#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

[ma1dita]

written all over your face

'between certainties and doubts' installment  part of the mean!remus agenda, aka a moment from a terrifyingly convoluted teenage situationship between remus lupin and an unidentified Hogwarts student (x fem!reader)  wc: 2k  a/n: the stupid map is almost mocking him now that school’s back in session. since when were you so popular…with everyone?? jealousy trope, some self-deprecation from remus as usual, surprise at the end. feel free to send requests for them!

—

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

are proud to present…

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

“Come on mate, you’ve been staring at that thing for hours—it still says the same thing,” James drones from his spot on the floor, “Or at least it should, last I checked.”

Silence is his response, and a paper ball that suspiciously looks like Peter’s Transfiguration homework hits the bridge of his nose, effectively breaking his reverie. He takes a glance down at the crumpled scribbles, and tuts.

“P, you spelled Grindelwald wrong. Two Ls,” he squints harder, “same with McGonagall—how’d you miss that?” 

“Listen Moony, I’m good at actual Transfiguration,” the blond groans as Remus passes the poorly straightened parchment back down to him, a pale cheek resting on the wooden foot of the bed, “jus’ dunno why we have to write so much about it. Maybe Minnie hates me and wants me to die.” James snorts at the notion, “Don’t say that Wormy, we’d be much less entertaining without you!”

“And far less entertained as well,” Sirius scoffs against his pillow as he wordlessly turns James’ hair different colors with subtle swishes of his wand—green, then blue, then red, before the bespectacled boy looks up and shrieks. Contrary to popular belief, James Fleamont Potter is much more touchy about his hair than Sirius is—being the heir to the Sleakeazy’s empire does that to you; not a hair out of place growing up in more ways than one. The noise distracts Remus from his earlier task and the furrow in his brow deepens as he taps the bewitched parchment once more with his wand.

Messr Padfoot would like Messr Moony to know that the special missus is still on her way to the Great Hall with Kingsley Shacklebolt, as she was the last time he checked five minutes ago. 

Remus’s eyes flicker toward the actual Padfoot currently lazily flipping through his stack of records for something to play.

Sometimes their charmwork was more perceptive than they were. The guilt eats at Remus whenever he closes his eyes—hiding the secret of you from the boys that have accepted him body, soul, and wolf makes his head hurt when he thinks too much. Which he always does.

And now he’s thinking about how he’s more worried about what their reaction would be—would they think him to be foolish? Unkind, for stringing you along, a forever so forbidden to him that Remus can’t even fathom what a future with you would look like.

He won’t let himself get that far. To do that would be a death worse than the fate he’s been handed for this life. But he’s not alone—and for now, that works completely fine enough.

He hasn’t been listening to the conversation, their chatter going in one ear and out the other, and James notices.

“I dunno, red might be a good look on me,” he chortles, “Whatcha think, Moony?”

The words are almost branded into the back of his brain for how long he’s been staring at this stupid map. 

It’s like it’s mocking him. 

Messr Padfoot thinks Messr Moony should just grow a pair and ask the bird out. 

Messr Wormtail agrees, and thinks that maybe she’d like flowers. Not button mums though, save those for when you go crying to mummy about how you waited too long and missed your chance.

Perish the thought—the magic taking form in the personality of his three best friends—his brothers, if he were ever fortunate to have any, ribbing at Remus’ misfortune of being so protective over a girl he can’t even call his. He’s been hogging the blasted thing since they got back for the start of fall term, and is starting to run out of excuses for why it’s still in his possession whenever he sneaks around Hogwarts. Prefect duty is barely an excuse since James got promoted.

“Remmy boy, are you even listening to a word we’re saying, mate?”

He shakes his head of the reverie he’s put himself in, the sounds of you cooing his name in the dark of night echoing in the blood that rushes through his ears (and other things). But to the boys—that was as much of a response Remus has given them in the past two hours. 

He’s too busy following the trail of tiny footprints with your name floating above it. 

Messr Prongs thinks Messr Moony is a right idiot and can’t believe that he’s gonna let a numpty like Shacklebolt steal his girl?

All of them groan playfully, eyes flickering among the three until suddenly, they dogpile onto the brunet who feels the added weight in the creaking of his bones (and his bed—this thing is about to smash into pieces).

“Blimey. Siblings or dating is what it looks like, is that what you want me to say?” Remus huffs frustratedly, a tangle of dirty socks and elbows in his face as he pushes them off one by one—Sirius somehow still makes a spot for himself, denim-covered arse on Remus’ pillow (which he’ll need to remind himself to change the sheets later).

“Who pissed in your cereal this morning, Moony? There will be ginger Potters running around one day, I’ll make sure of it!”

“Godric forbid, Prongs. Sounds like a threat!” Peter grins.

“Why are you here again? And making so much unnecessary noise? Don’t you have a swanky dormitory that you could be snogging your girlfriend in, Mr. Head Boy?”

“If I had that privilege, I’d take advantage of the amenities—” Sirius waggles his eyebrows to all of them then interjecting, “WE KNOW!”

Sorry, not Messr Moony’s girl. Since he gets so touchy about the specifics.

The parchment is plucked out of Remus’ reach, and with it, his intentions of finding out what exactly your business is with Kingsley Shacklebolt. And Edgar Bones. And Dorcas Meadowes and Pandora Rosier too, for the hell of it. Those girls have been glaring at him since passing the Marauders’ train car on the Hogwarts Express and Remus thinks they know something they’re definitely not supposed to.

Fuck, he’s really got to get his head on straight about what to do with you. A few ideas come to mind, the visage of you swathed in summer so far away from his reach now, when the future was something he could meld with his fingertips and kiss into your skin.

“I just miss the old times,” James says amidst the laughter that fills the cramped dormitory, “This, all of us—when everything was so much easier. Can’t blame a guy for wanting it all back now that the real world is creeping in on us.”

The comment almost evaporates into thin air, a moment of contemplation before Sirius and Peter are whacking him so hard with pillows that the down feathers sprinkle down overhead like freshly fallen snow.

For a moment it feels like back then.

And Remus finds himself missing moments he’ll probably never get again.

With no time for excuses, he snatches the cloak slung across James’ bag and storms out of there as fast he can. 

“Can I borrow this? Thanksmatebebacklater—Got something important to do!”

—

Remus’ pops out from behind a column and you swear there was no possible way he could’ve been there as you walked past seconds prior. 

“Merli—Mmf!”

The cool concrete makes you flinch as you’re backed into it and Remus is kissing you senseless, almost as if he has something to prove.

And laughter bubbles up his throat, spilling into your smile when he realizes you’re kissing him back. You can taste it off his lips, raw from being gnawed on and a smidge of chocolate he nibbled on his sprint here to make himself feel better

Kissing you has done that and more—soothing the aching feeling he’s had in his chest all week. You’re not pushing him away and clearly not stumbling into shadowy corners with anyone else but him. Remus is pressing you against the wall so firmly that if you were a ghost you might phase through it. But it’s delicious to be devoured like this, much more so when he does it like a man starved. He’s propping one of his knees between yours when you break away in a daze, lips swollen and slick that they mirror the candlelight twinkling off your eyes.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell has gotten into you?”

There’s a stupid smile on your face that has his name on it when he sighs so loudly it wracks through his whole body in a wave of desperation.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to get you alone these days?”

Blinking slowly, your eyes flicker back down to his lips with a smirk, and his index finger pushes your chin up so you look at him again, “Lovely, eyes up here.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I…” Remus shakes his head slowly at first, then rapidly as the insinuation sets in, “Am not!”

“You do know I have a life outside of you right?” You say crossing your arms cooly. The way your eyelashes flutter at him reddens his cheeks, being so easily caught in a lie. He used to be better at that—now he’s letting your fist wrap around his tie and tug him down like a lovesick fool.

Which he is not.

“Of course you do. I’m not at all bothered that I don’t have you to myself anymore,” he mutters through a scrunched face, “Go hang out with Bones some more, bet he’s dying to give you his o—” You squeeze his face in your hands, lips coming into a disgruntled pucker as you grin.

“Dunno, you sound pretty bothered, baby.”

Evil, evil witch. 

The pet names come easier for him but from you they’re a special treat—only used when you’re ruffling some feathers or when you get what you want out of him. Remus glares at you now, knowing he’d eat out of the palm of your hand if he wasn’t careful.

“You could have whomever you want,” he grits, scratching the nape of his neck, “Even the boys think so. I’ve heard them say it.”

“And unfortunately,” you peck his lips, “I want you. Can I please go to dinner now?” You sidle out of his warm grasp, narrowly avoiding the fingers that chase your hips as you swivel towards the other end of the hallway with a playful glance. 

“Besides, I’ve already kissed James,” you reveal with a grin as if nothing of the sort.

“WHAT?”

You were third-years and paired up for a Potions project and a conversation about his crush on Lily led to him spilling his guts about his mortifying fear of being too inexperienced for her. You told him you had never kissed anyone before either. The shared giggles led to an awkward and then very pleasant first kiss and then tentative snog in the Potions cupboard, a vial of powdered unicorn horn raining down iridescent sparkles.

Quite magical, for a bunch of fourteen year olds, but the less Remus knows is better. His jaw is clenched and if you weren’t sure before, he is definitely bothered now. 

“Two down, two to go—HEY!”

—

James sneezes quite unglamorously, like a foghorn, or an avalanche with a landslide rolling off his shoulders as they shake. And then another time, one that echoes straight into his girlfriend’s eardrum and Lily grimaces.

“Blimey, James. Cover your mouth!”

“I dunno, sweetheart! Just came over me,” he sniffs, pushing his glasses back up. Sirius leans over the table, knocking over a goblet of pumpkin juice straight into Peter’s lap, “Pads!”

“This girl I used to see always said if you sneezed twice, someone was talking shit about you.”

“With the record you four have, you’d all be sent to St. Mungo’s,” Marlene drones, flicking a spoonful of peas into Sirius’ hair. 

There’s an empty spot next to Peter, James notices, even if the boy is eating for two. Excusing himself, he steps out into the hall and blows his nose into a napkin from his pocket, pulling out the map as well.

A simple tap of his wand reveals the truth, his hazel eyes widening at the sentence that writes itself with no preamble.

Messr Moony is up to no good with a lovely Miss…

The letters of your name spell themselves out slowly, along with two pairs of footprints sharing a space in the corner of the parchment, and he cannot believe his eyes—but then the distraction leads to Filch confiscating the blasted thing for good.

“Mischief managed!”

—

[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

[bernthirst-events]

Hello Bernthirsters!

How have you been? Have you been running around like crazy after seeing Frank again? Cause we sure have. That scene was absolutely amazing! We know that like us, you've all missed Frank so much, and just like last time, his introduction back into the show blew us all away. That man sure knows how to make an entrance. That's why Frank's reappearance is the perfect opportunity for us to let you know that we're planning a new event for June.

During the previous event, we honored Jon's TV show characters, so this time, we are going to do the same thing but with his movie characters. Between The Accountant 2 and The Amateur coming out this year, we're sure that we'll have brand-new material to work with. But we also hope that you'll show some love to the characters that aren't talked about often enough. For the TV show event, we went for one character per day, but this time we're doing a bit more of a theme event, since there are more characters than week days.

Schedule: June 2 – June 8

Monday: Underrated

Tuesday: Iconic

Wednesday: Second Chance

Thursday: Sexiest

Friday: Best look/transformation

Saturday: Sweetest

Sunday: Favorites

Prompt Rules: These are subjective. When we say 'favorites' you can focus on either your favorite characters, scenes, movies, etc. and it applies to all categories. For the Second Chance prompt we want you to focus on those characters that had a less than fortunate fate, if you're a writer you could rewrite their ending. If you're an artist/gif maker you could tell us which character(s) you'd give a second chance.

Tumblr Tag: bernthirst movie madness

AO3 Collection: BernthirstMovieMadness

Posting Guidelines:

FANWORKS: You can create any type of art (Fanart, Fanfic, Gifs, Graphics, Videos, Photosets, Moodboards, Essays, Reviews, etc.)

DO I NEED TO SIGN UP? No, just enter at anytime during that week.

WHERE TO POST: On tumblr and/or in our Collection at AO3: BernthirstMovieMadness. (If you don’t have any of those and still want to participate, contact us, so we can find a solution.)

RULES:

All fanworks must be Jon Bernthal related.

All works must be new and by you.

Reposting/Reusing other users’ work is not allowed.

AI generated work is not allowed.

All ships are welcome.

No character or ship bashing.

Tag accordingly if your work contents tw.

Use the tag: bernthirst movie madness so we can see it.

CONTACT: Our asks are open. Or you can contact the mods— @anna-hawk​ or @darlingshane​.

[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!

[utilitycaster]

I really appreciate your thorough breakdowns of this campaign's end, because I fell off of watching live back in summer 2023 (personal reasons), and though I kept myself pretty up-to-date with subsequent events I eventually started thinking "I'll come back when interesting things start happening" and I just never seemed to find that point. Good to know I'm far from the only one pretty displeased with how things apparently left off.

To throw in my two cents, I think you're spot-on with your impression of what kind of people those who think this was a narratively satisfying ending are. Specifically, I think it's coming from the type of people who find certain characters (I'm sure you can guess who) extremely relatable—difficult childhood, and/or early adulthood trauma, and/or were taken advantage of in grief—but refuse to acknowledge the fact that recovering from these things requires choosing to personally put in effort to do so. They want these characters to be handed a perfect happy ending, no work required, no matter what, and so when those of us who find that unsatisfactory dare to voice that opinion it's a personal attack on them saying that they don't deserve to be handed joy without working for it, because if their favorite characters can have it, so should they. (Because fiction is reflective of reality, so clearly that's what that means, I guess.) It's frustrating because I'd had high hopes for Imogen and Laudna's story in the beginning of the campaign, but there was a point where I just couldn't put up with their deliberate stagnation anymore. Definitely could have been psychologically interesting, though.

(And, just to be perfectly clear, this isn't a dig at anyone in the cast or anything—I suspect this was a case of too much ambition from previous success leading to less careful planning all around. I'm admittedly not super clear on exactly what the deal was with all the gods in the finale, though, so it's entirely possible I'm missing something major.)

Thanks! And yeah that does really feel like it in the end. Like, it is a campaign that seems to mainly be enjoyed by excuse-makers who want there to be a reason why it's right and proper to enjoy it and that criticizing it is inherently bad and wrong. Like, sorry man, if you see a post in the wild from someone you've never seen before indicating a character you relate to is stagnant and childish and your response isn't to say "well, I believe that's untrue, I'll make my own post about this" or "I don't like this so I'll block them" or "hmmmm maybe they are stagnant and childish, but they are relatable for other reasons, which are:" but instead to complain to them about how they are judging you, a random person they've never spoken to, you are the problem! You are the one feeling judged by a stranger who doesn't know you exist and who has no power to do anything beyond say something mean to you, and instead of going "wait this doesn't fucking matter" you are demanding the world bend around you to your will, and playing the victim when the world says "lmao no."

Like, again, no one is actually defending the campaign meaningfully. They're coming up with excuses why they can't or they're coming up with incorrect reasons why critique is impermissible (that fortunately no one is listening to) - that it's improv, that it's happy, that people aren't couching their posts sufficiently in This Is Only My Opinion (this is not how reviews/crit works, eg this AV Club article on the Severance premiere does not have Saloni Gajjar say "this is only my opinion" at the top because anyone who is smart enough to engage with media criticism in the first place doesn't need to be told this; there is a reason we are treating people with disdain and that's because the very act of being bothered by people phrasing criticism without This Is Only My Opinion is an immediate sign you are, in fact, not smart enough to get on this ride). It's the same with the characters. They want something to have suffered enough to be beyond criticism, and the rest of the fandom has (correctly) rejected that paradigm entirely, and they have no way to counter anything head on.

And as for Imogen and Laudna...while I think many things in the campaign were flaws that went beyond them, they certainly were at the heart of several, and I think had their relationship been a genuine slowburn - had Laudna rejected Imogen and remained mad in episode 65, as Laura outright expected - it might have been something worth our while.

I do think the bulk of...not even blame, simply responsibility, rests on Matt, and I do think it's mostly stretched thin/burnout/not realizing how this concept required much more work than past campaigns did, and again, I don't hold it against the cast (their live show in Philly this December was great, the CRF one-shot was fun, the Assassin's Creed one-shot was fun, and EXU Divergence has been stellar) but yeah it didn't work very well.

[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!!!

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

The fact that Lapis, whose background resulted in interesting eating habits, doesn't have any supports with Bunet the Chef, Chloe the Folk Food Lover, Clanne the Pickle Maker, or Seadall the "my food must not affect my dancing" Fortune Teller is a crime against humanity. We missed out on so many interactions.

.

[suntamer]

oh, i couldn't not do this dragon age oc discourse thing that's going around. i haven't really chit chatted about one of them yet, so it's hilarious (but genuinely fitting) that this is your introduction to her. so, which of my dragon age ocs would encourage the most / the worst discourse, if they were part of the universe?

halva aeducan • she/her. dwarf. straight. epitome of an aeducan princess. extraordinarily sheltered in regards to the outside world before being stabbed in the back. still sided with bhelen over harrowmont. broke up with alistair rather than becoming his mistress, leading to him eventually sacrificing himself. hooked up with oghren in awakening.

verity hawke • she/him. human. lesbian. borderline abusive with carver, though he gives it back as good as he gets. would do absolutely anything for his other little brother, fortune, and isabela, even if it means endangering the people around her. violence is what he does best, and he's not afraid of leaning into that to inspire fear in his enemies. suri cadash • she/they. dwarf. bisexual. maker of many mistakes. former carta and all-around attack dog for her mother. forgave blackwall at the drop of a hat and bitched at anyone who doubted her decision. sacrificed stroud in the fade without missing a beat because she couldn't break varric's heart. portia valisti • she/her. human. bisexual. referred to as the flood for her grisly methods of bloodletting her marks. briefly engaged to lucanis dellamorte before his untimely "death," though she quickly fell into bed with his cousin not long after. looks past illario's faults more often than she should... unless he's crossing her. brutal. efficient. borderline alcoholic. idalia mercar • she/her. human. lesbian. magister. venatori double agent. aelia's controversially young girlfriend. she may be lying to the veilguard through her teeth, but solas doesn't have any power over her because she doesn't regret it. she doesn't regret anything, least of all her sun.

[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.”

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 4

series masterlist

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pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! none this chapter but the series will have eventual smut, canon-level violence and just general warnings.

It’s been a week since you and Anakin last spoke. Or even made eye contact, really. Everytime that your eyes accidentally lock, you both whip your heads the other way, awkwardly remembering the closeness between the two of you. You know it’s wrong— newlyweds shouldn’t be playing bashful lovers, but goodness, his mouth on your skin in such an intimate manner had lingered in your thoughts for far too long. 

You haven’t even trained since that first day, forced to attempt the moves in the shower or the privacy of your dressing room on your own. And though Anakin shares the bed with you, he sneaks in when he thinks you’re asleep and is sure to leave before you wake. 

Fortunately, you’ve been kept totally busy— the Sandtek Corporation has drafted a new agreement to supply Naboo’s military with modified Skyflippers, and as Queen, it’s your responsibility to read all of the agreement conditions before approving it. Unfortunately, it’s all piloting jargon, and it’s all flying over your head. You sit at the desk in the palace library with your head in your hands, groaning at the mess of paperwork before you before thumping your head on the polished wood. Reyna, your body double, is busy attending some publicity event— a celebration for the royalty thrown by the agricultural sector. Since you didn’t need to be doing anything there, it was decided that she’ll go while you look over the policies. You know the Separatists want you to agree to it, but you can’t for the life of you figure out why. After all, their entire mission is to weaken Naboo, bring it on the brink of collapse to sow their own seeds of chaos. There had to be something you were missing— exactly what was it? 

You’re still reading the paperwork hopelessly when the door to the library creaks open, and Anakin slides in, unaware of your presence. When he does finally notice you he freezes, the stiffness detected from the corner of your eyes. He holds his hand up quickly— likely that noise bubble thing he’d mentioned earlier— before he speaks. 

“Sorry for the intrusion, milady,” He says rather awkwardly. Anakin’s metal fingers trails against the books as he searches for something. “Just looking for a book.” You snort almost instinctively in response. 

“I didn’t know you could read,” you quip slyly, fixing your gaze on the papers before you as a smirk creeps across your face. Anakin remains in a stunned silence before a short chuckle escapes him, spreading to a full-bodied laugh as the awkwardness of the past week leaves the two of you. You’re both so desperate for companionship that it just makes sense. 

“Funny, milady,” he says, making his way to the desk. “Might I ask what you’re reading?” 

“Oh, Maker, what a good question, Anakin,” you sigh dramatically. “Something about skycraft.” At this, he perks up. 

“Skycraft? Might I take a look?” When you nod your approval, he comes to stand beside you, leaning over you as he looks at the blueprints for the modifications of the Skyflippers. “No, that’s not right,” he murmurs, grabbing the blueprints in his confusion as you watch him. 

“What is it?”

“These modifications, they’re… all in the wrong place for battle,” Anakin insists. “They’ve gone and reinforced all the parts that don’t need reinforcing, parts that skycraft can return back home with blast holes through them. Meanwhile, the combustive parts of the skycraft are left vulnerable. One well-placed blast and the whole thing goes boom.” Oh. That’s why they wanted you to approve it so badly.

“Shit,” you voice, to which Anakin nods. 

“Shit, indeed.” 

“Okay, how do you know all of this?” you ask, spinning the chair to face him. He smiles down at you cockily, and you almost want to laugh. 

“Well, my queen, if you must know, you’re looking at the best pilot in the entire galaxy,” Anakin says, bowing exaggeratedly when you giggle. 

“Is that so, Anakin Lars?” You tease. He holds a hand to his chest, affronted by the notion that he would lie about such a thing. “Well, then, come help me look over these papers,” you say, getting up from the chair to sit on the desk. Your legs dangle freely and you can’t help the overwhelming feeling of relief. Anakin talking to you again, and this whole mess of skycraft resolved? It’s a rare win, and it’s one that you’re going to relish as long as possible. 

You take the moment of peace to study Anakin, who’s poring over the agreement and leaving inky comments and scratches all over the paperwork. The bright sunlight streaming in from outside is softened by the wooden shelving of the room, bouncing and scattering and you’re reminded once again of how pretty Anakin is. His face is screwed in concentration, his tongue pressed against his teeth in a manner so endearing that you can’t help but smile. It’s nice to have a friend after so many years of loneliness. 

When he’s finished, he looks at you, beaming, and hands you the marked-up blueprint. 

“These modifications should actually help the defense sector,” Anakin confirms. 

“I’ll have to make sure I can submit the modifications without the Separatists realizing that I made the modifications,” you muse out loud. “We should create a new blueprint that seems to match this one, but actually reflects the modifications you made.” Anakin nods, rifling through the desk to produce a piece of paper identical to the blueprints and begins transcribing the design. You remain where you are, grabbing sheets of policy work and reading through it, occasionally plucking the pen from Anakin’s hand to use it for signatures. Anakin’s quick in realizing that he can help you with other work, and you share the work with him happily. 

“Y’know, Anakin,” you say as the two of you wrap up all of your work hours later, “It must get boring with nothing to do in the palace.” He nods in confirmation, stretching and sighing when his joints pop. “I wouldn’t mind it if you wanted to join me for my work,” you say with a slight smile. Anakin’s analytical mind impressed you, and you enjoyed not feeling so lonely. Maybe that was just a lot of words to say that you like having him around. 

You walk out of the library with him, the two of you sharing a smile that feels like a secret. Right now feels like a bubble that you want to put in your pocket to be able to pull out whenever you’re feeling blue. 

It’s a far cry from a friendship but there’s respect and trust, and that makes you feel safe for the first time in a long time. 

~~~

Anakin wakes up while you’re still asleep. 

Last night was… nice. The two of you ate your dinner in the grand dining hall, making pleasant casual conversation until your plates were bare, and had then gone to bed rather unceremoniously. But you thought he was smart. It was an incredible feeling, to have earned your respect by virtue of his interest in flying. And Maker, you looked so impressed when he had done all that work with the Skyflippers. It was kind of addicting, the sight of your approving smile. He can’t wait to impress you more and watch your face light up in excitement. Anakin can’t remember the last time he had truly earned someone else’s approval like that— it usually came as a default response to knowing he’s the Chosen One. Anakin thinks he likes this a lot better. 

He knows he should wake you up for training, as it’s been at least a week, but he doesn’t want to right now— for now, he wants to enjoy the quiet. You’re facing him as you sleep, and he’s careful to watch you in case you wake up, but you’re fast asleep, the rise of your chest slow and exhales soft. But he keeps staring, anyway. Anakin’s transfixed by the glow of your skin in the early morning sun, the tranquility of your face, the curve of your nose, the shape of your lips. You’re like artwork, and promises that he’ll only look at you for a moment longer.

Your hand is splayed out between his body and yours, and it almost makes Anakin feel like you’re almost reaching out to him in your dreams. Slowly, carefully, Anakin reaches to you, laying his palm flat on the mattress next to yours. His fingers are curled, but if he straightened them by just a hair, he’d be touching your hand. The thought of it makes his heart race wildly, and Anakin feels genuinely confused. He doesn’t know why that thought makes his face warm, but it does, and with every passing second he just wants to do it more and more. But he’s torn— why does it feel like a betrayal to Padme? His heart belongs to Padme, he knows that. And this is just a friendly gesture. It means nothing, he’s just so starved for touch that the brush of his pinky against yours would satiate him. Anakin breathes in deeply, mustering all his courage before he straightens out his fingers and his body positively hums at the subtle contact. Every doubt in his mind goes silent, all of his thoughts giving way for him to keep his fingers extended just enough to feel your warmth just barely against his. His hand trembles at the effort, but he forces it to stay like that, letting his eyes close as he finally surrenders to you. 

Anakin doesn’t keep track of how long he stays like this, listening to the soft sound of your breathing before you begin to rouse. He hears you but doesn’t move, keeping his breaths measured so that he thinks you’re asleep. He feels you pause when you see your barely-connected hands and his pulse pounds loudly in anticipation— will you rip your hand away? Or will you just move it so that it’s still in his reach but not touching him?

You don’t do either of those things. Instead, you sit up and move the blankets off of your body with your other hand, maintaining the position of your hand. Anakin has to fight to keep the smile off of his face, still pretending to be asleep. Your fingers flex slightly towards his before you move away, presumably to get ready for the day. But that action, subtle as it may have been, exhilarates Anakin. And though he can’t quite figure out why, he allows himself to enjoy the feeling, stretching his arm to brush where you’ve left a warm imprint in the sheets. He’ll get up soon, but he allows himself this luxury. There’s a lingering guilt, something about his feelings for Padme, which forces him to sit up and wrench his hand away. You step out of the bathroom now, the very picture of elegance and grace and it makes him feel even worse when you murmur a polite good morning with a smile tugging at your lips. He thins his lips in response and nods, heart sinking to his stomach when your smile falls and you nod, saying nothing of his distant behavior. He hates himself for pushing you away but his commitment to Padme still eats at him, even if it’s a labor of hopeless devotion. 

He can’t just give up on Padme. She was the love of his life. It would be wrong to treat you in any way that would hint on some sort of reliance— emotionally, all he needs is Padme, but he doesn’t even have that now. He can’t treat you as some sort of stand-in for her; you’ll never be her, and you’re just a companion, anyway. But it’s too soon to think of all of that. He’s still so distraught over her and he can picture her in your place, smiling and leaning against the door with her hair cascading past her shoulders. Padme. His love. His light. He’s so lost in the memory of her that he misses you calling his name repeatedly, forcing you to come over and jolt his shoulder to force him to look at you. 

“Anakin.” Your greeting is colder than how things were yesterday but Anakin doesn’t blame you. It’s better off this way, anyways. “Will you be helping me today with the paperwork?” And though Anakin wants to be cautious of getting too close with you, he nods, too fulfilled by having some sort of task to do to shoot down the opportunity. You smile at him before you turn to leave the chambers, snapping your fingers when you remember something. “Oh, and one more thing, Anakin,” you say. “I’ve been advised by some of the palace staff that it would be a good idea to arrange some sort of public outing, to show our faces to the public and solidify our relationship. I’ve decided to combine that with an advertisement for Sandtek, and since you’re a pilot, I decided to make that outing one where you can fly their Skyflipper. So….” you drawl, watching his face for his reaction. “I guess I’ll see you at noon, then.”

“See you then, milady,” he nods. 

Well, so long for distancing himself. 

~~~

The ride to the field is short, and you keep the silence filled with some tunes on the radio. Anakin recognizes it as the Max Rebo band and is surprised to see how much you engage with the music, tapping your feet and humming the parts that you’re familiar with. He finds it endearing, even if he associates the Max Rebo Band with the Hutts. He tries to mimic your carefree enjoyment, watching you from the corner of his eye and trying to nod his head to the beat. He likes how fun you are, and laughs to himself when you start humming the chorus a beat earlier than it starts. 

“You ever heard of the Max Rebo band, Anakin?” You ask, stretching your back against the transporter wall. He has, even heard them live in the Hutt Palace when he was very very young and Gardulla the Hutt held his mother and himself as a slave. But that’s a bit of a mood-downer so he chooses not to divulge that little tidbit. 

“They’re the most popular band in the galaxy. How couldn’t I have heard it?” He says. 

“Oh, y’know. I just kind of assumed that the Jedi don’t do anything fun,” you tease, making him grin. 

“As if you know what fun is,” Anakin scoffs, eagerly anticipating your reaction. The banter between you is fun, friendly. The way it should be between the two of you. He tries to wipe the feelings from this morning from his mind as he watches your face light up in playful offense. 

“Excuse me? I’m way more fun than you!” You proclaim, jabbing your finger at him. He notes that the transport is at its destination so he hops up from the seat, offering his hand for your disembarkment. 

“We’ll see about that,” Anakin grins. The doors of the transport hiss open and you stand with Anakin, hand in hand as you face the eagerly awaiting crowd. For some reason, with all of the eyes on you two, the intimacy of your hand against his is lost, and he wonders if he had just imagined what he’d felt this morning. Amongst the crowd is a gaggle of reporters, videoing the two of you. He realizes it must be Sandtek publicity, using the Queen’s endorsement to convince more people to buy their products or recruit more workers. Either way, effective. 

Anakin’s excitement takes over entirely when he sees the modified skycraft— it’s been so long since he was able to fly, and he can’t wait to show off his skills to you. He pulls you through the crowd, smiling and waving at them before he’s at the ramp of the Skyflipper. His racing heart excites him, makes him bolder and brash, so he turns around to face the reporters and swoops you off of your feet, carrying you bridal style and placing a kiss to your cheek. His strength makes it easy to carry you, and it’s worth it to see the shocked delight on your face. Good for the publicity, right? That’s what he tells himself, but he’s not sure how much he actually believes that. 

“Anakin, put me down!” you giggle once the ramp’s up, and it’s just the two of you. Anakin quirks a brow before he lets go of you completely, using the Force to make you hover just an inch before you would hit the floor. 

“C’mon, princess, your romantic date awaits you!” Anakin hollers as he leaves you there. He’s plenty of fun, and by the end of this date you’ll know that too. 

He makes sure that you’re fully strapped in before he begins your ascent, the familiarity of flying makes him feel at home. Before long, you’re coasting through the clouds in a peaceful silence as Anakin concentrates. You’re humming a tune aimlessly, drumming your fingers on your seat as you watch Naboo fly past from inside the glass paneling. 

“Oh look, it’s a herd of Shaak!” You gasp suddenly, awwing at the gentle beasts as they graze on rolling hills of lush green grass. Anakin thinks of when he’d gone to a place just like this with Padme, the painful memory cutting through his throat and he speeds past the fields. You fly past hundreds of fields, roads and villages, and Anakin can sense the emotions rolling off of you as you survey your domain and the vastness of it all. Your people. 

“This is why I love flying so much,” Anakin says quietly. “All of your problems don’t seem so important.” 

“It all seems so far away,” you sigh, exhaling on the glass and drawing little patterns in it with a light finger. He takes a second to look back at you in the seat— happy, peaceful, and it’s because of him, because of what he’s showing you with his skills. Anakin feels that familiar glow within him, one that he tries to tamp down but can’t stop the smile that he allows himself at the thought of making you happy. 

“Are you all strapped in, milady?” He asks, turning forwards again. Anakin routes the craft back to where your original transport waits; he knows you’ve spent enough time in the skies with him, 

“What tricks have you got up your sleeve?” You ask suspiciously, followed by the telltale click of metal sliding into metal that cues Anakin to speed all the way up. You shriek when the resisting force pulls your body back, watching everything become a blur as Anakin tests just how fast the Skyflipper can go. 

“Maker, Anakin!” You shout, laughing. 

“Oh, I’m not quite done yet,” He responds before making the plane spin upside-down. He flies the Skyflipper in quick, tight circles, laughing at your delighted noises. 

“Okay, maybe you do know how to have fun,” You admit as the skycraft touches down, your clothes in disarray from Anakin’s wild flying. You straighten them out as best you can and smile up at Anakin when he offers you his arm, the two of you walking out together. 

“A successful date, then?” He asks you, bringing his arm around you and kissing your temple sweetly in front of everyone. “A successful date, indeed,” you smile.