Threw it out—we did not. STEAL. It!” 

Lucanis hmm’s, at that. The anger on his face softens. The bottle is almost empty, and Spite, for all his terribly annoying and vexingly mischievous tendencies, is not usually a thief. He sniffs the perfume again, considering. If she’s done with it anyway, would it really be so bad to just…keep it? 

His secret. Nobody needs to know he has this.

Lucanis remembers that once, when they weren’t quite boys anymore but certainly weren’t men yet, Illario stumbled across a gloriously detailed picture of a naked woman in a book. He remembers how Illario sliced the page free from the book’s spine with assassin’s precision. For months, his cousin kept the paper tightly rolled up and hidden in an empty dagger sheath. He would quietly unfurl it when he was alone in his bedroom, and if he was feeling generous, he would let Lucanis look over his shoulder, too.

He wonders if Illario ever felt this rush of —what was this, tingling down his spine and spreading through his fingertips? Nerves? Adrenaline? Something else entirely?—when he held that picture in his hands, when he rubbed his thumbs reverently over a pair of sketched tits. Did his secret ever feel this precious?

Lucanis feels a twinge guilty. Perhaps even slightly desperate. But as he rewards himself with one last, deep, mouthwatering sniff, one thing is certain—he doesn’t feel regret.

Lucanis empties a small leather sheath and, with careful hands, stows the bottle within. He doubts that Rook will poke inside his weapons stash. But if she ever finds it— he will pretend he hasn’t held it up to his nose every night for months, and blame it on the wisps.

The ring, at least, makes sense. When Lucanis comes back to himself in the middle of a screaming migraine, he understands why Spite took it. 

He sits up on his cot, groaning, and reaches to grab it off the shelf his klepto-demon left it on. It’s a thick band, gold flecked throughout with something that looks like little bits of charcoal. The pantry candles flicker lazily in its reflection. As Lucanis holds it between his fingers, he realizes it’s still warm. Like someone left it sitting in the sun. 

A shiver races down his back. Did Rook just take this off? Lucanis imagines it. His mind paints her meditation room, and he sees her sink wearily down onto that gem-green settee. He thinks that she would rip her boots off first, maybe, and then flex her toes and groan while she works at the fastenings of her armor. 

He forces himself not to think of those strings, those straps, those buckles coming undone under her fingers. Of the skin that swims underneath it all. He has not studied her armor before, while walking behind her in Arlathan Forest and Dock Town and Treviso, he has not mapped it all out in his mind and thought about what he’d need to loosen and unlatch to make it come off. And there is not a rush of heat that comes to his cheeks while he does not think of these things, and it absolutely does not settle low and darkly in his guts. 

Lucanis shakes his head. His mind refocuses, and he blames its wandering on Spite. He knows she sets her jewelry on that bookshelf behind the settee, next to Varric’s mirror—he’s seen it piled there, before. She must’ve gotten back from a mission, shucked her combat gear, and fallen immediately into a dead-sleep. Spite, in his wanderings, could have slipped into her room and stolen the ring then. Still warm from use. Still warm from her.

Or…it could be the enchantments, woven through the metal. It makes sense. The ring’s meant to augment fire spells. Of course it would be warm. The latent magic thrumming through the band would make it so. 

It isn’t from the gentle heat of her naked hand. It isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t—it’s magic, just magic. And that’s why Spite took it. Because that little bit of the Fade, bound to the ring, called to something in him. It makes sense, and it’s very simple, and there is nothing more to it. 

But this isn’t a discarded perfume bottle. It’s combat gear. It will need to be returned. The realization makes Lucanis’s throat prickle.

Giving it back proves easy enough, though. One doesn’t become a Crow without learning how to lie.

He waits until the next morning, while Rook and Davrin equip their gear. (Lucanis is finished dressing first, as per usual. Even though his armor is the most complex, he’s got the quickest hands.) Lucanis hums Rook’s name behind her as she’s fastening her bootlaces, gently prodding at her attention. 

“Rook?” He asks, and when she turns around with a lifted brow, he simply holds up the prize. “I believe you may have left this at the dinner table? I found it in the kitchen.” It’s a convenient lie, easy to spin, even easier to believe. She got stuck with dish duty last night, after all.

“Oh,” Rook says, “thank you.” When she holds out her hand, Lucanis’s brain floods. He knows what Illario would do, here, and the image almost makes his back stiffen.

 Illario would purr something dripping thick with honeyish double meaning. He would take her soft hand into his, and slide the ring smoothly onto the correct finger. (And Lucanis does know which finger it belongs to. Her left pinky. He’s noticed her trying to fit it on the others, but it’s too small. It won’t go past the second knuckle.) His brain cannot decide how she would react. Would she stare up at him, shocked by his sudden forwardness? Smile shyly, girlishly? Perhaps rub her thumb over his knuckles before taking her hand away, and make his fluttering heart stop dead in his chest?

But really, it doesn’t matter what she’d do. Because he is not Illario, and he isn’t half so charming, and he shouldn’t be flirting with this breathtaking powerhouse of a woman, anyway. Not when there’s traitors in his shadow, and a demon wedged into the crevices of his mind, and gods to kill.

So Lucanis presses the ring tenderly into her outstretched hand. He ignores the pleasant twinge in his gut as her fingers close around it. And with great willpower, he pulls away first.

Spite is angry to see his prize go. He growls and gnashes his teeth and spits that I. took it—for us! 

‘Us’. Lucanis doesn’t like that. So for the afternoon he’s a stone wall to the demon. He lets Spite rage and howl and demand to know why Lucanis gave it back, and he ignores every word. 

His mind is full, anyway. It is busy convincing him that he didn’t notice how the ring felt in his fingertips, before depositing it in Rook’s open, waiting palm. 

By then, it had gone cold to the touch.

Sharing a body with a demon has its quirks. By far the most irritating is Spite’s tendency for escape attempts. Even Lucanis’s coffee pot runs dry sometimes, and the demon lies in wait to take advantage. All he needs is a second—a moment that Lucanis’s tired eyes close too long, that the edges of his mind get too fuzzy. And then Lucanis wakes, confused, usually to one of his companions body-blocking the eluvian. 

On rare occasions, though, something else grabs Spite’s attention. Usually something mundane, some sort of mortal custom that fascinated the demon—Lucanis has come back to himself throwing blank papers into Emmrich’s fireplace, punching a pale lump of bread dough, scraping a dry paintbrush against the Lighthouse’s stucco walls. Odd, to be sure, but Lucanis has learned to roll with it and simply be grateful that at least Spite didn’t try to escape again.

Still. Waking up on top of Harding’s greenhouse with a spoon in his mouth is quite the surprise.

Lucanis sits on the edge, legs dangling over the lip of the roof. His boots and socks are missing, and his pants are messily shoved up to his calves. He regains control of his limbs in the middle of Spite carefully swinging his legs, like he doesn’t quite understand why he’s doing it or what it’s supposed to accomplish. Lucanis’s heels thud against the wall. First the right. Bump. Then the left. Bump. 

Vaguely, Lucanis remembers seeing a little elf girl in Dock Town, sitting on the edge of a pier and breaking apart clumps of seafoam with her toes. Spite had watched for a moment and then asked why nobody came along and pushed her in. Strange, Lucanis thinks. It’s so curious, the things Spite’s mind hoards up to try later.

Like the spoon. He has no idea where Spite got that idea from. Lucanis pulls it from his mouth and stares at it; his reflection stares back, dull and warped. He turns it over, noting the intricate carvings spread across the utensil. Some sort of vine twists around the handle and erupts into a flower bud at the base. 

The Lighthouse boasts an eclectic collection of silverware, as if it reads the minds of those sitting down for dinner and materializes their vision of what a spoon and fork should look like. He recognizes this design, with its delicate leaves and large silver basin. It’s Rook’s. (Because of course it is.)

Lucanis turns to face Spite. He holds the spoon up at him, and raises an eyebrow.

“Why…?”

Spite smirks wickedly.

“Wanted a taste.”

Heat dusts Lucanis’s cheeks. He swallows thickly and looks back down at the spoon, considering. Not long ago, this had been inside of Rook’s mouth. It had known the velvet of her cheeks, felt the caress of her tongue as she cleaned potato soup from it. The flush of heat travels down his face, all through his chest, down into his undergarments. It’s been scrubbed since they ate—very vigorously, considering Bellara did the dishes last—but still…

Lucanis scans the ground below, just in case. And then, when he sees that the courtyard is empty, he slowly lifts the spoon to his mouth. Tenderly, reverently, he slips it past his lips. He drags the cool metal of the basin back across his tongue. Testing. Searching. Yearning.

But whatever he was hoping to find is not there. Lucanis tastes nothing but the faint, sudsy memory of lemon-basil soap. He closes his eyes, sighing through his nose. He’s so disappointed it’s almost painful.

“Her taste!” Spite proclaims proudly. 

“No,” Lucanis corrects. “Just dish soap.”

When Spite spits in frustration and pounds a fist against the greenhouse roof, Lucanis doesn’t chide him. He’s holding back from doing the same damn thing, himself.

Lucanis respects the privacy of others. Really, he does (so long as he’s not been hired to kill them). In normal circumstances, he would’ve put the journal down and walked away. But he regained control of his body about ten seconds ago, and his thoughts are scattered around like the light coming through a suncatcher, and it’s just instinct to examine the book gripped tightly in his hands.

The journal is light. About a hundred pages, he guesses, maybe a little more. It’s leather-bound, dyed to a plummish purple-blue-black. There’s a stub of satin poking out. Unthinking, Lucanis slides his index finger in the journal, right next to the makeshift bookmark, and cracks it open.

And twice as quickly, he snaps it shut. His eyes fall across the handwriting, and he knows immediately that fuck, he just looked inside Rook’s journal. Nobody else writes with such a heavy hand, scraping the pen across the paper like they’re punishing it for something. 

Obviously it’s Rook’s, Lucanis berates himself as he squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. If he took a second to think, he would’ve recognized the cover as Crow leather. He would’ve considered the fact that the satin-scrap bookmark looks suspiciously like a shirt Viago wore until it went out of fashion.

He didn’t read anything, not really. Still, it feels like he’s leered through the open curtains of her mind. The thought disturbs him. He thinks of things he was subjected to in the Ossuary. The blood magic leafing through the folds of his brain. Spite raging against the confines of his skull, ransacking his thoughts, tossing them everywhere before the two learned how to uneasily co-exist in one mind and body.

Of course looking inside Rook’s journal is a tame invasion. It’s free of violence. It’s free of blood. But it feels, in some sense, just as perverse, just as horrid, just as deplorable. He’s taken something from her. Broken into the safety and privacy of her room, and searched through pieces and parts of her life. Does it really matter that it was Spite? It was still his hands that turned her doorknob, his feet that carried him into her bedroom, his eyes that stumbled clumsily across her unspoken thoughts. If he’d been more vigilant, if he’d drank another pot of coffee, if he’d told Spite to stop taking Rook’s Maker-cursed things… 

A sudden guilt sits solidly inside him like the pit of a stone fruit. He needs to bring this back. Immediately.

And he needs to stop thinking about the one word he actually read and noticed, the one string of letters that his brain snatched up before he snapped the journal closed. Written in a gentle hand with curling, sloping letters, almost as if Rook eased up on her poor, weary pen, as if she were whispering it into the pages of her journal—

Lucanis. 

When Lucanis regains himself, his hands are trembling. His chest is sticky with panic, the muscles through his back tight and tense as piano strings. The hair on his arms—the hair everywhere���stands at attention. There’s an aftertaste of tin draped over his tongue. And all along his body, his skin feels the faint but unmistakable streeeeetch of being somehow pushed and pulled at the same time.

Mierda. Shit, shit, fucking shit. Spite went through the eluvian.

Lucanis is back, hunched on his cot in the pantry, but wherever Spite took them—whatever he did—it cannot be good. Lucanis grits his teeth, pushes back rising nausea, and hisses at the demon looking down at him.

“Spite. What. did. you. do?”

The demon licks his tongue over the sharp, canid lines of his top teeth. When he speaks, his voice simmers.

“Stop. Fussing. Just followed—we followed. Her.”

In a better mindstate, Lucanis would’ve wrinkled his nose at being told not to fuss by a demon. But his brain is still stumbling, scrambling. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip, feels his brow knit together sharply, bunches up the pebble-gray fabric in his fists—and only then realizes he’s even holding something.

He loosens his fists and unwads the fabric in quick, jerky motions. When he holds it up to the light, Spite’s chest puffs out. A show of pride. But Lucanis? His heart drops. All the way to his fucking feet. 

It’s underwear. Smalls, specifically. Still deliciously warm from being sandwiched in between skin and layers of clothing and armor. Soft, well-worn, starting to pull loose at those delicate threads that connect the sides. Lucanis’s jaw clenches so tightly his teeth squeak. 

He doesn’t need to ask whose they are. He recognizes the slate gray fabric. An arrow snagged Rook’s pants one time, ripping them across her right hipbone. He touched himself to that shade of gray for three nights in a row and felt pathetic as a teenager. Like some horny boy, pawing and panting in the dark over a flash of underwear and the barest hint of skin. Maker, how she undoes him.

Lucanis’s mind races to answers before he can even ask Spite the questions out loud. They share a body, after all—he knows this demon. He guesses that Spite noticed Rook stumble sleepily towards the eluvian with a towel folded up in her arms. Where she bathes, he doesn’t know, but he’s seen her emerge from the eluvian with wet hair before. 

Lucanis breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. He does this three times. Then he carefully sets the underwear down over his knee, and shifts on the cot so that his trousers don’t feel so Maker-forsaken tight.

“Spite,” Lucanis asks cautiously. “Tell me she didn’t see you take this.” 

Spite sneers, nose curling like the very thought offends him.

“No! Of course, not!”

“You’re sure?”

“Was cautious. Watched her. Waited. ‘Til she put her hair underneath.”

And ah. Qué pena—that’s too much. The knowledge that Rook was naked. That he saw her naked, that she was close enough and undressed enough for him to map out constellations in her freckles and witness her scars, places where she’d been stabbed but was too strong and too stubborn to die. All that, in his eyes, but not for him. For Spite. He saw her, but the memory isn’t his to keep. 

Lucanis hates masturbating. With Spite lurking, the act is colored with shame. But right now, he can’t stop himself. His skin is burning hotter than Andraste, his mind is all sharp edges, his underwear constricts his cock like a snake that wants to kill. He thinks, he knows, if he doesn’t relieve himself, he’ll surely die or go mad with lust. 

He looks down at the smallclothes on his lap. With a reverent hand, he traces the seam running horizontally across the crotch. Then he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, and opens his pants with a quiet, slow ziiiiiip. 

“Tell me…what she looked like,” he asks, and his voice has never been so gentle or soft to Spite before, never so pleading. He almost says please. (Almost. He lies to himself as he shimmies his pants down past his hips, and pretends that he still has some dignity left. At least enough that he won’t beg from a demon.) 

Spite’s lips curl up in malevolent glee. Whether he’s pleased from replaying the sight of Rook’s body, or he’s just happy to have the upper hand for once, Lucanis isn’t sure. As he spits on his palm, he cannot bring himself to care. The cool air of the pantry smooths over his thighs, whispers over the ultra-sensitive tip of his penis. There’s already a glistening drop, leaking out from the slit. Lucanis thinks he should feel shame. 

He does not.

“Like a statue,” Spite starts, and Lucanis firmly wraps his hand around the base of his shaft. Not much to go off of, but he doesn’t need much. Lucanis has memorized the cello-curves of her body, the smell of her. He rubs the seam of her smalls and groans. Up, down. He wants to go slow but he burns, and he can’t. 

“Squeaked in the stream. Cold water. She shivered. Made her chest. Jiggle. Like jam. On a spoon!”

Lucanis, Maker help him, can see it. He hears her voice squeal high and girlish, in a way she never lets the others hear. He sees how the cold water beads up on her skin and how her hair drinks up the stream, then falls in limp wet ropes over her shoulders. He sees the chill curl into her nipples—he sees them pebble, and he swallows thickly. He squeezes his cock tighter, pumps faster. A groan erupts from deep in his chest. It’s not enough. He needs to smell her. 

With his free hand, Lucanis grips Rook’s slate gray underwear and brings it to his face. And he inhales like he’s a man drowning. He just reached the surface—these smallclothes are the air he needs to survive for even a single moment longer. He moans, and it comes out quiet, muffled by the fabric. Mostly he smells sweat, but it’s good because it’s her. But underneath there’s a whiff of her perfume, and deeper still he can detect the salt-cream musk of pussy. 

She’s divine. What did he ever do, to earn the right to even breathe in her presence?

Lucanis’s mind flirts with putting that fucking seam in his mouth, and for a moment, he balks at the desperation. But he’s alone. Who would Spite tell? He’s in the depths of his shame and need already. He pumps, hard and fast, and his muscles coil from his toes all the way up into his neck. Everything everywhere is too tight, too hot, he needs her, fuck it—

Lucanis growls and takes the smalls into his mouth, feels the seam line pressing into his tongue. He bites down with violence and moans around it. Rook’s taste—mierda. There’s no words to describe it. Not in any language he knows. 

He can only think in feelings, in images. How velvety and warm her pussy would be against his tongue; how it would taste just like this. Tang, sweetness, salt, paradise. He would lick and lick and lick until she dripped down his chin like the first bite of summer fruit, ripe and leaking and staining his beard with juice. Her thighs pressing against his head, muffling her whimpering, drowning out the wet suck of his mouth on her clitoris. He would make her cum and cum again. His imagination keeps shifting between giving her pubic hair or shaving it clean; between feeling those course, perfect threads in his mouth or feeling his tongue glide against folds smoother than glass—

Lucanis’s thumbnail brushes the underside of his tip just so, and he imagines it’s Rook’s nail instead, and that’s all it takes. He whimpers into her undergarments, biting down. His body shakes and trembles like he’s just been blasted close-range with an electricity spell—his toes curl so hard, he thinks he feels scraping inside his boots. Warm cum jets from him, splatters his pants and coats his still-pumping hand. He’s on fire, yes, but it’s so fucking satisfying. Lucanis rides the last sweet shocks of his orgasm to their very edge, and he imagines Rook sweeping up a thin stream of white and sucking it off her finger. 

Dios mio. He dares not imagine that she could ever be as obsessed with him as he is with her. Even in post-orgasm bliss, with his fingers around his softening cock and his head pleasantly fuzzy with relief, he won’t let himself think that her fingers might, on some lonely nights, sneak past her waistband with similar thoughts. He won’t let himself consider that she might sneak into the pantry while he makes dinner, might bury her face into the stiff bulge of his pillow, and silently breathe him in. Surely, she does not put her lips to his coffee cups, searching for his taste there in the dark roast.

She’s beautiful, she’s a goddess, she’s a godkiller. What is he to her, other than an adoring weapon, waiting in her shadow to be used? 

But in the afterglow of such an intense orgasm, Lucanis finds it impossible to think of anything too challenging. Feelings, desires. What’s deserved and what isn’t. He allows himself to wallow in the pleasant buzz—not quite happy, but for once, content. The flames lick the candles downwards, and Spite remains thankfully, blissfully quiet. Lucanis stays like that for a long moment. It’s been so long since he’s felt so comfortable in his body. So safe. He dares not dwell on all the implications of that.

When Lucanis finally stirs, it is only because his neck has started to seize at an impossible angle. After wiping himself clean, he turns to Rook’s smallclothes. He cannot imagine how he’s supposed to sneak these back into her wardrobe without her noticing. And what could he even say if she caught him red handed, trying to slip her sex-smelling underclothes into a pile of her dirty laundry? Or even worse, if one of the other companions found him. Emmrich? Davrin? Maker’s breath, Taash? Better not to risk it. 

And perhaps that is an excuse. But it is an excuse that settles comfortably in his stomach, and one that soothes his mind as he pulls the dagger sheath from its hiding place. Lucanis picks Rook’s smallclothes up from his cot with admiring hands. He rubs his thumb affectionately over the smalls’ waistband. Then he folds it up, carefully and tender-fingered as if he were handling a love letter. He slips the roll of fabric into the sheath, fitting it next to her perfume. His prizes, his little trinkets. 

He will never admit it. But Lucanis thinks that maybe, just maybe, these tokens are payment enough to kill any god Rook asks.

[dragonsdendoodles]

What do you like/dislike about mphfpc content (videos, edits, art, fanfics, theories, headcanons, fanons, gacha reactions, etc.)? Do you have any favorite content makers?

I love love LOVE the art, cosplay, and writing in this fandom, it’s fucking FANTASTIC. The video makers too, I don’t know how edits work but they do not miss, they’re awesome.

As for favorite content makers, y’all know I can’t resist bragging about my friends 🥰

@tomouraline is one of my absolute ride or die buddies and makes some AMAZING edits on TikTok (emwyns) and her art??? Chef’s kiss. Absolutely wonderful. Go look at her Emwyn and Fugh art it’s adorable

If you want hollowgast art, @carmine-golde has the most badass designs and definitely my favorite OC to play with, especially paired with the government-assigned ymbryne she gave me in return 🤣

@trainwrecksys with Bentham is me with Enoch. He single-handedly made me like (at least his) Bentham. That’s an achievement, I am stubborn and hold grudges. Go look at his art he will also make you like Bentham (plus his animation skills??????? Give me your BRAIN how do you have the patience for this)

Since we’re talking wights, check out @cauls-antique-pepperbox-pistol for literally everything about Caul and Murnau. He has the COOLEST art style and also the awesomest headcanons ever??? I literally never think about the wights how do you guys come up with these things for them this is COOL

Speaking of cool art styles. @theducklingart has such a fun one omg. His designs for the kids and his own OCs are to die for, and he’s just as fun to talk to as his art is to look at! (Plus he has commissions open y’all should go support him 👀)

If you want absolutely adorable Enorace fics like I always do, @metaphoricallymagpie has some of the sweetest fanfics on AO3 I’ve ever read. I beta read Fortunes and Formaldehyde and the sheer number of times I have kicked my feet and giggled like a madman over her writing omg

@ollibeuu isn’t active anymore, but please please PLEASE go to his AO3 (ollibeu) and check out his fanfics. He inspired me to start writing myself, and I haven’t seen a single one that hasn’t been phenomenal (and I got the opportunity to cowrite one with him! 🤭) I will literally always recommend his work go look at it if you like Enorace

@nerdypeculiar (peculiarinacostume) on TikTok has a V cosplay???? And so many other cool ones????? V, Miss Peregrine, Enoch, and they also make The Owl House and Hazbin Hotel content too??????? Go follow them. Right now. Before the ban please their account is CRIMINALLY underrated

I don’t think @evil-feather even needs an introduction. If you’ve seen her Miss Peregrine, you know she is the QUEEN of that cosplay. Hands down. She’s absolutely fantastic

@peculiar-shark has moved on to comic books (which you should 100% check out their videos on that on YouTube if you’re interested 👀 sunshine_sharkks) but will forever be known as first one of my oldest friends in this fandom but also second probably the biggest design inspiration for my Horace. Their old cosplays on TikTok (peculiar.sharkks) are UNMATCHED

(Honorable mention to my irl best friend literally ever @pixie2k5 who is not in this fandom but is the bestest Emma for my Enoch when we can cosplay together thank you for putting up with my insanity sis ilysm 💚)

I could honestly list so many more because we truly have just the best people ever but I feel like this is getting long 😅 I love literally everybody here and no matter my occasional complaints I’m so proud to be part of this community I love everyone here so much

[celestialprincesse]

Mustang 🌵🏜️

The morning after dinner with Simon, you sit patiently on your porch swing, a chipped mug of coffee clutched in one hand, a pen knife balanced between the fingers of the other. Fortunately, the mornings aren't yet sweltering enough to wake covered in sweat and kick off the thin sheet from your bed. The sun still rises languorously over the horizon, and you wake with it.

Simon Riley is surprisingly pleasant, and you begrudgingly admit to yourself that Marlene had been right, perhaps you do need to get out more, meet new people, get over it. Perhaps you like him because he's like you. He's quiet, peaceful on the surface, undoubtedly roiling underneath. It's impossible to miss when you know the feeling so well. Tyres crunching on gravel snap you from your reverie, the black truck, some shiny new ford pulling in your driveway, cab doors swinging open to let its driver out.

"Nice." An appreciative eyebrow is raised in the direction of the truck, amusement barely hidden at its cleanliness. You struggle to imagine him spending meticulous hours cleaning the vehicle - when you do picture Simon Riley shirtless and suntanned, working meticulously to rid the truck of dust and dirt, you internally chastise yourself before walking down the rickety porch steps to greet him. "You left your pot." His gruff accent feels so odd to you still, so out of place whilst still being so somehow pleasant, sending shivers down your spine. "Shit. So I did." The enamel of your Dutch Oven is cool against your hands, chilled from the AC in his car. Still not used to the warmth, you suppose.

"You want a drink?" You hum as you wordlessly make your way back up the porch steps, Ness nipping at your heels as you usher Simon and the collie into your cozy kitchen, quick to shut the screen door behind you. "I got sweet tea, coffee, lemonade." "You got earl grey?" "Do I look like the type to have earl grey?" "Black coffee then, please."

Ness seems to like him. Good judge of character, you think. You hope. Maybe she likes him because of how similar he is to you, and you can't help but appreciate the newcomer as he pets the bicoloured ears of your pet. Your place is exactly how he pictured it'd be, cozy in a lived in sort of way, knickknacks scattered across the countertops and shelves and the occasional picture of what he can only assume is you as a kid strewn haphazardly. The coffee maker whirs quietly to life as you busy yourself with retrieving a plate of biscuits from the fridge, chucked in there to avoid the occasional fly that managed to get through the screen in the rushed moments where you failed to close it all the way.

"Biscuit?" "Just coffee is fine." "Your loss." You quip back, putting the plate back in its rightful place, by which time the coffee has brewed and you pour Simon a chipped mug full. "So, the fastback." Simon manages a little awkwardly, dwarfing your mug between his palms. "Ah, the elephant in my garage." The crappy joke makes you actually cringe, eyelid twitching as you angle your head back to the door, making your way to the garage, in which you pull the cover from the red painted mustang with an awkwardly executed flourish.

Upon assessing the car, Simon grunts out a quiet "Shit", turning to you with an almost concerned look. "You pay for this?" It seems weirdly as though he's mad, like anyone who charged you for this useless hunk of metal and rubber had committed some kind of sin, like they'd kicked a puppy or shunned god away. "No. No, guy said if I could fix it up it was mine." "Good. Cause it's worth fucking naught."

Simon spends the morning tinkering with the car. Pushes it out of the garage with pure brute strength so that he can look at it properly, says he'll fix your garage light whilst he's at it. When he appears at the kitchen door like a lost dog, cautious to shut the screen door, he can't help but appreciate the way you turn to face him, leaning the swell of your hip against the countertop. "The biscuit offer still open?" "You're fixing my shitty car and you already looked at my garage light. At this point I owe you more than just biscuits." You chuff.

The veteran can't help himself but to ogle your ass as you bend in front of your fridge to retrieve the biscuit plate, along with a jug of sweet tea and two chilled glasses.

"Prepared." "Ah, figured you'd get thirsty at some point."

There's something pleasant about the quiet of it all. Reminds him why he moved out here in the first place. The quiet nicker of horses and the sight of a beautiful woman making him lunch after spending hours out in the unforgiving heat. It makes him feel weirdly grateful, something he hasn't felt in a while. He's at your side as you rustle up some other food, something more substantial for a man of his size who's just spent four hours in the steadily boiling heat. He likes the way you don't flinch when a tentative arm slips around your waist to grab the glasses you'd set out on the counter, moving them to the table before returning to press his shoulder against yours.

"Need me to do anythin' else?" "Just stand there and be hot." Slips out before you can stop yourself, and your hand flies to cover your mouth, all whilst he stands, massive arms crossed against his chest with a smug. "Yes, Ma'am."

ᯓ★

Today felt like such a good day to write these two I promise I didn't forget about them!! I love them!! They're my emotionally wounded babies!!!

[ghostwise]

4 An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose. ohoho Yes Please

The full moons shine on Ferelden as they do on Antiva, keeping their eternal watch. Two owls call back and forth through the branches, their voices beckoning memories of old superstition in Zevran’s mind. It makes him think of home, but lately home has competition. Hamal grins down at him from the branches above, laden in silver glow.

“Scared yet?” he asks.

Zevran had boasted earlier, recounting tales of climbing Chantry towers and palace rooftops, boldly ascending across their cobbled exteriors, high enough to touch clouds. Hamal had countered these with a simple dare: to climb to the top of one of the centuries-old spruce trees in the area, if he could brave it.

Fortunately he’d offered to go first.

Bravery doesn’t even come into the picture. Zevran finds it quite easy to follow him.

“Not even a little,” he replies with a smile, and he pulls himself higher. His arms are burning. But it’s soothed when Hamal smiles appreciatively at him.

The Warden returns to his climb, seeking footholds among the evergreen. He makes it look easy. He’s grown up on such tree climbing, giving Ashalle her share of panic over the years.

And Zevran likes seeing him like this: singularly focused, relaxed, and having fun. With Orzammar less than a day's journey away, Hamal rarely gets to enjoy himself lately. It’s so captivating—he’s so captivating—Zevran barely notices when they’ve reached the half-point, already over the treeline.

He only notices when they reach a difficult point in the climb, where the next branch is just a bit out of reach for him, and the trunk has grown narrower, giving less room to maneuver. The ground, for a moment, tilts, but this he is used to; he pushes past it, calming his breathing.

His fingers grasp the coarse texture of the bark, missing the mark again, and he lets out a little puff of air, frustrated—

Hamal leans down to help him up at the exact moment he drives forward, and they collide in a graceless press of faces. The soft touch of Hamal mouth drags across Zevran’s lower lip and jaw. Clumsy. At this height, it frightens him.

They are both agile enough that falling is a distant risk. But what if.

Hamal startles first. He trembles violently upon the branch above. He is hanging on by his legs, one hand braced against another part of the tree, and he grabs Zevran by his leather cuirass to secure him.

By the Maker, he is strong enough to just carry him up the tree himself. Zevran laughs at this thought, the brief jolt of adrenaline giving way to euphoria.

“Careful!” Hamal hisses.

“I’m fine!” Zevran says. “Ah, but how thrilling this is. Just air and branches between us and certain death!”

Giggling now in dizzy mirth, looks up at Hamal. “Did I worry you, my Warden?”

Hamal stares at him, silent for a moment. He grips the branches in his right hand, squeezing, then leans down, pressing a measured kiss against his lips.

It is the most delicate thing Zevran has ever received. A kiss balanced on moonlight and spruce.

It lasts a mere moment, but it feels like longer. A soft, brassy whistle hoots out from the forest, soon answered by its pair. When Hamal pulls back, Zevran sighs and leans his face against the tree trunk.

“Shall we go back down now?” Hamal asks him.

Zevran nods. “I am ready if you are.”

[luminouslywriting]

The Snow Stork (since several of you asked about the car and being snowed in haha)

Summary: In which a snowstorm leaves John Brady and his wife stranded in a snowbank and things get a little heated. Warnings apply and remember kiddos, I don't write full smut haha! Written in headcanon style! Feel free to keep sending me asks or requests! I'm having so much fun :) Also shoutout to @precious-little-scoundrel since she inspired some of the bones for this! 🥰🫡

-A Christmas Eve party for the adults only in the Brady Family was an annual thing. It was the best party of the year and consisted of all of the good adult fun that the children couldn't participate in—spiked eggnog, some spicy stories, dancing and kissing under the mistletoe, and a couples' gift exchange.

-Every year since John Brady first fell in love with you, you've dutifully gone. And in the last four years, your parents have lovingly volunteered to watch the three musketeers that are the Brady Bunch—a darling little girl known as Anna, a precocious three year old known as little John, and a sweet little two year old known as Michael.

-Three children in four years has kept you and John Brady BUSY with caring for the house, him working, and managing the little cookie monsters that just wanna hear their dad blast the saxophone (but really, who could blame them?)

-It's a rare thing when you two get the chance to go away together, even for a few hours. Fortunately for you two, you've mastered the art of quickies and learning how to be discreet with very nosy children in the house (who you of course adore).

-So it's after this party where John's hands have been lingering a little too long at the hem of your dress, maybe you've had a *little* too much of the eggnog, and maybe you're both feeling like giddy teenagers again (although you're really not that old haha) and the hour drive home seems to not be long enough.

-Maybe it's the way that the snow is falling just heavy enough and the windshield wipers can't keep up

-Maybe it's the way that there is certainly ice on the roads (though you've both seen and driven through worse)

-Maybe it's the way that you're still humming Sinatra under your breath and he finds that SEXY as HELL

-But John Brady, ever the practical and timely man that he is, he keeps glancing down at his watch and wondering how bad it would be to just pull off to the side of the road?

-After all, you haven't been gone that long and it's entirely possible that the roads could get worse

-And you're his most precious cargo so he needs to take care of you in every way 😌

-But he's glancing over at you every few minutes, right hand still entwined with your left hand

-And he knows that people have done much crazier things to get alone time with their wives

-So of course, he makes a suggestion about the roads being too bad to drive through at the moment and maybe you should pull off to the side of the road

-He's flown through worse and you both know it

-But neither one of you is complaining when he quickly places the car in park, just off the side of the road and near a stretch of trees

-After all, he can barely see the road. But you know what he can see? You

-So of course, he's taking the opportunity to sweetly kiss your hand and tell you that he's missed having alone time with you

-And then you're shivering (for more than one reason)

-That's the only invitation he needs

-After all, John Brady takes marriage more seriously than the damn war. If you're cold, that is his God-given responsibility and privilege to fix and help you with.

"Body heat is better than layers."

-So of course the next thing you know, he's ducking over into the passenger side of the car

-And for the first time in a LONG time, there's no kids to interrupt, no meal that's burning downstairs, no one calling you on the phone, and not a single work-call or piece of homework for him to grade

-The car has been lovingly christened the Brady-Maker since the conception of your first child but you're about to put that entire encounter to shame

-Lingering kisses and warm breaths, hands squeezing and massaging at flesh to keep the other warm, fingers slipping below waistlines and dresses, tights and garters are RIPPED, obscene gasps and moans are spilling from the car—and the car might be shaking a *little* too much from the flipping positions and fun that you two are having

-So it's really unfortunate that in the middle of your second orgasm of the night, neither one of you notices the fact that a bunch of snow has just fallen from the trees above and literally lands on the car. Not just once. Not just twice. But several times.

-When he's removing his belt and attempting to position himself right in the dark, it's at this unfortunate cock-block of a moment that he realizes that the snow has indeed solidly built up around the car.

-So try as the two of you might (and you certainly try), the car is well and good stuck and there's just no way to get out of the car or to even attempt to get to anywhere with a phone until the snow has let up or morning has arrived.

-It's very fortunate at this point that you were already so proficient and skilled at conserving body heat by doing some *ahem* active martial activities

-Because what else are you supposed to do? Sit there and cuddle? Nah, that's not for you or for him

-Of course, your parents are wildly panicking—because you two were supposed to be home HOURS ago

-But you know what? Neither John Brady or you is about to miss the chance to have some alone time, because who KNOWS when that could happen again? And for a whole night? It's really just science and common sense at this point and it's a real sacrifice that he's making by making love to you in that car.

-When you two finally show up, hours later in the mid-morning, the next day—your hair still messy and makeup certainly ruined (and missing tights and garters on top of it all), and he looks like he's just had the best night of his life—

-Is it really any wonder that this is how Brady Child #4 came into existence?

[autisticempathydaemon]

Redactober 2024 Day Thirty-One

Prompt: William & Walk

Pairing: William & Alexis, mentions of Alexis/Christian

cw: none they’re just cute and mean typical Viet family dynamics /lh

Eventually, Alexis breaks, a sharp bark of a laugh cutting the silence, and pulls him along to continue their walk.

Available on AO3 soon!

<- Prev Day

“What a pleasant surprise! Have you not anything better to do this All Hallow’s Eve than patrol with me, Miss Getty?” William asks, holding out a gentleman’s arm for his first-bitten progeny to take. Uncharacteristically friendly, Alexis obliges, resting a hand in the crook of his elbow as they walk through the ruins of Wonderworld to the quiet sound of distant owls and Will’s cane tapping against the cement.

“You know what the local children are like. I can’t chance you coming across a lost or injured soul and picking up a stray… again.”

“I wish I’d known we were going to be a pot and kettle duo for Halloween; I would have dressed the part,” he says, chuckling when Alexis kicks his cane out from under him, the beechwood staff comically whirling through the air and landing in a pond with a far-off plop. She frowns imperiously- petulantly- down the bridge of her nose at him, and William smiles back, patting her hand on his arm in a fond gesture.

“You make it hard to be nice to you, old man.”

“It’s a good thing I didn’t turn you for your gentle, pleasing demeanor then.” Eventually, Alexis breaks, a sharp bark of a laugh cutting the silence, and pulls him along to continue their walk.

“Perhaps you’ll get lucky with the next one, though I’m not sure “gentle” is the trait you should be looking for in a subordinate,” she jokes, playfully grimacing but staying still when her Maker presses a kiss to her temple.

“I was plenty fortunate the first time around. With you and Porter, my rose and dagger, by my side, I and the Solaire house will want for nothing.” William squeezes her hand, attempting to convey his sincerity and fondness, his gratitude, through the touch, and when he feels her reluctant mollification and warmth through their bond, through his blood they share, William knows he succeeded.

“You say that, but you will bite or take in the nearest bleeding heart with puppy eyes if I don’t stop you. All these years have made you soft,” Alexis says, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a vain, haughty gesture and hissing when William tugs on one of her unruly locks.

“Mhm, says the woman who brought home a literal puppy. How is Christian this evening?”

“I’ll assassinate you in your sleep.”

“I doubt it. Then you’d have to be Queen and play well with others, and that’s not exactly your forte, cục vàng.”

[inusmasha]

Mountain Miko on A03

Summary:

In a secluded mountain village run by a society of mysterious women, Kagome, a young initiate, embarks on a transformative journey under the mentorship of their highly esteemed miko, Kikyo

Prologue – A Dark Fairytale 

In the beginning, within a realm where ancient magic held sway, there once lived a man renowned for his ability to weave spells that brought good fortune to those willing to pay. His performances were nothing short of captivating spectacles, drawing in many who gasped in the grandeur of his rituals. Over time, growing more and more powerful by the day, his glittering magical displays began to draw in the curiosity of wealthy patrons far and wide. 

"How do you do it?"

"You need only to give voice to what you desire." 

Over the years the man turned sorcerer grew proud and prouder still, having forgotten what humble beginnings he crawled out of. He wore his wealth on his body, he adorned his beard with sickly sweet smelling oils and lined his fingers with ostentatious rings. In the era of spell making, the Sorcerer had made this life by his own hand...a hand in possession of a certain Jewel. A small nothing looking bead that was easy to miss even though it hung in plain sight. It's presence barely felt, barely a whisper, only a quiet gnawing at the bottom of his being. 

In the dark night, the heavy shadow of some blackguard, from some dying noble house, made its way to the Sorcerer with big news. A big problem that required a big idea. This truly fair and noble family was harboring a plot to unseat the current emperor and had come to him for help to remedy the issue. 

"What you ask is treason."

"What I ask is to entertain possibilities."

Truth be told; if they had the coin then it did not matter what the request was. He would entertain their hypocrisies. They can keep their dull innocence, keep their hands clean, while he did the unseemly. Though it was dangerous to play with this sort of magic, it's practically what it was there for. 

"What say you, Sorcerer?" 

...it has to be you.. only you could do it.. wish maker ..wishmaker.. wish-

A sinister alliance was forged that night, and he sought to orchestrate their rise to power through sinister rites. 

 His displays of enchantment evolved into bloody ceremonies with costly offerings, ranging from the most humble of creatures to majestic beasts. First a sparrow, a snake, a cat, a wolf to lions, tigers, and- it wasn't enough! To ensure their success, the sorcerer needed more potent sources of power, and he turned to darker methods. He began raiding graveyards for human bones, believing that spirits of the deceased would grant him greater strength. However, he soon realized that live human sacrifices to the Jewel would yield even stronger results. 

Of course! 

Yes, there was a war. 

There was an empty seat in an empty dank room. 

Once the new emperor assumed that cold throne for his own, he called for the Sorcerer to come join him at his royal court and to squat on the lap of luxury. That's what those savage acts were for.. but that damn cursed gnawing hunger never left. It wasn't enough. 

And then...Their paths crossed that fateful evening when he was summoned to perform before their Lord. This was it! Oh! His journey had led him to the fair maiden with black silk for hair. The Sorcerer's infatuation with the woman was relentless, an unquenchable burning within him. Her every word, her every glance, fueled this insatiable longing. He wanted her as his bride. 

But alas she did not want him for her heart belonged to-

It did not matter. He would take her.

In his desperation to possess her he believed that the Jewel, his divine potent resource, could make her love him. The Jewel, fatter still, fed on his fixation. He hated her. He loved her. He hated her. He loved her. The Jewel had never tasted something so sickly sweet. 

"You need only to give voice to what you desire." 

He wished for the woman.

In a final, frenzied act, he sought to give the Jewel a tangible form, giving it arms and legs in which to carry out the deed. Not as some caricature but as something living, with blood and bones. 

"..This flesh is your flesh, these hands your hands!"

At the altar, with great suffering, he relinquished what little was left of his human to the bloody pearl. This was the deep dark material in which miracles sprang forth. He would conjure heaven.. but in the morning there was nothing but the cold dank air, and ash. The fate of both he and the now missing maiden was shrouded in mystery. The ending to this story is always the same.

Now, the Jewel, revered and closely guarded, rests within the new emperor's grasp. It's true nature forgotten. Though the emperor may hold suspicions about the Sorcerer's demise, he chose to remain oblivious of the perils. The relic remained concealed, subject to constant study that often exacted a grim toll and a long list of names never to be spoken of. The Jewel passes from one ruler to the next, as an heirloom of both great power and who's hunger continues to shape the endless road of petty human conflict. 

And we exist in its consequence.   

Many generations pass and eventually the one named Midoriko is born.

[ceapa-mica]

Family Life: Exile 🪁 - a Thrawn headcanon

My fingers did a high speed race on the keyboard writing this hc. I'm surprised they didn't fall off. 😄

Enjoy!

🔞 This is slightly NSFW 🔞 + angsty

Taglist: @bingbongooo @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @ele-millennial-weirdo @enaelyork @jesslove23 @thrawnalani @thrawnsboots @twincesskorisoka @davesrightshoe @shoe-bag @tearyeve @blackddarling @obbicrystaleo

Life in exile is not exactly easy, especially when confronted with the many dangers of Peridea and with an always curious daughter to keep safe…

In the blink of an eye you're confronted with a new reality - exile. (or in Thrawn's case exile from an exile lol) You quickly realize how dangerous Peridea is with the amount of troopers getting killed by faceless bandits while out exploring.

Since then Thrawn only sends out scouts when absolutely necessary and keeps most of the crew aboard the Chimera, safe for those in search of food. Otherwise you couldn't sustain the entire crew for much longer.

At first you're mad at your husband. You blame him for being exiled with no way to contact your family and friends, and you're not the only one.

You try to shield your daughter from the cruelty of the exile. There's a designated safe outpost for your crew where you spend some of your time. Catching fresh air and going for a walk under Peridea’s cloudy sky can lift the spirits.

She loves flying her hand crafted kite on the outpost’s rocky plateau. One time she actually put her little ysalamir on her kite. It survived, but what followed was a reprimand from her dad, telling her not to needlessly put lives at risk and that the lizard certainly didn't have any fun clinging for dear life onto that piece of fabric in the air. She never did it again.

Since there is no holonet connection on Peridea you and Thrawn teach your daughter everything she would usually learn at school in your quarters. That can't replace actual lessons with other children though. You soon realize that your daughter misses her peers from her holonet classes.

Not just the lack of friends her age but the entire situation affects your daughter’s behavior. She becomes less playful and more serious, leading to her being eager to learn more self-defense in her father’s dojo. Thrawn thinks it's a good thing. You are worried though.

Another thing you're worried about is the presence of the nightsisters. They claim that they're able to contact someone from your Galaxy, so Thrawn insists on working with them to return back home. You don't trust them though and keep your daughter as far away from them as possible.

Look, the perfect marriage doesn’t exist. Even your marriage with Thrawn has its ups and downs. You argue quite often during your time in exile. Thrawn never raises his voice though. This maker-forsaken planet weighs down on everyone’s mood, including yours.

Makeup sex helps a lot with that. Thrawn leaves more marks on you than usual. After so many years your sex life is still going strong. It's the perfect way to let out the pent up frustration with your unfortunate situation.

You’re not the only ones using sex to cope. Among your crew a few women end up pregnant and some not so secret weddings are taking place.

Meanwhile your daughter finds joy in learning how to ride a howler. She's not allowed to leave the outpost unaccompanied, a rule she doesn’t like at all. She still has this neverending thirst for knowledge and thinks the death troopers joining her on her trips through the Peridean wasteland are just slowing her down or disrupting her studies of the local flora and fauna.

One day she actually leaves on her own and gets captured by bandits. Fortunately your husband is a strategic mastermind able to track her down before it's too late. To say Thrawn was mad is an understatement. He reprimands her in a dangerously low voice and grounds her for an entire month. He was actually as scared for her safety as you.

Tbh Thrawn feels guilty af since you’re in this exile because of a mistake he made, and during that incident with the bandits he felt he let his family down again. He orders his best people to take out those bandits once and for all to make this place a little safer for all of you.

At the point your kid is 10 years old she's super interested in collecting and documenting rock fossils she finds on trips through the rocky wasteland. Thrawn thinks they are beautiful, telling her that nature is truly the greatest artist. A few fossils even find their way into his art collection.

Most people would consider a 10 year old too young to use a blaster. Thrawn on the other hand thinks it's the right age to get her used to the weapon. He takes it upon himself to teach her to shoot and gifts her her first blaster. He sleeps better at night knowing she can defend herself from a distance. The circumstances make it necessary for her to learn this skill this early, at least that's what he tells himself.

You take your daughter to the outpost almost every day at this point and show her how she can help out. You both help wherever you can. Collecting firewood and herbs for tea, cooking stews, building shelter, and even taming wild howlers.

Thrawn doesn't join you at the outpost, he's busy keeping everything running. Even in exile he takes his job as seriously as ever.

When you and your daughter return to your quarters at nightfall you can barely keep your eyes open. So when Thrawn returns after a busy day of keeping his troops motivated, and finds the loves of his life cuddled up on the sofa waiting for him, he feels at peace. He knows wherever his life takes him, you will follow.

Your daughter shows interest in helping babysit the offspring of your crew. Thrawn agrees, glad his little girl accepts that kind of responsibility. Soon she, and a few junior officers, look after a bunch of rambunctious toddlers. It keeps her occupied and playing with other children, despite them being eight+ years younger, benefits her mental health. She becomes more playful again and no longer feels like she has to grow up fast in this exile.

Thrawn is still busy working on a plan to escape Peridea. Seeing your daughter adapting to this exile makes you less worried for her. In fact, you get used to Peridea as well, without losing hope of returning home one day.

You know how much pressure lasts on Thrawn's shoulders, and you do your best to help him deal with it. He's so glad his family has his back at all times, and he knows that he's not really far from home, because his home is his family - you and your little girl, right there with him. As long as he's got you both, he is exactly where he needs to be the most. He's determined to return to your home galaxy though. He still has his mission that needs to be finished. Then, and only then, he will be able to introduce his loved ones to his homeworld and his people.

There is one more family life hc I'm planning. One thing we haven't explored yet is how Thrawn (+you) will deal with your daughter once she hits puberty. That will be the next and last family life hc coming soon.

[beautifulchris]

mischief managed

pairing: han jisung x gn!reader

wc: 3,2k

featuring: lee minho, kim seungmin, sf9’s chani, nct’s jaemin

summary: jisung tries to break every single rule with you

genres: hogwarts!au, partners-in-crime!au, ravenclaw!jisung, slytherin!reader, fluff, comedy

warnings: swearing

notes: I wanna apologize to jaemin for doing him so dirty, my baby doesn’t deserve this sdjkfqlk feedback is always appreciated! moodboard made by me, pictures found on the internet. reposting works from my old blog

order of writing: chan - jisung - minho - hyunjin - jeongin - seungmin - changbin - felix

networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @straykidsland

tag list: @badwithten @raethethey send ask/dm/comment to be added!

On the King’s Cross train station on your very first day, you almost missed the train because your dad absolutely wanted to take the best pic of his precious kid going to the mythic Hogwarts school. So you ended up in an almost empty compartment. The other compartments around were full and there was just this boy alone.

“Hey, can I sit here?” You probably startled him because he looked up at you with wild eyes but instantly smiled at your sight.

“Yeah, sure.”

“What are you doing all alone?” you asked as you sat in front of him.

He shrugged. “Looking at my chocolate frog cards collection.”

“Wow, nice. Can I see?”

He handed them to you, “Yes, of course. I’m Jisung by the way.”

“I’m Y/N.”

Since that day, you were inseparable and soon became partners-in-crime. Being put in different houses didn’t stop you.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿ฺ

After learning Alohomora in charms class, you wandered in the castle to find a forbidden office to open and what better one than the caretaker’s where a whole lot of interesting things were stored?

There, you found a few dungbombs that Jisung instantly took, confiscated brooms and chains. A lot of perfectly polished chains hung on the walls.

“I understand why he doesn’t stay here often,” you snorted and returned to your inspection. In a dusty cabinet named ‘Confiscated and Highly Dangerous’, you found an old piece of blank parchment. It was mysteriously well conserved taking into account where it was so you put it in your pocket. Further inspection will be done to know how a simple parchment could be ‘highly dangerous’.

“I’m kinda disappointed. Sure we’ll use the dungbombs wisely but I thought there were more interesting treasures.”

“Don’t be so down yet Ji, I found a mystery to resolve. Let’s go before we get caught.”

Fortunately, you didn’t get caught. You both went to your common room, being a quiet place with almost no students at this hour. You showed Jisung the parchment and counted on his intelligence and logic to figure out how it worked. After a few minutes, he looked up at you and smirked.

“I feel like it’s in good hands now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, he put his wand out of his pocket and pointed it to the parchment.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he simply said. You were going to question him when the parchment caught your eye. Ink was spreading on the paper and soon you could read:

“Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present…”

“The Marauder’s Map,” Jisung whispered with stars in his eyes.

“What is this? Open it!”

Jisung did as told and both of you were dumbfounded by what you discovered. A map of the whole school, including the secret passages that are hidden within its walls and the location of every person in the grounds, portrayed by a dot. This map, a true masterpiece, within your hands was a disaster for everyone else.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿ฺ

Three years later, you knew everything you could possibly have learned about the school. Neither Ravenclaw or Slytherin could win the house cup as long as you both were in Hogwarts. No matter the amount of effort Seungmin, Changbin and Minho would make to earn points, they could never make up for your wickedness. You did earn points sometimes in classes when you answered correctly to a teacher’s question and you weren’t the only one to lose points either so you didn’t feel so bad. You did lose more points than you earned but shhh. Let's not talk about that.

One day, on your way to the lake after lunch, Gryffindor Jaemin called your name so you stopped in your tracks and waited for him to join you.

“Hey, Y/N, I was wondering if you would like to study with me after class? For transfiguration.”

Uh. Jaemin has never been your friend and the most he ever said to you before now was “Get out of my way, filthy Slytherin.” the second day of your first year. Therefore you were startled, to say the least. Plus you wanted to study with Jisung, not some acquaintance you never talked to and weren’t interested in.

“Not really, I already have plans for tonight. Thank you for the offer though.”

You tried to sound as nice as you could but without much convection and left before he could reply. A few meters away, Jisung saw the whole scene and wondered what you had told him because he looked displeased. He joined you and you smiled at him before intertwining fingers.

The next day, Jisung and you were sunbathing with a nice autumn breeze on a bench in the courtyard when someone came in front of you, preventing the sun from warming your face. You opened your eyes and were met with Jaemin and a few of his friends.

“Can you move please?” you politely demanded, since you didn’t want to start anything.

“Are you dating him?” he asked, pointing at your best friend.

“No?”

“Then why did you reject my date proposal?”

Oh my god. Really? You were going to put him in place but Jisung’s mocking laugh stopped you.

“Really dude? You want to do this here?”

“I don’t think you’re in the conversation.” Jaemin’s glare didn’t please you.

“Should’ve asked to talk to Y/N in person then instead of creating unnecessary drama.”

Jaemin looked like he was going to throw hands so you spoke before it went too far.

“Guys, let’s stay civil here. I rejected you cause I’m not interested in you, there's no other motive. Now can you let us be?” His friends laughed at him and you could swear you heard one of them say something about a bet.

“Wait, asking Y/N out on a date was a bet?”

“And what about it?” Jaemin said cockily. Jisung was fuming and you were disgusted by the boy.

“Can’t you respect people? No one deserves to be a bet’s victim. You guys suck.”

He scoffed. “I’m sure you’re the type of guy who hides when it comes to fight.”

“Try me.” You knew by his glare that he wasn’t playing anymore. Jaemin was smirking but not for long.

“Let’s duel.”

Jisung was so fast to put his wand out, it surprised Jaemin. You tried to stop them but it was useless because their pride was at stake.

Before you could blink, Jaemin ended up mouthless and you heard a woman screaming but you didn’t listen, being amazed by the spell’s effect. Jisung took your hand and ran through the corridors, hearing the professor yelling she would remove twenty points from his house.

You managed to catch your breath while Jisung was answering an easy riddle —for him— to enter the Ravenclaw common room.

“I can’t believe you really did it.”

“He challenged me! You know I can’t say no to that,” Jisung sighed.

“I know. That was brilliant, by the way.” You sat on one of the comfortable chairs like you lived there —it wasn’t totally false— and you were followed by your partner-in-crime.

“Thanks! I practiced this one a lot, I couldn’t wait to use it for real.”

“I hope you didn’t do anything foolish,” said a voice behind you.

“Oh, Seungmin! I didn’t see you there.” Jisung turned around and smiled. Seungmin was reading a book in a blue armchair. He closed it and gave his attention to his friends. “I hope you’re not hoping too hard.”

“How much?”

“What do you mean?” Jisung’s innocent act didn’t work since the second time he used it but he was still trying three years later.

“Twenty,” you answered. Seungmin gave Jisung a look and he shrugged.

“It was fun and I don’t regret it.” He folded his arms and pouted like a grounded kid.

“Of course you don’t,” Seungmin loudly exhaled.

“You’ll make it up for it, won’t you?”

Seungmin sighed deeply. He felt like he had to work twice as hard to win back the points Jisung made their house lose but it was never enough. “I always do, but don’t you think you should calm down a bit?”

“Absolutely not. There’s still a lot of rules Y/N and I haven't broken yet, so many adventures and exciting moments to live.” Jisung smiled widely at you while Seungmin implored you with his eyes to stop him. Your gaze went from one to another without really knowing what to say and before you could, someone sat next to Jisung and typed on the table.

“What mischief are you going to commit today pals?” It was Chani, one of the chasers of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and a fellow 4th year.

“Hey Chani! Already done, Jaemin asked for a duel and I used Oscausi on him.”

“Oh I don’t know th-” Chani started.

“OSCAUSI? Jisung, are you crazy?” Seungmin got up so fast he startled everyone, including others around him.

“Don’t worry, he got his mouth back,” Jisung waved his hand with indifference, Jaemin deserved it after all. “Eventually.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, really.” Jisung and Chani just laughed at that and Jaemin unofficially became your target for a lot of future mischief.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

“I haven’t lost any points in days, maybe I should start to pay attention in arithmancy class.”

It was this time of the year where the air was so cold you just stayed in your or Jisung’s common room and studied to prevent boredom.

Jisung pulled his robe hood over his head and gently slapped you in the back of the head. “Transfigure this quill into a rat and put it onto Jaemin’s head.”

“I mean, yeah, that’s a funnier idea.”

You lost ten points for it but you found it so fun you were back on track until the next cold day.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

You always loved the Ravenclaw common room. You didn’t dislike the Slytherin one, but it was cold and unfriendly when you weren’t a Slytherin yourself. Plus you loved warm places. What you liked the most about the Ravenclaw common room was the domed ceiling painted with stars. You could literally watch it for hours until having to go to your own dorm to sleep. If you weren’t friends with Jisung, you probably would never have been able to lose yourself in the stars because you weren’t that close with Seungmin or Chani and you didn’t really know any other Ravenclaws.

You were currently lying down on one of the couches, your head on Jisung’s lap, helping each other revise (yes, it happens!) for the history of magic test about the goblin rebellions you would have the next day, more concentrated on the stars than the subject. It was calming and it helped you stress less about the tests.

“Where’s Muffin?” you asked out of nowhere.

It made Jisung flinch but when didn't he? Just like she knew her name, she appeared next to you, purring loudly. You put her on your belly and patted her head lovingly.

“Don’t forget she’s my cat,” whined Jisung as he closed his book and put it on the coffee table next to the couch.

You smirked. “Don’t be jealous cause she loves me more.”

The elegant Siberian cat got up and rubbed herself against your best friend’s chest, waving her tail on your face.

“You were saying?”

You rolled your eyes and opened your transfiguration book which was on the floor. It was going to be a long night and you’ll probably have to go back to your dorm after curfew. Bless the marauder’s map in those moments.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

The Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin was coming up and Jisung had to practice more than usual as the seeker. He was going to play against Changbin after all. They both were really good so you wondered who would win the match. Gryffindor had won the first match against Slytherin and Ravenclaw won the one against Hufflepuff thanks to Jisung’s agility and speed.

You always followed Jisung at his training, it was the only moments he wasn’t trying to break the rules. He was pretty serious about Quidditch actually, even if after each training since your 3rd year, you went to drink a mug of butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks with Chani. It was like tradition.

The day of the match, you cheered on your team and your friends, so basically both teams. The competitive mindset of the two seekers could be felt from afar, everybody knew the match was going to be intense. At the end, the score was 350-200 for Slytherin, because Yugyeom, one of the Slytherin beaters, sent a bludger on Jisung’s broom, causing him to spin around and allowing Changbin to catch the golden snitch. It was a good game and Jisung didn’t fall so it was a double win.

Of course you would say that cause you're a Slytherin.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

Ravenclaws shared the defence against the dark arts class with Slytherins so, naturally, Jisung and you were seated together.

“Hello everyone! Today’s lesson is about acromentulas.” As the professor proceeded with his lecture, you felt your strong partner-in-crime shiver in his seat. You looked at him and were surprised by how much he looked terrified of acromentulas, not that you could blame him, these giant spiders were scary as hell.

“You okay there, bro?” He didn’t answer and was so pale you thought he was going to faint. You tried to comfort him but he was frozen.

The professor, not giving a care about what was happening in front of his face, decided to show some photos of acromentulas and as if it didn’t trigger Jisung enough, he eventually showed a real one in a big cage. From what you’ve seen in your books, it was nearly a teen so it wasn’t that big compared to his adult size but it was still big enough to scare the hell out of Jisung. He literally fell off his chair and the sound made the professor pay attention.

“Jisung? What happened?”

“He’s really scared of acromentulas, sir. Can you please put it away?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

While the professor finally put it away, you helped Jisung sit back.

“You okay?”

“Not really. That shit’s so grim.”

“I know, take deep breaths. It’s gone, everything’s alright.”

His breathing was unsteady for a few moments but he quickly got his composure back.

“I’m sorry Jisung, didn’t mean to frighten you. Class’ dismissed. Except you, Jisung.”

Everyone left except Seungmin, who checked on his friend, Jisung and you.

The professor went to his office and came back with chocolate.

“Here, eat this, you’ll feel better. I didn’t know it was this horrifying for you.”

He accepted the chocolate and ate it slowly. “It’s okay, you couldn’t know. Arachnophobia isn’t cool.”

“I won’t show any spider in this class from now on, I promise.”

“Thank you sir.”

“You can go now, drink water and rest.”

As you left class, Jisung whispered in your ear. “I don’t need water, I need a good butterbeer.”

You both chuckled and, after saying bye to Seungmin who certainly left to go to the library to do his homework, went to the Three Broomsticks using the secret passage beneath the one-eyed statue by the stairs of your last class to drink one or two mugs of butterbeer.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

Two months before the end of the year, Jisung had the baddest yet boldest idea so far. It was remarkable how he never failed to impress you.

“I’m going to use this potion on Jaemin, he’ll definitely leave you alone after that.”

“He left me alone after I put a rat onto his head but suit yourself, bro.”

You were hiding behind stairs on the third floor, waiting for Jaemin to walk down. Jisung was holding his flask tight in his hand. When you heard people talking, you discreetly looked up and saw Jaemin. Jisung didn’t hesitate and before you could react, his flask was emptied on Jaemin’s head. His hair slowly stood on end but it wasn’t all, it also turned into candy apple red. He somehow added Colovaria to the hair-rising potion and you were about to congratulate him when you got a glimpse of Minho upstairs.

Jaemin left, horrified, to the nearest bathroom to see the damage while Minho was casually walking down the stairs. Jisung lost his smile when he saw him and swallowed hard. Once arrived at your height, he opened his mouth.

“Rules are put in place to prevent hundreds of magically gifted hormonal hazards from accidentally turning themselves into sharks or losing an eye, or provoking the wrath of a giant spider, or blowing themselves up, or whatever. But here you are, trying to break every single one of them.” You almost felt relieved he didn’t scream at you.

“Look, I’m stupid, okay? And stupid people do stupid things. That’s a fact.”

You could have laughed at his excuse if Minho wasn’t staring at both of you like he was about to end you. He wasn’t generally scary but he was a prefect so when you did something wrong… well, let’s say you better not be seen by him.

“Do you use this lame excuse every time you do shit?”

“My other excuse is that it was Y/N’s idea but no one buys it.”

You looked at him in disbelief. Of course no one bought it, you were more like his sidekick than the mastermind.

“Not surprising. Anyway, fifteen points from Ravenclaw. I would have taken twenty but adding a transfiguration spell to a potion was really clever.”

He asked Jisung for a favor, talking privately in the nearest classroom for a few minutes. Then Minho left and Jisung came back to you with a big smile and you high-fived him. The Marauders Map usually prevented incidents like this and he wasn’t near this place when you last checked the Map. Minho literally came out of nowhere.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ✿

On a fine and warm day, as Jisung and you successfully pranked Jaemin for the umpteenth time that year, he turned to you still laughing.

“You know what’s the strength of a duet? It’s to be two.”

“Thank you for your encouraging words. I now know you need me,” you winked.

The laughter slowly died down and the atmosphere became somehow serious. He sat on a bench and you joined him.

“Are you kidding? I’ll always need you.”

“Always? Sounds like a really long time,” you chuckled, more to tease him and put aside the fact that you need him just as much.

“Just wishing we’ll stay together forever,” he blurted out, his eyes concentrating on his shoes.

“You’re sweet. I would love that too.”

He lifted his head and looked you in the eye.

“Really? No need for the Imperius Curse then?” You blinked a few times, about to smack him when he smiled wildly. “Just kidding, I would never.”

“Anyway, go train for the match against Gryffindor, wouldn’t want Mark to catch the snitch before you, would you?”

“Won’t happen.”

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please let me know <3 and here's the masterlist!