#flangsty??

[dreamsontheirway]

Review of The Obsession by Nora Roberts

[I listened to the abridged audiobook rendition of this novel]. "The excuse, not the reason."

I wanted to take a moment to express my appreciate and love for The Obsession by Nora Roberts. I did listen to the abridged audiobook of this version, but with how much I enjoyed it I may go back to read the unabridged.

My favorite genre is mystery and romance/suspense. I felt this book was the perfect balance of both. Sometimes it becomes obnoxious when a book has too much or too little of each genre. For me personally, I would much prefer the mystery plot to be attended to more so than the romance. I think this book did a great job of having the perfect amount of romance and "flangsty" romance throughout. There were minimal spicy scenes, (there might be more in the unabridged version?) and I prefer that personally. The romance between Xavier and Naomi is passionate, and she is not your typical "damsel in distress," and Xavier is not your traditional tough guy. If you like the sort of "protective" MMC vibe, Xavier fits the bill, but he is not possessive. He cares about Naomi deeply, and he will do whatever it takes to make sure she's safe. But Naomi would do the same for him and her family. I appreciate this equality between the two characters.

[Slight spoiler:] At the end of the book, Xavier saves Naomi from someone trying to kill her after being clocked in the head with a crowbar himself. Naomi later realizes that Xavier beat the man so bad that he had broken ribs, 2 black eyes, and was missing teeth. I appreciated how this was warranted violence, and how Xavier is not inherently a violent character. The mystery of the book is also very good. Although I did predict the identity of a big character at the end, it didn't feel too obvious. I found very myself surprised by other developments in the plot as well.

I would 10/10 recommend reading this book, or listening to it as I did! (Again, I listened to the unabridged, but I'm sure the abridged is good as well. The unabridged was already about 9 hours and the original is about 14).

xx, dreamsontheirway

[pathologicalreid]

if you love me, keep it to yourself | s.r.

[previously]

in which Spencer gifts you a necklace for your birthday and you begin to question why you continue to push him away

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (kinda flangsty) content warnings: blowing smoke part THREE, kissing, starcrossed lovers, spencer being interested in other girls, jealous!reader, maeve, reader has hair that covers her neck (?), circa s10, dancing, reader's birthday but the weather/time of year isn't mentioned word count: 2.24k a/n: i meant to post this earlier but i got distracted by animal crossing. my bad.

You shifted your feet again, wary of your heels slowly digging into the dirt behind Rossi’s house—mansion. You folded and unfolded your hands, waiting for something to happen while everyone’s attention was on you.

In true BAU fashion, they’d thrown you a birthday party despite you insisting that you didn’t want one, which left you in a party dress, sitting on the outdoor furniture and watching the way the stars glimmered this far away from the city. Exhaustion wore at you like waves, waiting for an acceptable time to abandon the festivities.

They surrounded you. All of your friends minus Kate, who had gone home early to spend time with Meg, and yet, it still felt like there was a piece of you missing. Something inside of you had been chiseled away with an ice pick, and the raw flesh stung with fresh hurt when Spencer stood in front of you.

“Do you want to dance?” He asked you softly, providing you with a false sense of protection from prying eyes. Spencer’s brown eyes glowed beneath the warm string of lights, studying your appearance as if it was the first time he’d seen you all night.

His hands were tucked into his pockets, and you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, feeling cold despite the heated patio you were sitting on. “No one else is dancing, Spence,” you told him, watching as he took your rejection for what it was.

Spencer turned from you, walking along the path to the gazebo, minding the gaps between the stones as he hung his head. You watched him smooth his suit jacket as he looked up at the same sky that you’d been keeping an eye on, waiting for it to fall.

Someone cleared their throat beside you, and you glanced over to see Dave giving you a disappointed look. “Now,” he started, “I hope I’m not overstepping when I saw this, but if you keep holding him at arm’s length, eventually he’s going to walk the other way.”

You slid further down on the chair you were perched on. He was overstepping. Overstepping so far that his foot was going to slide off of the edge of the world. Part of you wondered if you were watching it happen right now, if Spencer was finally turning and walking away from you for good, but as you eyed him from the patio, he peeked over his shoulder, looking to see if you had moved to follow him.

That was your cue. Pushing yourself to your feet, you wrapped your shawl over your shoulders and followed the cobblestone path that would lead you to Spencer. Your heels tapped gently on the old stone until you halted at the entrance of the gazebo, holding a hand to the worn wood column to keep yourself steady. “Hey,” you greeted, an involuntary smile flying to your face when his head lifted at the sound of your voice.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered. Your proximity to the team was no longer a concern of yours, but the two of you still chose to speak in quiet truths. Using small voices sometimes seemed to quell the gravity of your situation. Two people in love who would never be able to find their way together.

You wanted to move on from stolen kisses in bars and tears shed in your apartment, but every time you looked at him, you were struck with the memory of years past. You thanked him, conscious of the tentative peace between you. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and his hair had grown considerably since the last time you stood opposite each other like this, but he was still Spencer.

His tie was crooked, and you put your hands behind your back as if to physically restrain yourself from fixing it for him. Besides, there was something about his crooked tie that made him undeniably Spencer—it was so endearing that it built a pit in your chest. “I got you something,” he spoke again, digging in his back pocket for something.

Your breath caught in your throat when he produced the dainty chain; a simple necklace dangled from his fingers and without giving it a second thought, you lifted your hand and took the chain from him. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, wondering where Spencer acquired the skill of picking out jewelry.

“I don’t see any dancing,” Rossi heckled from the patio, and as if he was controlling you, the two of you took a step toward each other.

You were toe to toe; goosebumps spread across your skin while Spencer’s hand splayed across the small of your back. You set your free hand on his shoulder, the other one dedicated to clutching your new necklace as if your life depended on it. “We don’t have to dance,” he offered to you, still whispering as if Rossi had bugged the gazebo.

Shaking your head, your face warmed when someone turned the volume up and the rest of the team retreated to the indoors. “You like to dance,” you countered, swaying gently with the music.

Every bit of coordination that Spencer lacked with sports, he made up for with dancing. His mom taught him when he was a kid. At least, that’s what he’d told you years ago. “I know I do, but… I was really just looking for a reason to get you away from everyone so I could give you your gift.”

Squeezing his shoulder, you smiled despite yourself and shrugged, “I like dancing with you, Spence.” You wanted to slip something in about being a good friend, but you bit your tongue. He’d just given you a necklace, and you knew better than to push him away now.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in response, “We could dance all the time if you’d go out with me.”

Your steps faltered, you would’ve tripped over your own feet if Spencer wasn’t there, keeping you upright. “I thought we were past this,” you said after regaining your balance.

“I never will be,” he responded immediately. “Can I be honest?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you looked up at him, “If you must.”

“When you told me ‘not right now’ in that bar last year, I didn’t anticipate it taking this long,” he told you, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t mind waiting for you, but part of me was worried that you forgot.”

“I remember,” you assured him. “I told you I’d let you know, and I will.”

Spencer laughed nervously, the gold glimmering in his irises under the faint lights of the gazebo, “You wouldn’t happen to have a timeline for me, would you?”

Your smile returned to your face; he pulled you closer to him with the flat of his palm on your back. “How was your date with that surveillance agent?” You spun the conversation around, acting as if you didn’t remember Dorian’s name. They’d gone out for coffee, and you recalled being in a particularly rotten mood that day.

He hummed thoughtfully, “I don’t think we’ll see each other again.”

“Oh,” you feigned surprise, “Why not?”

“She’s not you,” he answered easily, maintaining his façade that you were the only girl in the world—at least as far as he was concerned.

You rolled your eyes, “You’re going to have a hard time finding someone to go out with if that’s your prerequisite.” You tried to resist the flattery that his words brought to you. Your heart clenched at your brain’s outright refusal to accept him.

He shrugged, “I don’t want anyone else.”

Your feet stopped, pausing the dance, “Spencer…”

Spencer shook his head dismissively, “I’m tired of dancing around each other.”

Looking around, you spotted the bench in the gazebo. You nodded in the structure’s direction, “Did you want to sit down then?”

He glanced over his shoulder to the bench, “I was speaking figuratively.”

“Ah,” you breathed. “Well, how do you think we should move forward?” You let him lead you over to the bench, minding the way the curtains of the house moved—a sign that your friends were eavesdropping.

His eyes flickered down to your hand. Your fist was clenched around the necklace that he had gifted you. “You could start by wearing the necklace,” he proposed, taking your hand in his.

Spencer cradled your fist, peeling your fingers away from your palm one at a time before revealing the pendant. “Why don’t you put it on me?”

Plucking the chain from your hand, you turned away from him, lifting your hair from the back of your neck so he could have a clear view of the clasp. His fingertips touched your bare skin ever so slightly when he released the necklace.

You were so close. You were so close to calling everything off and telling him you were ready, but when you turned around and met his eyes, you saw it again. You looked into his eyes and saw the terror. The vague sense of haunting that had been there since the day Maeve died still bloomed in his irises.

You’re not sure why you spoke again, but he had given you something. You felt inclined to return the favor. “Do you know the first time I knew I was in love with you? I mean really knew that I was in love… It was the case right before Emily joined the BAU—the first time. There were two killers operating in St. Louis at the same time, and you had found their communication in the classifieds. It seems so insignificant looking back at it now, but there was something about the way you explained it to me. I realized it wasn’t just that I was impressed by your brain, but I was in love with you.”

He's silent for a long time, and you know why. You’ve never told him you loved him. There had never been a moment before this where you’d truly confessed your love for him, and yet, he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. “That was eight years ago,” he croaked, his voice suffocated by turmoil.

“I know,” you breathed. Your voice was so soft that you weren’t sure he’d hear you, but he did. Spencer always heard you.

He took a deep breath, looking at you frantically like he was waiting for you to take it back, “You never said anything.”

You nodded, “I know.”

“I—” he faltered over his feelings. “I wish you’d said something to me years ago. We’ve missed so much time together.” His words implied that there was a new sense of togetherness now. It wasn’t as easy as being in love with each other, you knew that.

Shaking your head, you dropped a hand to the bench you were sitting on, the wood soft with years of occupants. “I don’t know, Spencer,” you shrugged, tracing the woodgrain with your fingertips. “I’ve seen the other girls over the years. I never thought you’d be interested in reciprocating my feelings.”

He frowned, “Other girls?” His hand caught yours on the bench, enveloping your hand with his warm, nimble fingers.

“JJ, Lila, Austin, Maeve,” you listed, redirecting your focus to the ridges of his hand. You wanted to commit each crease and swirl to memory before he inevitably dropped your hand.

Surprise lit up his face, cocking his head to the side while he looked at you patiently, “None of them are you.”

She’s not you. None of them are you. His words echoed around the confines of your skull like a ping-pong ball. “You keep saying that like it means something.”

“It means everything to me,” he insisted. “You mean everything to me.”

His ice pick had returned, chiseling at your resolve like you were running out of time. “They’re just words,” you said desolately, the dainty chain around your neck applying pressure like shackles on your shoulders.

“Can I ask you a question?” As expected, he withdrew his hand from yours, leaving your palms empty, begging for more.

You hummed, bringing your hands back to your lap, “Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

Slowly, he slid off of the bench, kneeling in front of you while he took both of your hands in yours. “You’ve built your walls up so high, how do you know if you’re protected or imprisoned?”

Freezing, you gave yourself a moment to process his words before you tilted your head down in shame, “I’m not entirely sure anymore.” Your confession came as a surprise to both of you. You swallowed thickly, leaning over to be closer to him, “but I think I’d like you to kiss me again.”

Not needing to be told twice, Spencer craned his head forward and pressed his lips to yours. He rose to his feet, cradling your cheeks, he held you like water in his hands. He kissed you and it was just as sweet as it had been the first time, pulling away slightly, he whispered I love you against your lips.

That was all it took for you to drag yourself away from him. Three words that you’d waited a decade for, and all you could get yourself to say was, “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” He asked breathlessly.

Frantically, you stood up and smoothed out your dress. “It will be,” you offered. You headed back to the house, leaving Spencer—and your heart—behind.

"All suffering originates from craving, from attachment, from desire." - Edgar Allen Poe

[luveline]

omg i love ur pregnant reader x hotch esp the flangsty ones…

maybe him and reader get into a little argument and the fighting plus the hormones plus the constant discomfort makes her leave to stay at a friend’s house for “space” (maybe someone in the bau hehe) then he shows up and grovels and they kiss and make up <333

ty for requesting! —hotch and pregnant!reader make up after a fight (neither being quite as mad as they’d claimed).

“Your boyfriend’s outside.” 

You raise your tired head from the couch cushion. “Who?” 

Morgan grins at you. “Hotch, mama. He’s at the door.” 

Hotch is your husband, not your boyfriend. You’ve got the ring to prove it. 

“You didn’t let him in?” 

“He said you might not want to see him.” 

You want to see Hotch more than you’ve ever wanted to see another person. It is absolute torture to be so heavily pregnant with someone’s baby and to worry they don’t want you anymore. If he’s here at such a late hour, he must’ve forgiven you for being grumpy. Right? 

You sit up and let Morgan help you into a standing position. He pulls your blanket tight around your shoulders. “Should I let him in?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You drop your voice to a whisper, “But don’t let him know I’m eager.” 

He gives you a knowing smirk. “Course not. Stay here, okay? I’ll bring him in.” 

Morgan starts back down the hall. You stand in his living room wondering what Hotch is gonna say, if he’s still mad, if you’re still mad, and if he’s strong enough to carry you back to the car. You don’t wanna sleep in Morgan’s bed, as much as you love him. You want your bed, your Hotch, his baby boy snoring in the room across the hall. You love your life (most of the time, when you aren’t carrying the weight of a bowling ball on your abdomen and the hormones aren’t making you sick). 

“Hello,” Hotch says, still in the suit he’d been wearing when he got home that evening, strangely and obviously nervous where he stops in the doorway. 

“Hi. Where’s Jack?” 

“He went with Jess. I needed to talk to you.” 

“Could’ve brought Jack.” 

“I didn’t want to upset him if you stayed here.” 

You nod. Hotch —who’d cringe if he knew you still called him that in your head, though it’s the name he went by when you fell in love, so what are you supposed to do?— gestures for you to sit, not demanding, only concerned. “It’s late,” he says. 

You can’t be bothered to lower yourself awkwardly into the cushion nest you’d made. “Morgan offered me his bed. He has a California king.” 

“But you stayed on the couch.” 

You glare at him half-heartedly. “Maybe I was watching TV.” You’d been waiting for him to call, but it’s not his business.

He doesn’t seem perturbed by your reaction. He's about to apologise anyways. “I’m sorry for getting mad. I know how stressed you are, and I should’ve done better.” 

Your glare softens. 

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he furthers, the ever present pinch of his brows particularly severe. His eyes are dark like clouds full to bursting with rain. 

You don’t want to say it’s okay. You want him to cross the room and cuddle you up like you’re fragile, the way he does, his nose pressed to your temple as his hands grasp up your achy shoulders. 

“I’ll be better,” he says. 

“You really wound me up, you know? I already feel like I have cabin fever.” 

His eyes cast over you, sympathetic and sorry down to your stomach and up again. He’s pleading without speaking. 

You’re not mad anymore, anyhow. “Can you do that thing for me, please?” you ask quietly. 

Hotch crosses the distance between you and encourages you into his side and under his arm. Careful, he bends into your back, pressing his hand under the round bottom of your bump and pulling up. It takes some of the weight from your hips and spine, alleviating a certain heavy pain and discomfort, while also closing the sour gap between you both. 

“Aaron,” you say, a little shy, mostly relieved, “you should’ve brought Jack. You know I’ll come home if you ask me to. I wasn’t even that mad by the time we got back here.” 

His breath is a shudder by your ear. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” You look out toward the hall. “Where’s Morgan?” 

“He said he’d go for a walk.” 

“He's a good friend.” 

“He’s a great friend,” Hotch agrees, rubbing the side of you with his other hand before he pulls away completely. “He told me you can always sleep over when I’m acting like your drill sergeant.” 

You laugh under your breath, leaning in with arms held up to slide over his shoulder. He lets out a sigh as your chests touch, your bump smushed, like he’s finally been cut from a trap. To think he’d be so clearly relieved at having your forgiveness has you emotional all over again, but not with the same red passion you’d been angry with before. “I’m your drill sergeant,” you mumble into his shoulder. 

“You’re my sweetheart,” he says, so quiet you’re sure it wasn’t him, so out of character to admit something like that on a random day. There’s a hint of joking under it, but enough sincerity simultaneously that you melt in his hold. “You are, and I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t sleep in your own bed.” 

“It’s not like I’d have been put out. Morgan’s got a California–”

“So you’ve told me.” His palm stays flat to your back, his fingers patting you gently. His voice mellows into that silken gentleness to match, the tone that drew you in and has you in such a terribly emotional position to begin with. “I couldn’t leave you here. I know you’d be more than comfortable, but I couldn’t sleep the night without you.” 

“Imagine how I feel when you’re away.” 

“I know. I know.” He kisses the skin shy of your eye. “Should we go and get Jack before bedtime?” 

“Can we get something to eat, too?” 

His answering smile is a curve on your cheek. “Mm-hm,” he hums. “Let me just say thanks to Morgan. Then we can go wherever you want.”

[dracowars]

knight in shining armour | elrond

pairing: elrond x elf!reader

word count: 5,5k

summary: where elrond and y/n have to make fatal decisions in war

a/n: i'm having so much fun with writing in this universe i haven't had in a long time (with writing in general) and i think that's beautiful <3 season 2 elrond really did it for me, so i hope you enjoy this flangsty fic. don't forget to reblog and give feedback, it means the world to me ♡

warnings: angst, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries, miscommunication (kind of), elrond kisses galadriel

universe: the rings of power

You hold your breath once you step into the dimly lit tent, teeming with orcs and their smells. Carefully, you place one foot in front of the other, never taking your eyes off the enemy who is currently watching three elves enter its territory. Amidst all these orcs and darkness, you couldn't stand out less in your polished white armour.

You follow Vorohil who is walking directly behind Elrond, and quickly spot the Father of the Orcs sitting on a makeshift chair that almost resembles a throne. Your gaze doesn't linger on him for long, however, because something or someone else catches your eye. Galadriel is standing right behind him, tied up and leaning against a post. Her eyes widen when your gaze meets and everything in her face screams for you to not be here, to turn around and leave again immediately. But you are here to help her, to free her from the clutches of the enemy, from the claws of evil. And you won't leave without her.

One of the orcs tells Elrond to sit opposite Adar, and he does as he is told with so much confidence you hardly recognize the sweet, curious boy behind the mask. Vorohil positions himself to his left, you stand on his right, ready to step in at any time should something go amiss.

You are more than aware of your situation: right in the mouth of the enemy whose teeth could pierce your flesh any moment, with absolutely no escape. Should this turn out to be a trap and part of Adar's plan, you have stepped right into it. Yet, Elrond insisted on not bringing a weapon of his own. You, on the other hand, have hidden daggers all around your body that you could pull out in the blink of an eye if the situation arises.

Even though all eyes are on Elrond, you still feel uncomfortable. You have never been this close to orcs before without fighting them at the same time.

"The ring you carry. Show it to me", Adar opens the conversation, and you inevitably flinch. Of course he shows interest in the ring. Like all of Middle-earth, it may seem.

"A foolish act if I had brought it here", Elrond answers in a firm voice and appears calm and collected, stoic almost, one arm draped over the armrest.

Adar's expression tells you that he is less than satisfied with this answer. What he doesn't know, however, is that the ring is closer to him than he thinks possible.

Its metal presses cold against the skin between your collarbones, your heart thumping loudly at the mention of it and your mind drifts back to the moment when it was handed to you.

'You shall have it', Elrond tells you, wearing that gentle smile on his lips that always adorns his features when he's around you, that makes your heart beat faster every single time. He places Nenya in your palm and when the light reflects in its beauty, you gasp. This small ring, inconspicuous at first glance but incredibly beautiful, contains a power you can't and don't even want to imagine.

'No, Elrond. I can't', you whisper, afraid that your voice might break. He now clasps your hand with both of his and gently closes your fingers around the piece of jewelry.

'My love. I wouldn't trust anyone else to keep it safe', he tells you with so much confidence and affection in his voice that you can't help but believe his words. The way he stands in front of you, his brown locks falling into his face, his eyes clear and bright, and holds your hand tightly leaves no room for further discussion. He trusts you with this power and you won't fail him.

'You can consider yourself a ring bearer now', he smiles, gently guiding your fist to his mouth to place a light kiss on top of it, his other hand cupping your cheek while doing so. His eyes linger on your lips for a second too long, but before you can say anything, he is summoned to the High King.

"It was Celebrimbor himself who welcomed Sauron in. You cannot save him. You can save Galadriel", Adars voice brings you back to the present. The circumstances you find yourself in make it hard to believe his words. He won't let Galadriel go willingly and Elrond will never give him the ring voluntarily. Since it is in your possession, you don't plan on handing it over either. No matter how much more danger that puts you in.

"It is an earnest offer. I suggest you take it", Adar continues, staring solely at Elrond from across the table, and stands up from his seat. "And leave Sauron to me."

The mention of this name sends a shiver down your spine. A name that describes pure evil. It is obvious from the way Adar says his name that he feels as much hatred towards him as the elves and all other inhabitants of Middle-earth. It makes you a little suspicious, after all, Adar was once a loyal servant of Sauron.

Once more, your gaze slides over to Galadriel when Adar walks around the table. One of the orcs holds his sharp weapon against her throat, a sign to not even think of making a wrong move. It is known that Galadriel was deceived by Sauron, or Halbrand as she used to call him, which is why her face reacts to his name, too.

She whispers something and you try to read her lips, but you don't get a chance when Adar suddenly stands right in front of you, blocking your view. Although he is still talking to Elrond, his full attention is now solely on you.

"You must know you cannot defeat me in battle. I will outmaneuver you, my forces outfight yours, and you will fall", Adar spits out, searching your face for any signs of fear, but you hold your ground and present him with your best death stare in return. But inside of you, it looks much different. Chaos rages within your mind and veins, your heart is beating so fast that it's pounding in your ears and Nenya is pressing painfully against your skin. You send a prayer to the Valar that Adar won't suspect anything, that he can't see behind the mask you've put on. Because you don't know how much longer you can keep it up, especially not under his relentless gaze.

Adar takes another step towards you and you can now feel his breath on your skin. Since he knows that you cannot resist him at the moment, he uses this to his advantage. His eyes search your face, but you cannot say what exactly they are looking for. Whatever it is, he doesn't find it.

"You will fall and all your little elves with you", he says in a calm voice, but his words are filled with hatred. At this, Elrond suddenly raises from his seat as well and positions his body between the two of you, enabling you to finally breathe again, your heartbeat slowing with relief.

"Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black with the blood of your kin", Elrond tells him, briefly looking over to the orc whose blade is still at Galadriel's throat. His hand behind his back indicates that you should remain calm. Some of the orcs around you growl.

"My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud."

"Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely, Adar?", Elrond confronts him, his words sounding accusatory. "Are they?"

Peaking over Elrond's shoulders, you see a clear shift in Adar's face, in his eyes. Apparently Elrond has struck a nerve with his words, the orcs becoming more and more restless as well.

"The ring for Galadriel's life. What is it to be?", Adar once again presents him with the tough decision, to choose, to pick one and let the other down. Before answering, Elrond closely walks past Adar, drawing his attention away from you and what it is he desires most. From your position, you only see Elrond adjusting his cloak before he casts another glance at Galadriel. Their eye contact lasts almost a moment too long before he then returns his attention to her captor.

"Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours", Elrond tells him, his deep voice making it sound like a threat. The orcs around you begin to seethe and snarl again and all of a sudden you are very aware of the dagger strapped to your shin, hidden beneath the leather of your boots.

"Very well. I will meet you there", Adar replies, his voice carrying a tinge of amusement after he gave him a once-over. And for a moment you think he actually agrees, that this decision can be made without shedding any blood, no matter red or black. That is until he finishes his sentence.

"With her head on a pike."

You want to step in, to say something, anything to help get Galadriel and the ring out of here, but you don't even know what. And you don't want to risk putting Elrond in danger by acting rashly. That is why silence ensues for a moment while Adar and Elrond just stare each other down challengingly, neither of them backing down or even thinking about giving in.

"If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell", Elrond finally answers him, causing a gasp to escape your lips as you unintentionally take a step forward. But Vorohil stops you by putting his arm out in front of you, preventing you from doing something you might regret later.

You can't believe what you're hearing, what just left Elrond's mouth. Galadriel, on the other hand, seems just about pleased with this decision, because it means that no one will be harmed because of her. At least no one who is currently present in this tent.

To your surprise, Adar grants him this favour and lets him talk to Galadriel one last time. All eyes are on them, but you can't hear what they say to each other; their voices too quiet. You watch in disbelief, however, as Elrond softly touches her face and suddenly leans in to her, connecting their lips in a gentle kiss.

All of a sudden, you find it difficult to breathe. You distinctly feel your heart breaking in two. The tent feels too small, too cramped, and tears well up in your eyes. No longer able to bear the sight, you lower your gaze, clenching your hands into fists at your sides. Although no one should be looking in your direction at this moment, it does not go unnoticed by Adar. He notices the pain in your eyes and in your entire life you have never felt so at the mercy of the enemy as you do right now.

You thought there was something between you and Elrond, a mutual, deep understanding that connected you. When by his side, you felt safe and loved. Until now you thought he returned that feeling and that there could be something more between the two of you, one day.

Apparently you were wrong.

It may have only been a few seconds, but for you it feels like several agonizing minutes before Elrond and Galadriel separate again. As soon as Elrond turns away from her, your eyes meet and a sharp pain ripples through your body, as if someone had stabbed you directly in the chest. Elrond's eyes are sad, suffering almost, and he looks at you with so much pity that you wish to disappear into thin air.

Elrond blinks a few times before making his way straight out of the tent.

"Vorohil. Y/N", he calls out your names, a silent command to follow him. Your gaze meets Adar's again who is watching you with his head tilted as you leave the tent together. You entered it as one, as a unit, but you leave it shattered.

You follow them out, the sun blinding you, but due to the tears you are still trying to hold back you couldn't see much from the beginning anyway. The orcs swarming around you aren't at all helping with the chaos that are your emotions.

You fall behind the two men. As if you were in a tunnel, you hear Vorohil bombarding Elrond with all sorts of questions in the distance. Questions whose answers are no longer important to you.

When they stop in front of you, you almost crash into them, too busy with all the thoughts swirling around in your head.

Was it all just a lie, a plot? Was he just using you to protect the ring? To have someone to sacrifice?

Your common sense tells you that this simply cannot be true, that Elrond has not been leading you astray and that what you feel for him is reciprocated inside of his heart. But your broken heart painfully beats in your chest and tells you something completely different.

You watch as Elrond mounts his horse and gives Vorohil an order, but the words do not reach your ears. You only see him in front of you, a knight in shining white armour, the sight of whom used to give you so much joy, made your heart beat faster and your cheeks blush. In the tent, you were willing to take a blade for him until the very end, but everything is different now.

Elrond's gaze wanders from Vorohil to you and all the sadness from before has disappeared from his face, replaced by a neutral expression. The expression of a warrior on his way into battle.

"Meantime, I will ensure that Eregion's walls hold for one more night", you finally register his words as he looks straight at you. Without another word, he puts on his helmet and rides away. An unspoken order hangs in the air and you swing yourself onto your own horse. After all, he is still your commander, whom you will always follow into battle, come what may.

════════════

Your legs are shaking, your hands sticky, covered in blood and mud. Your movements are shaped by exhaustion. Nevertheless, your blade sinks into the flesh of another orc who falls to the ground with a gurgling sound. With all your strength, you pull out your sword and stumble back a few steps, your gaze wandering over the battlefield in front of you.

Corpses over corpses scatter the ground. Some brave warriors are still fighting against the few remaining orcs, but there is no way out. You have lost, Eregion has fallen. You are shocked to realize that you have lost so many elves today, friends and strangers alike.

This realization hits you with so much force out of nowhere and you collapse to the ground, onto your knees, and let out a scream filled with pain and sorrow and all of your remaining strength. You fought, side by side, and in the end it was all for nothing. The forces of Adar have taken you by surprise and no one was prepared for the chaos that would ensue. Now you find yourself in the mud, surrounded by the dead, the last sounds of battle wafting towards you, and you feel utterly and completely alone.

You lost sight of Elrond since the troll's attack and Arondir is nowhere to be found either. Just thinking of Elrond gives your wounded heart another stab that cannot be compared to any wound inflicted in battle. Ever.

A tear finally finds its way down your cheek, but you are quick to wipe it away with your dirty hand. You can't show weakness, not even now when you feel incredibly overwhelmed. You don't even know if Elrond is still alive, and you scold yourself for still worrying about the man who took your feelings for granted.

But of course you do, you love him.

You don't know if it's the ring still around your neck or your instinct, but something tells you to look toward the fallen walls of Eregion, to get one last look at the once beautiful city. And there you see him.

Elrond.

Kneeling.

In front of Adar.

Without hesitating for even a split second, you gather all your strength and stand up. You approach them quickly and watch as Elrond attacks Adar with his dagger, but Adar parries his attack by violently grabbing his arm. With a whimper, Elrond drops his weapon. You stand still as Adar's hand closes around Elrond's throat and lifts him above the ground, choking him. The sounds that escape from Elrond's mouth will haunt you in your dreams.

"Where is it?!", Adar shouts at him, losing his composure. Elrond's hands claw at his, trying to somehow prie them away, but to no avail. The battle has left Elrond weakened. Adar, on the other hand, seems to have gained more strength from it. At that moment, Elrond spots you, and even though you only look at each other for a second, Adar immediately notices Elrond's shift of attention. He turns his head in your direction, and if you didn't know better, you'd think surprise flashes across his face. Apparently he didn't expect to ever see you again.

"Let him go", you command, your voice trembling and your sword pointing at him.

"Or what?", Adar asks spitefully, raising an eyebrow. Not knowing how to answer, you look at Elrond again.

"G-Go", he chokes out.

You look at him in shock and immediately shake your head. You would never leave him behind. Adar follows this encounter with interest and with a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth when something dawns on him. The next moment, he pushes Elrond to the ground forcefully who desperately gasps for air.

You want to rush to his side immediately, but Adar draws his own sword and pushes the tip directly against Elrond's throat who is still gasping for air and hasn't even managed to sit up.

You freeze when you see blood.

"So that's how it is, I understand", Adar murmurs loudly, seemingly amused by something. Then, he reaches out his open hand towards you, catching you by surprise.

"The ring. Or he's dead."

Your eyes inevitably widen, but you no longer have the strength to put on a mask and hide your true emotions. And in doing so, you put everyone in danger.

"D-Don't listen t-to him", Elrond stutters, his eyes full of terror when he meets your gaze. He is not afraid of dying. He is afraid that the ring will fall into the wrong hands.

You gave him your promise. When you accepted the ring, you simultaneously promised that you would protect it with your life. And you still stand by that.

But right now, this is not about your life.

"Hurry or your sweet commander will soon find it extremely difficult to breathe", Adar threatens and presses his blade even harder into Elrond's skin, making him whimper in pain.

He can't speak anymore because of the life-threatening weapon at his throat, but his tear-filled eyes scream at you not to give in. But how could you not?

You move your lips and form the words 'I'm sorry', but no sound wants to escape your throat, your vocal cords failing terribly.

Lowering your sword dejectedly, you feel for the silver chain around your neck and eventually pull it over your head. Nenya dangles at the end, catching the sunlight that slowly but surely breaks through the clouds. Your hand trembles as you place the ring in Adar's palm, feeling like a failure.

Not just to yourself, but to your entire kind. And above all, to Elrond.

As soon as Adar has the ring in his possession, he removes his sword from Elrond and lets you approach him. You immediately fall to your knees beside him. Elrond gasps for air and coughs repeatedly, his head thrown back in defeat. You support his head with one of your hands, helping him to sit up.

"Forgive me", you sob quietly, but get no answer from him. He watches silently as you are surrounded by orcs who were just waiting to take you as prisoners.

And the whole time you can only think of one thing: You betrayed them all.

════════════

You were about to set out to help her on your commander's orders. But it was already too late. You only saw a white figure falling down the cliffs. Now you're running through the dense forest, searching the ground, looking for a body. Every inch of your own body hurts, the cuts across your face throbbing painfully, but you have to keep going, keep walking just a bit longer, because she could be lying behind the next tree and you would never forgive yourself if you didn't find her.

Taking a break and catching your breath for a second, you lean against a tree, the battle taking a heavy toll on your body and strength. Suddenly you fleetingly notice a white shimmer to your right and run straight towards it, your ribs hurting. You breathe a sigh of relief and, at the same time, shock when you see Galadriel's motionless body on the ground, her arms stretched out at unnatural angles.

Without wasting any time, you rush to her, lifting her head so that you can gently place it on your lap. Loudly, you call out to the others that you have found her.

Her face is covered in soot and blood, her eyes closed. As you look at her like this, you once again realize how truly beautiful she is, even on the treshold to death. Your thoughts make your heart ache deeply, because how could Elrond not take a liking to her?

"They will be here soon", you whisper encouragingly, although you are not even sure she can hear you and your voice sounds anything but heartening. Your gaze lands on a large wound on her shoulder, the source of black streaks that are running across her armour. Carefully, you lift her armour with shaking hands and recoil in shock, as if you burned yourself, when you see a dark mark carved into her skin.

You don't get the chance to think about it any further, however, when Arondir and the High King finally arrive at your side. You let Gil-galad help Galadriel and take a few steps back, giving them enough space. As you do so, a light catches your eye, coming from under a branch. The relief you feel deep inside when you spot Nenya is overwhelming.

The High King tries healing Galadriel with the help of his ring. In Quenya, he orders her to step back into the light and leave the darkness behind her and her soul. With tears in your eyes, you watch as Galadriel takes heaving breaths, her eyes blinking violently, but she doesn't come back. Every passing second, she leaves the light a little more.

When you hear footsteps, running quickly at first and then slowing down abruptly, you don't have to turn around to know that it is Elrond.

"We're losing her", Arondir says and looks around helplessly. You see as much pain in his eyes as is reflected in yours and Elrond’s.

When you look over at Elrond at last, your heart stops beating for a moment. You thought you had already seen him at his lowest, where things couldn't have gotten any worse, completely devastated, but the way he is looking at Galadriel right now convinces you otherwise. The sadness that adorns his battle-torn but still beautiful features brings even more tears to your eyes.

His heart seems broken, crying for Galadriel.

"The darkness is too powerful. I cannot save her", the High King utters in defeat.

Even though it is only for one short moment, you hesitate. You hesitate to give the ring to Elrond, afraid of what might happen then, that your heart will crumble into even more fragile pieces.

"You can", you hear your own voice from afar and give Elrond the ring that you lost earlier. Elrond's eyes suddenly become clearer, brighter as he takes it, feeling it in his palm. But his eyes tell you that he is afraid, too. Afraid that he may not be able to save her. He fears he might lose her.

Gathering all your remaining strength, you force an encouraging smile onto your face, nodding and indicating that he should go to her. Elrond doesn't return your smile, he still looks at you with so much suffering in his eyes, but his facial features are more at ease now as he nods back at you. His way of thanking you.

"We can", he states, to convince himself once again before he puts on the ring.

════════════

You stare at your own reflection, which looks up at you from the quiet water of the river. You dip your fingertips into the water, the waves that result distorting your face. The wounds that covered your face have been cleaned and treated, only slight cuts still visible. There is nothing to do but rest and reflect while everyone waits for Galadriel to awaken.

You are not startled when you suddenly see another reflection, a face above your own, for you have heard him coming.

"Galadriel has awakend", Elrond lets you know and elicits nothing more than a nod from you. "She is up and well."

"I'm glad", you reply and see his brow frowning, his eyes growing sadder in the reflection of his face in the water. Which surprises you in all honesty, because he should be filled with happiness right now. You may have lost the rings for men and many of your elven friends have fallen, but in the end you are alive and safe. Galadriel is safe.

In fact, you admit that you feel relief that she seems to be doing well, but it somehow still hurts just thinking about the kiss they shared.

"May I.. May I have a moment of your time?", Elrond asks you now, after a few seconds of silence, filled only by the chirping of birds and the rustling of the trees around you. This place is truly a sanctuary.

His voice sounds so fragile that you can't help but raise up and turn to him, folding your hands in front of your lower body.

"I bestowed the ring upon you as a token of my faith in you", Elrond explains and you notice from the small wrinkles on his forehead that he is having difficulty finding the right words.

Meanwhile, you just want to leave. You can't listen to him express his disappointment about your actions. After everything that has happened, you're just not strong enough anymore. Your heart is not strong enough.

"I entrusted you with it because I didn't trust myself", he continues, looking into your eyes, but you avert them and focus on the grass on the ground. "Because I knew that, if the situation occurred, I would have acted the same way you did."

A look of surprise crosses your face as you lift your gaze and meet his glistening eyes.

"If the roles had been reversed, I would have given up the ring, too. For your life", Elrond states, his eyes solely focused on yours. "Because when it concerns you, I'm simply too weak. You are my weakness. By giving Nenya to you I thought I could prevent myself from losing it. Instead, I placed the burden upon you."

Your heart beats loudly in your ears, not quite understanding what he is saying.

"But Galadriel-"

"What you saw.. It was a distraction. Galadriel is merely a good friend, whom I love differently", Elrond explains and his voice tells you how sorry he is. "I gave her the pin off my shoulder piece to give her a chance to escape. I couldn't guarantee that it would work, but I took the risk. And I was willing to hurt you by doing so."

He carefully reaches for your hand and you let him take it, continuing to stare at him with glassy eyes as he speaks, your throat dry.

"I am deeply sorry for any pain my actions have inflicted upon you", he apologizes sincerely and lowers his head in regret, some of his brown curls falling into his face. "I couldn't even look at you after that because I could see exactly how badly I had hurt you."

"E-Elrond..", you get out, but you don't even know how to continue or what to say to him. Your emotions are all over the place because you have wanted to hear these words from him for so long, but on the other hand you feel sad because he suffered as well. And if there is one thing you hate more than anything else, it is seeing those you love hurt.

"Another weakness on my part was not telling you about my true feelings earlier. It was unfair since you have always given me nothing but sincerity and affection. My love, I hope you can forgive me and overlook my weaknesses", he says, his voice getting quieter and more humble towards the end, his hand squeezing yours tightly as if you could run away at any moment. What he doesn't know, however, is that with every word he is mending your heart a little bit more.

"I remain hopeful that you will return my love, despite what happened."

He stands before you, probably barely able to stand after days of constant fighting, and pours his heart out to you. He is still in his armour, his face scarred by battle. And you can't help but admire him for it.

Because what he is doing right now is braver than anything he has ever done before.

Without saying a word, you finally pull him towards you and wrap your arms around his neck tightly, his armour pressing against your chest. At first, Elrond didn't expect such a reaction, which is why it takes him a moment until his muscles relax, the burden falling from his shoulders, and his arms sneak around your waist.

"Sometimes I really hate you, Elrond Peredhel", you say against his neck before pulling away from him, hitting his chest plate once to get your point across. Laughing, he takes a step back and protects himself with his arms in front of his chest. You laugh too, but only for a moment until Elrond's smile disappears again as he looks at you.

"Your beauty is truly captivating", he smiles softly and slowly steps closer so that your bodies almost touch. His hand reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your pointed ear as he looks back and forth between your eyes, his fingertip gently running over your skin from your ear to your chin. His touch leaves a trail of warmth. A smile twitches at the corner of your mouth and your gaze wanders to his lips.

The world stands still for a moment, all the events of the last few hours forgotten, banished from your thoughts to enjoy this one moment.

When Elrond's lips gently connect with yours, your patched up heart feels like it's about to jump out of your chest. Elrond's hand on your chin pulls you even closer to him, but he does it in such a gentle way that your cheeks turn red. One of your hands searches for support on his armor because your knees feel like they are about to give in. But you know that Elrond would be there to catch you. Your knight in shining armour.

You never want to stop kissing him. How many times have you dreamed of this moment, imagined what it would be like. All your expectations are being exceeded right now.

When Elrond pulls away from you so you can both catch your breath, he leans his forehead against yours gently. You immediately miss the feeling of his lips on yours.

"My love", Elrond whispers against your skin, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. His cheeks took on a shade of red after the kiss and you are certain that his heart is beating against his armour just as fast as yours. Gently, you cup his heated cheek and run your finger over his skin, being careful not to touch any of his wounds. Then you can't stand it any longer, pull him even closer to you and kiss him again, which elicits a surprised gasp from him. Both of you smile into the kiss as he leans in even more.

If it were up to you, this moment would last forever - just you and Elrond and your love for each other. But you know that this is just wishful thinking, that you have tasks to complete, duties to fulfill. After this moment, the world will continue spinning, wars and battles will be fought, history will be written, but now you know that whatever happens, Elrond is by your side. For eternity.

[rebelfell]

✦ Stranger Things Masterlist ✦

My works generally feature a cis fem reader with limited physical descriptors. Just by virtue of being written by me, they will likely be shy/inexperienced ‘cos I write what I know, y’know? There are individual warnings on each. If you come across something you think needs a warning, please let me know (gently, I am but a fragile soufflé ready to sink)

🌶️ is marked with a*

EVERYTHING is 18+, MDNI for your sake and mine

The Third Date┃Part One┃Part Two~

eddie munson x anorgasmic!reader - 14k

Surrender┃Part One ┃Part Two*┃Part Three*

eddie munson x bi!reader x lesbian!chrissy cunningham - 18k

Bells Will Be Ringing┃Part One*┃Part Two*

crush!steve harrington x fem!reader x fwb!eddie munson - 16k

Hold Your Peace in Pieces┃TBD

engaged!rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader -

this summer is the apocalypse, pt II, pt III*, pt IV*, eddie’s interlude, part V, epilogue~, epilogue II~, epilogue III

thinking thoughts on eddie and an older!Harrington!reader (aka: stevie’s aunt has got it goin’ on)

for your viewing pleasure* vol. 1, vol. 2

featuring pornstar!eddie and his director!reader

are you even listening to me?, cont’d, preq, preq II

bestfriend!eddie gets distracted by your…assets.

working on my fitness, pt II, pt III

a gym meet cute w/ modern!eddie (neighbors au)

special delivery*

someone unexpected shows up to deliver your pizza

made for lovin’ you*

softdom!eddie makes a bad tinder date a whole lot better

shelter from the storm~

when the power goes out, your neighbor eddie checks in

under the influence

an edible loosens your lips in front of your frenemy, eddie

haven’t had any complaints yet*

the trials and tribulations of giving van head over forty

game night* (surrender universe)

chrissy and eddie get extra competitive, you benefit

in the middle of the night*

boyfriend!steve helps to soothe what ails us🩸

cold dry stone*

revenge f!cking with gator 🐊

american engine

truck smut for truck smut’s sake 🛻 (w/ steve)

you’re not gonna tell on me, are you?

linecook!eddie can get away with literally anything

that Vanity Fair party was…a lot*

actor!steve x assistant!reader x rockstar!eddie spice

buzzcut season, rockstar!eddie musing*

dmm, i’m just embracing the shaved-head era

I didn’t know you were into that…

you’ve been watching too many ghostface tiktoks 🔪

modern!wealthy!Steve? How’d you get in here?

steve spoils his girl in the midst of a hangover

wait, are you a…have you never?*

bigdick!steve x virgin!reader

felt in need of some affection…

sweet!soft!eddie vignette

possessive.┃eddie shows you who you belong to

multiples.┃eddie wants you to arrive properly

urgent.┃eddie can do better than he can

hesitant.┃eddie and you try something new

how can you be sad on love’s birthday? 💌

a very flangsty valentine’s day w/ bestfriend!eddie

so wrong, it’s right, so right, it’s wrong 🎃

eddie munson x his best friend’s (ex?) girl

you’ve never seen gremlins? 🎃

it’s scary movie night at eddie’s house

you’re a what? (WCIL-verse) 🎃

modern!eddie bumps into you at a halloween party

how much of that can is left? 🦃

you + eddie + whipped topping

today is a no bones day 🦃

you and eddie in recovery mode

#index - landing pages for long form/multi-part blurbs & fics

#free write - bursts of writing based on images/other posts

#my moods - fic/character moodboards, (aka I spent too much time spent daydreaming on pinterest again)

#thrift shop eddie - short blurbs about all the odd and random gifts I would terrorize shower Eddie with if given the chance

© 2024 rebelfell All Rights Reserved. Any written work on this blog is my own and I do not consent for it to be copied, altered or re-posted in any form or to be fed into AI software.

[rivendell-poet]

Treat request: flangsty aragorn x reader, Aragorn finds reader after being hurt in battle

Of course! I'm 90% sure that flangsty is a mixture of fluff and angst, so hopefully this fufils that criteria! And, of course, thanks so much for requesting! (Also, so sorry this wasn't first day - I will try to be punctual again <3)

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « trick-or-treat »

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 142 words | TWs : Non-detailed injury

As you plunge your sword into the final orc and it goes still, your body finally lets the adrenaline crash. Sinking to your knees you’re not entirely sure if it’s out of tiredness or pain. Because everything does hurt, the smaller wounds and general fighting your bodies endured.

“(Y/n)?” Aragorn’s voice is close to you, and you just begin to turn when he’s right beside you. Eyes sweeping over you, his gaze lingers on the blood before pulling you into a hug. “I’m so sorry, my love. Where hurts the most?”

“My arm.” You admit, and immediately he pulls up the fabric around it, looking at the blood and gently brushing off the worst debris. Careful to not get any dirt in there, and stopping as soon as you tense or let out a noise of pain.

“I’ve got you now.”

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @wordbunch / @bespectacledhuman

[fangswbenefits]

Okay so in tumblr world Miguel is such a breeder right? We love we love. Mans got such a massive breeding kink. But…. What If having kids of his own worried him? And What If his girl was happy/okay in life without kids? Sooo imagine an accidental unplanned pregnancy and his gf/wife decides she wants to give it a chance? I think he’d be upset at the news that he’s going to be a dad. Something about his altered DNA and “it” harming her. Especially if she isn’t a powerful spider person. He wouldn’t want that. So he’d be a little distant in the beginning and disgruntled w/her. But throughout new experiences in the pregnancy his heart slowly starts to thaw and warm up to the fact she’s having his baby. Like when he hears the little heartbeat, when he sees the little silhouette of a wriggly baby on the screen, when he finds out she’s a girl, when he feels the kicks and movements through her belly, and especially when she tells him that Spidey-baby loves the sound of his voice; kickin and moving more than usual. He’d start to have private conversations with her at night, whilst momma sleeps, gently caressing her round tummy as he whispers “papá’s so sorry cariñito” little apologies for being the way he was in the beginning before he knew how much his spider-baby loved him. And from then on Miguel would be so overprotective and loving especially in private & during daddy-daughter time whenever mommas napping/sleeping. I also think after losing Gabriella he’d be terrified of messing up/losing a kid again. So mama reassures him gently kissing his shoulder as her belly rubs up against his arm and Spidey-baby also gives little kicks and taps of reassurance to papa. They would all be okay bc they’re all from the same universe 🥹

Wow I suddenly really like/want a flangsty/unsure papa Miguel 😩

You guys love seeing me in pain...

[negans-lucille-tblr]

My Worthless Love || Part One

Summary: At first, Dean can’t believe his luck that he gets to date a porn star, but soon the cracks start to show, and Dean gets to see a totally different side to the industry that bursts his bubble and leaves him torn. 

Rating: 18+

Part Tags: flirting, teasing, mentions of one night stands, fluff, mentions of being uncomfortable with attention, mentions of smut, watching porn, hints of masturbation, mentions of step father/daughter roleplay Part WC: ± 2.7K

A/Ns: Hope you enjoy this flangsty mini commissioned by Tina :)

My Worthless Love Masterlist || Read Parts 2-5 when you sub to my site/Patreon!

Dean’s POV

“Holy fucking shit, dude,” Dean gasps out, as he straightens up from taking his shot at the pool table and doesn’t even notice that the white ball goes nowhere near the stripe he could’ve easily potted. 

“You okay there, boss?” But Dean ignores Justin for a moment, still too captivated by the girl he’s just laid eyes on, watching her seem to effortlessly glide from the doorway to the bar. “Seriously?” 

This snaps Dean’s attention back to his employee, frowning slightly at the look of amusement on Justin’s face. 

“What?” he pries, taking his eyes off of the blonde for a brief second to look for the girl again and make sure she hasn’t just completely disappeared into thin air; that would be just his luck. 

“I know you’re my boss, but keep dreaming, man,” Justin laughs, stepping up to the table to take advantage of Dean’s distraction. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean presses, frowning at him. “You think a girl like her wouldn’t be interested in me?” 

“I know a girl like her wouldn’t be interested in you,” Justin scoffs. “Anyway, isn’t she like, half your age?” 

“How old do you think I am, dude?” Dean asks, amused. 

“Old enough to be her dad by the looks of it,” Justin teases with a smug grin, potting another ball. Dean hasn’t been counting how many that is now. 

“Fuck you,” Dean grunts, mildly insulted but more so totally captivated by the pretty girl still standing at the bar, talking to the bar man who is clearly very shameless in his flirting. So Dean’s not the only man she’s having this affect on – that does complicate things a little. Competition is always a challenge. “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you, then go and buy her a drink and prove you wrong.” 

“Good luck with that,” Justin laughs, a smug grin lighting up his face, and as Dean’s eyes land back on the pool table, he realises Justin’s almost cleared the table himself. 

Dean rolls his shoulders back and tells himself to focus on the game – if nothing else to knock his cocky employee down a peg or two – and takes his turn, this time potting all the balls he intends to, until only the black remains, and he looks up to flash Justin a wink before potting it. Justin rolls his eyes in an over-exaggerated fashion, but doesn’t seem too put out that he’s lost. Justin always loses to Dean, but the kid is getting better the more Friday nights they spend playing. 

“You might’ve beaten me, but I can’t wait to see you fail at the next part,” Justin smirks from behind his beer bottle before finishing it. “Y’know, she looks kinda familiar, you are okay with my sloppy seconds, right, boss?” 

“If I wasn’t, there’d be no one in this state left to fuck,” Dean retorts, flashing Justin a sarcastic smile and patting his shoulder condescendingly, making Justin laugh loudly. 

“Hey, I learned from the best,” Justin tries to argue back. “Fixing a car isn’t the only thing you’ve taught me, y’know.” 

“Nah, I’m pretty sure you already had ‘manslut’ in your resume before I hired you,” Dean argues, before making his way over to the bar. 

He clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair before he’s gotten too close, and manages to just about slide into the gap between her and the man standing with his back to her talking to a friend. He briefly glances over at her, noticing she’s just as gorgeous, if not more, up close, and clears his throat as he waits to be served. When he catches her looking his way, he gives her a sweet smile, but she doesn’t hold his gaze long enough for him to strike up a conversation, so he thinks on his approach another minute or two longer. 

His fingers begin to drum nervously on the bar top as he notices the barman approaching them, and he realises he’s running out of time. 

“What can I get you?” 

“Urm, two beers and… I’m feeling generous, so whatever this pretty lady beside me wants,” Dean forces a smile, mentally cursing himself for the terrible move. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” she insists, “but thank you.” 

Fuck. 

The barman nods, moving away to get the beers, and Dean clears his throat. “Sorry, didn’t wanna seem like a weirdo, just figured I’d be nice, buy a lonely lady a drink.” 

“No, it’s fine, it’s not weird,” she tells him softly. “I’m just still drinking this one,” she explains. 

“Alright,” Dean nods, admitting defeat. He fucked it from the moment he opened his mouth. He  let Justin get into his head. He doesn’t deserve to land someone like her now, anyway, even if it does mean he has to spend the rest of the evening listening to Justin tell him he told him so. 

“You mean that’s it?” she presses, frowning at him. 

Dean frowns back, now completely confused by what’s happening, barely thanking the barman when two bottles of beer are placed in front of him. 

“Not gonna persuade me?” 

“Do you… want me to persuade you?” Dean asks carefully, now completely lost. 

“No,” she replies simply. “Just most men would,” she shrugs. 

Dean finds his way through the confusion just enough to consider maybe he’s not completely blown it after all. 

“I’m not most men, sweetheart,” he laughs, softly. “Anyway, have a good night.” 

He smiles at her once again and grabs the beers, forcing himself not to look back at her reaction to his exit as he returns to the pool table and sees Justin has already set up the next game; clearly having no faith in Dean’s attempt to not be returning. 

“Knew you’d blow it,” Justin scoffs, taking his beer from Dean’s grasp. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Dean replies confidently, grabbing his pool cue. “I’ll break.” 

“Dude,” Justin whispers, glancing over Dean’s shoulder. 

Dean turns his head to see the girl from the bar approaching, outstretching her hand to offer him the beer in her grasp. 

“For me?” he asks, confused. 

She shrugs, playing with the straw in whatever girly drink is in her grasp and clears her throat. “Just to say thanks for not being a creep,” she tells him softly. 

“Oh, you’re welcome,” he nods, smiling nervously. “Urm, I’m Dean, by the way.” 

“Y/N,” she replies, biting her bottom lip softly before glancing over at Justin. “I’ll leave you to your night.” 

“No, it’s okay, Justin was actually just leaving, he’s gotta open up shop tomorrow,” Dean smiles, looking over at Justin pointedly. Justin frowns deeply and grumbles under his breath, reaching for his jacket. 

“He’s old enough to be your father, by the way,” he grumpily points out to Y/N as he passes her, shooting Dean a smug grin when she’s not looking, and Dean rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not,” he insists, hoping that hasn’t scared her off. 

“I’m used to older guys,” she shrugs. “So, I’ve seen you get a few good shots on this thing tonight, mind showing me a trick or two?” she asks, biting her bottom lip again. 

“Sure,” Dean nods, suddenly a little nervous but a whole lot excited he didn’t screw up that badly. 

Three Weeks Later

“I’m not joking, Dean, it was horrible,” she stresses, even though there’s still a laugh in her voice. 

“I don’t know, it sounds pretty funny to me,” Dean insists, laughing along. She glares at him playfully, and then looks back ahead of them as they continue to walk the length of the riverside. 

“Can you believe this is our third date, already?” Y/N asks, clearly trying to change the subject. 

“I think Justin is in more disbelief than I am,” Dean smirks. “The guy was adamant I couldn’t get your attention at the bar that night.” 

“A guy like Justin couldn’t get my attention,” she corrects, scoffing. 

“He’s convinced that you two have…” Dean trails off, realising that’s a really inappropriate thing to bring up. 

“Really?” she frowns. “No, I don’t know him,” she insists, shaking her head instantly. 

“I didn’t think so,” Dean rushes to remedy. “I mean, I would believe it from someone like him, but I didn’t… I don’t want you to think I would think of you… I… I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry. He just said he recognised you and, he can’t keep track of… it doesn’t matter,” Dean flusters. 

But he’s pretty sure he’s upset her, because the smile has completely gone from her face, and now she’s worrying her bottom lip with her teeth in the way Dean’s learned she does when she’s anxious. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologises again. “Forget I said that, please?” he begs. 

She clears her throat and nods her head, so Dean tries to relax again and focus on the great third date they were having, and all the hopes he’d had for this going finally somewhere remotely close to a bedroom. But now he’s pretty sure he’s blown that, at least. 

“Oh shit,” some guy drunkenly slurs as they begin to pass a bar. “I know you!” He points straight at Y/N who suddenly seems very uncomfortable with the entire situation. “Where do I know you from?” he asks, frowning in confusion. 

“That’s a really shitty way to hit on a woman on a date,” Dean calls over, laughing at the guy’s feeble attempt. 

“No, I know her,” he continues to insist. 

“You’re drunk, dude,” Dean points out the obvious, noticing Y/N getting more and more uncomfortable with the unwanted attention. He moves to stand the other side of her, between her and the drunk man, and puts his arm around her to offer her some comfort, before moving them on swiftly. “Are you okay?” he asks, as soon as they’re out of earshot. 

“Fine,” she insists, “I don’t know what that was.” 

“He’s drunk, he probably just wanted to hit on you,” Dean shrugs. 

“Yeah, probably,” she laughs awkwardly, nodding her head. “I just hate the attention,” she explains, hugging herself. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, sweetheart, but you do get a lot of it from men. One even walked into a door earlier,” Dean chuckles softly at the memory. “I know you can’t help it, but us men go a little stupid over girls as attractive as you.” But Y/N seems uncomfortable with the praise, so Dean decides to drop it, and clears his throat. “Do you wanna go somewhere private? My place isn’t far from here,” he offers. 

“Urm,” she stops, not looking him in the eye as she instead looks out over the river. “I know it’s our third date and there’s certain… expectations that come with that, but I think I wanna just go home, I’m sorry,” she tells him awkwardly. 

“No, yeah of course,” Dean reassures her. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean that,” he insists. While it had been on his mind most of the evening, after what had just happened, he was genuinely offering her refuge and a drink, but he understands how she might have taken it, and now he feels like an even bigger idiot than he did when he brought up Justin. “Listen, I had a great night, regardless how it ends, I just want you to know that,” he tells her. 

“Me too, Dean,” she smiles. “Sorry, I think I’m just tired.” 

“It’s fine,” Dean insists, shaking his head because an apology isn’t necessary. “Let me get you a cab.” 

He steps out towards the road and lifts his hand to flag down a cab, and as one pulls up to them, he smiles down at her. 

“Thanks, Dean, I’d like to do this again if you’re still interested,” she tells him timidly. 

“Yeah, I’d love to. I’ll text you,” he nods with a small smile. 

He’s surprised to see her rock up onto her toes and press her lips to his, and he kisses back for a brief second before she pulls away and gets into the cab beside them. He waves her off once she’s safely inside, and exhales heavily as he watches the cab drive away. Well he didn’t completely fuck it up, which is something he supposes, but he can’t help but think how weird it is that she gets so uncomfortable by male attention, and how reserved she seems to be regarding anything physical. 

As Dean begins his walk home he wonders if maybe she’s had a bad experience in the past, or maybe she has no experience at all. She is only twenty one, so it’s not a far cry that she could still be a virgin, and it would make sense why she seems closed off about things. But Dean also can’t help but feel like there’s something she’s not told him yet, like there’s a part of her he’s yet to see, and he wonders if that has anything to do with it. 

Dean sighs as he grabs a fresh beer from his fridge and begrudgingly heads towards his bedroom alone, thinking about his high hopes earlier that evening when he was leaving his bedroom, freshly showered and dressed for his date with Y/N, excited by the prospect of her coming back to his place with him. He’d even changed the bedsheets, and sprayed a lot of air freshener around the place. He’d tidied up and made sure there were condoms in his nightstand, and he’d even been out and bought the wine she had ordered the last two times they’d been on dates before. Dean had even gone as far as to not deal with the issue that arose in the shower when thinking about Y/N and what their evening might entail. He didn’t want to waste it on the shower floor, after all. 

So now, understandably, he’s a little pent up. 

He grabs his laptop as he heads into his bedroom and slumps down onto his bed, taking a swig of beer as he opens up the computer and spurs it to life. Like muscle memory he loads the internet and types in the first few letters of his favourite site, his laptop already filling in the blanks and all he has to do is press enter to be taken there. 

Placing his beer down on the nightstand, Dean clears his throat and ensures he’s a little more comfortable in his place as he scrolls the homepage looking at the featured video thumbnails until something sticks out to him. And something finally does. Not his usual type, judging by the title of the video, but there’s something about the glimpse of the girl in the thumbnail that’s appealing to him tonight. 

Summer Swallows coerced by Step-Daddy when mother leaves town

Dean’s never really been one to choose this kind of thing, but maybe he’s getting too bored of his regular entertainment, anyway. Maybe it’s about time he spiced things up a little. He clears his throat and readjusts himself once more, clicking play and watching the titles play out. Already bored, he cuts to five or so minutes in, glad it’s the trimmed version and not the full forty minute version the site is advertising if you pay for it. It cuts to an upshot of the man’s face, twisted, his lip caught between his teeth as he groans and stares down his body, and then the camera cuts to the girl playing his step-daughter, on her knees and pleasing him with her mouth, and Dean sits up straight, his eyes widening as he blindly fumbles for his cell on the nightstand and pauses the video right there on her face. 

“Sammy?” he chokes out. “You won’t believe what I’ve just found.”  

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[hd-hurtcomfort-fest]

Prompting opens next week!

Get your angsty, fluffy and flangsty hurt/comfort prompts polished! Prompting opens, Monday April 7th!

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[vagabond-umlaut]

edit: the reader too is so damn pathetic but just in a ✨cooler✨ way than satoru lmao

goody-two-shoes reader or bratty-as-fuck reader

[lex-munro]

[More Like Grand-Ish: Part 7] Cake

OPLA ZoSan randomness continues; Sanji’s POV and speech use UK English.

A teeny little flangsty tidbit as a treat for morale.

Timeline is shortly after Alabasta, in that nebulous pre-Water-7 period that’s ripe for filler arcs—let’s call it about two weeks after Reverie. Yes, they will go to Skypeia. No, I don't know if I'll write anything set there.

The layout of the Merry is kind of a hybrid—her upper decks are set up like OPLA, with the tangerines on the poop deck and the helm on the quarterdeck instead of in the galley, but her lower decks are set up like the official blueprint from the manga/anime.

Canon divergent/universe alterations, gay!Zoro and anything-that’s-pretty-enough!Sanji, Zoro still hasn’t warmed up to Miss All-Sunday (but she’s used to being stoned out of town so his relatively gentle grumpiness is a Nice Change), Sanji tends not to think about how his actions make men (especially Zoro) feel, Zoro thinks if he says it enough times he’ll stop being upset, ubiquitous bad language.  Recognizeable characters belong to Netflix, Oda, Jump, etc.

 ***

Cake

  Sanji was only trying to be nice.  Really.  Miss Robin had turned a new leaf, was no longer the dastardly ‘Miss All-Sunday.’  She’d needed somewhere to belong, and the Going Merry was a place for all kinds of misfits.  The world’s greatest archeologist, wanted from childhood for the crime of surviving genocide, seemed like a fine fit (certainly most of them had come to value her company and expertise).

And also, she was beautiful and had very nice breasts.

(Which was unrelated to her value as a human being and how much she genuinely deserved compassion after her ordeals, of course.  It was just a bonus…a pair of very nice bonuses.)

He needed to test his recipe if it was ever going to be a staple in his fantasy-restaurant, after all, and a refined lady like Miss Robin would be able to give constructive feedback (Vivi would’ve been ideal, obviously, but Alabasta was far behind them now).

But Zoro, it seemed, was taking the whole thing the wrong way, and was extremely…something.  Pissed off?  Jealous?  Hurt?  Sanji couldn’t quite tell, but it was bad.

“I know I haven’t won him over just yet,” Robin said kindly.  “I’ll have to wait for a chance to prove myself, that’s all.”

Sanji, staring at the door of the galley (recently slammed after dark, assessing eyes went from Sanji to Robin to the cake), grimaced.  “I don’t think it’s necessarily a case of winning the mosshead over.”

She looked at him, ate another bite of cake, and casually said, “I don’t think much of a man who upsets his lover and doesn’t go after him.”

That flustered him slightly, because for the first three days she was on the ship, she didn’t seem to have noticed that he and Zoro were an item (possibly because of the low-level bickering that had gone on about her general presence and whether they should dump her in the sea to drown), and even after public affection and a week of bedrest and doting, she had never even referred obliquely to their relationship.

Robin set her fork down and sighed.  “Mister Cook, please don’t take this the wrong way—only a damn fool wouldn’t run after him when he looked like that over you serving me a slice of cake.  You clearly have some things to sort out, or perhaps his needs aren’t being met—I’m sure I don’t know.  But you should go.  Now.”

Sanji grunted, but went out to follow her frankly good advice.

Would Zoro be in the men’s cabin, pretending to sleep?  Sulking in the crow’s nest?  Sunning himself on the deck?  A glance up the mast showed Usopp surveying the horizon with the spyglass.  At the helm, Miss Nami made a face and pointed.

Sanji went behind and below as directed, and found Zoro stretched out beside the tangerines on the poop deck with his eyes closed.

“I know you’re not asleep,” Sanji said carefully.  “Your jaw’s clenched too tight.  I can hear your teeth grinding.”

“Then go somewhere else,” Zoro said bluntly.

“Okay, you’re upset, I get that—”

“I’m not upset.”

“Yeah, sure, ‘cos you always stomp away in a huff and then tell me to piss off afterward when you’re not upset.”

“Why would I be upset?” Zoro asked without opening his eyes.  “You’ve always liked pretty girls, and I’ve never liked sweets, so of course you’d give some pretty woman who tried to kill us and destroy a whole country the first taste of the cake you’re gonna make at your restaurant someday.”

Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed a frustrated growl before it could fully escape.  “Exactly.  Even leaving aside that unfair oversimplification of what happened in Alabasta, why would I make you test something you probably won’t like?”

“For the restaurant you keep saying would be on our ship,” Zoro added.

“But you don’t like—” Sanji said, and had to stop himself before he went from frustrated to angry.

“I said I’m not upset,” Zoro insisted.  “I went a month without you, back at Tuni; I can wait however long it takes you to either get bored with her or decide I’m not worth the bother.”

“That is fucking bullshit, and you’re being completely unfair.”

“Right, because your track record with shiny new girls is great.  Currently, the longest is two weeks, because we almost never stay in one place for more than a week, and Vivi had to stay in Alabasta.  I still don’t know who should be more insulted by your fawning:  them or me.”

And Sanji had no argument for that.  It was true, he would absolutely neglect Zoro if there was a lovely young lady present.  He suddenly felt ashamed of making Zoro doubt him.  His boyfriend, his lover, the man he came home to every night and wanted to grow old with, was still waiting for the time Sanji looked away at some girl and never looked back.

“I understand,” Zoro said earnestly.  “They’re fancy, and delicate, and graceful.  They’re clean, and polite, and…and they’re not boring, obsessive wet blankets.  Of course you’d rather spend time with them.  Just don’t fucking lie about it.  Don’t pretend like I’m fun to be around, or whatever.”

“You are, though,” Sanji said.  “I mean—not fun, exactly, but I like being around you.  Wanting to be around them doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you.  You can want more than one thing, and so can I.”

Zoro flashed a thin smile, but still didn’t open his eyes.  “Yeah.  Because I’m too much and not enough at the same time.  Story of my fuckin’ life.”

“You’re not—will you please stand up and have a fucking conversation with me?”

“Why should I have to stand up while you lecture me about being clingy and selfish and obsessive and insecure?” Zoro retorted.

“Why the hell would I lecture you about—God, you don’t make any damn sense!”

But wait…

“Exactly,” Zoro huffed.  “I don’t make sense to you.  Why would I be insecure?  It’s not like you flirt with everything in a skirt, right?  It’s not like you constantly complain about my snoring, or my table manners, or how I don’t spend my water ration smelling nice for you.  It’s not like I’m such a loser you had to learn advanced first aid to take care of my dumb ass.  It’s not like I have recurring dreams about the whole crew being replaced without me noticing, or dreams where I’m so sure you were replaced, but it turns out you really did just get sick of me.  And even if any of that’s true, it’s my shit, for me to deal with instead of trying to make it somebody else’s problem, so will you please just fucking leave me alone to be pathetic in peace?”

Sanji immediately stretched out on the warm deck and said, “Never, darling.  If you couldn’t see through Corrin’s disguise, that’s because I didn’t give you any reason to doubt I might suddenly turn you away, and that’s my shit, for me to deal with.”

Zoro covered his face with his hands.

But Sanji remembered him sobbing his heart out in the galley, so lonely and so relieved that even he couldn’t remain stoic any longer.  So Sanji gathered him close and said, “I’m sorry.  I love you so much, and I don’t want you to have to doubt that.  I meant it when I said I can’t wait to grow old with you…reckon we could find someone willing to register a marriage license for us?”

Zoro made a muffled choking noise and peered at him with just one eye uncovered.  Then he bolted up into a sitting position, tear-tracks gleaming on his startled face, and said, “If this is a joke, I will replace all your seasonings with oregano.  And then I’ll kick your fucking ass.”

Sanji sat up as well, serious and attentive.  “It’s not a joke, precious.  I’d love to be your husband.”

“You’re not just doing it to make me feel better?” Zoro checked.  “You actually want to?”

“Mm.  And then I can tell all the lovely ladies that I’m an honest man, taken by a lovely fellow who needs all my care and attention.  You know, ‘Roronoa Sanji’ has a nice rhythm to it.”  It did, and it would let him cast off his last ties to his shitty family.

“We can’t get married just because of a fight!” yelped Zoro, and he looked genuinely panicked.

“We’re not.  We’re getting married because I love you and I don’t want you to constantly wonder whether I’ll forget that.  So.  We’re gonna get married, we’re gonna have a marriage license from the shitty World Government because I think it’d be hilarious, I’m gonna wear a ring so that nobody—especially me—forgets that I’ve got someone amazing to call home, we’re gonna chase after our dreams, and we’re gonna have our own ship with a world-famous galley where I will serve chiffon cake that tastes like a barrel of oregano, if that’s what makes my sweetheart happy.”

Zoro covered his face again, but his ears were turning redder by the second, so Sanji reeled him in and stroked his back (and didn’t mention the damp patch on his shoulder).

Chopper and Usopp peered down at them from the quarterdeck.�� “So,” said Usopp.  “We need to find a port with a governmental office so we can get a marriage license.”

“We’ll be in range of a Newscoo by tonight,” Nami called.  “We could send off for one.”

Zoro flipped them all off without lifting his head.

  .End.

[nisbanisba]

She nips gently at his fingers, in that way that’s almost cute, then swats at his arm when he tries to withdraw. “Baby girl, what do you need?” Beezus is a terrorist, and Carlos has negotiated with her many times before and will do so many times again.

“That spoiled gatita doesn’t even know what she wants,” Andrea likes to tell him. “She just wants to see what else you’ll do for her if she keeps driving you crazy.” Carlos knows she’s right, but he also doesn’t want to punish Bee for communicating. She’s an older lady and if she’s hurting, Carlos wants her to be able to tell them. Now, Beezus hops onto the bed and sashays over to Carlos’s face, purring furiously while sniffing at his nose and mouth. Probably checking to see if he’s still alive or if she finally gets to eat him.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he sighs wearily. “I don’t think it’s breakfast time.” He doesn’t really know, but it definitely seems too late for breakfast, and probably too early for dinner. Beezus purrs manically before reaching out a delicate paw to the nightstand and tapping TK’s metal water bottle. “Please don’t.” Beezus gives it a few scraping scratches. “Beezus, we don’t have to do this right now.” Beezus disagrees, shoving the bottle over the edge and onto the hardwood floor. Carlos feels the impact like a sledgehammer to his scrambled brain. Across the room, Ramon jolts upright and charges out of the room, away from danger. Beezus licks her paw demurely and nudges TK’s alarm clock.

———

I stole my cats’ personalities for a flangsty hurt/comfort Tarlos fic, and you can read it on ao3. I’m awfully happy with it. Thanks Fran (above) and Nelson for being my muses 😻

[gingerlurk]

Binding | Part III

Din Djarin x f!Reader

A Lovers' Crest one-shot (in three parts). Complete on A03.

Prev

Here's the LC Masterlist.

Summary: Can you and the Mandalorian heal from the events on Evalon? In a steamy cave heated with emotion, you'll try your best.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, it’s just fluff and smut here, I think. (Okay a lil angst too. Angsty fluff. Fluffy angst? Flangsty?), smut: oral sex (f!receiving), breath play, unprotected piv (be safe), sex in a natural body of water (fine in the story, probs avoid in real life), creampie, Din Neck Worship gets a warning not sorry about it though. If you look up self-indulgence in the dictionary – it’s just this whole chapter.

A/N: This story won't make much sense if you haven't read Lovers' Crest. Or even if you have, it may still be nonsense. I'm not sure. No matter what, thank you for reading!

--

He’d declined to hold his son again the whole way back to Navarro, despite the child fussing for it. It takes some doing to therefore get Grogu settled, but he is exhausted and lulls into a fitful sleep. 

You let yourself watch him for a beat – little nose twitching and upper lip curling in the relief of rest. He leans to your touch as you run a finger over the curve of an ear. The contented grunt reassures you that he is alright. 

Unlike the other presence in the cabin.

Turning from the slumbering child, your face is cast in shadow by the broad silhouette standing at the threshold of your shared bedroom. Din is peering in, motionless. A shard of yellow light from outside slants across the curve of his helm.

You look him over. Try to decipher the exact timbre of what’s radiating off him in this moment. In the time you’ve known him, you’ve come to see many, many emotions of varying intensity emanating from the armoured visage. But this one is new – and devastating. He’s carrying the entirety of the events of Evalon. A burden of overwhelming proportion.

Gods, you think. How will I fix this?

Just as you take a tentative step toward him, his shoulders quake and he slumps against the doorframe. You’re there in a heartbeat – right beside him. You clasp both hands over a cold pauldron, nose into the arch of steel where his cheek would be. 

‘Hey,’ you say. ‘Hey Din, we’re alright now. We’re—’

He gives you the lightest shove away and you fall back, arms dropping. Force down a sob.

‘S—’ he gasps on an exhale. Anguish in his tone. ‘Sorry, please just-- I can’t…’

You try, ‘We can get through this.’ Get a shake of the helmet and a strained sigh in response. 

‘I- I almost killed… you,’ he says. The dark T visor tips up to look over your shoulder. ‘I almost hurt my s—'

He’s raised a gloved palm as if you keep you back. Fat chance. You move to him again, pushing the barrier aside. He shies back.

‘Hey, hey,’ you say, reaching up to take hold of either side of the helm, draw it down to level a look straight at him. He stares. With a light lift, moving the beskar up just a fraction, you ask, ‘Can you?’

Whatever resistance there was seems to ebb a little as you keep staring at the visor. Another long, stilted exhale through the modulator before he gives up a shaky nod. He reaches to take hold of the helmet, replacing your hands – which slide to his wrists. He raises it and, as it clears his head and comes down, lets you take it. 

Tears pinch from his eyes. The angry red abrasion at his temple catches the light, spidery lines radiating out.

He holds your gaze at least. That’s something. 

But then it drops, slides down your face to land on your throat. You’ve no idea of the state of it, though it still throbs and it hurts to swallow. Which you do when an expression of pure desolation crosses his features. You’re losing him again.

‘I—’ you start, but are interrupted by an approaching Shnk, shnk, shnk. The sound of mechanised limbs walking to the entrance of the cabin. They ‘sch- veen’ to a stop and IG-11’s voice can be heard calling your name.

‘I have arrived at your request,’ he says. You’d sent a clandestine hail as the Crest broke atmo. ‘I am here to attend to the safety of the child.’

‘What?’ Din focuses back on you – his confusion a chance to move things along.

‘C’mon,’ you start to coax him toward the door, placing his helm with care on the bed. ‘Let’s um,’ you want to take him somewhere. ‘Let’s go to that little hot spring cave you found, hey?’ Grab up a med kit and a canister of hydration fluid. A light.

‘N—’ he’s trying. ‘I won’t leave—’

‘IG here will be a comm’s pulse away, and Grogu will be asleep for hours. He’s okay. He’ll be okay. But you aren’t. Please let me--’

He halts at the threshold of the cabin, a stone wall blocking the doorway. You bump into his back, and have to edge around to stand in front of him. IG waits, sights swivelling between you.

‘My muscles are aching,’ you say, with your best, most imploring expression. ‘I bet yours are too – we can relax and I’ll dress this, yeah?’ 

You brush the back of a finger over the injury by his eye. The motion seems to remind him it’s there and he crumbles, goes to putty in your palms. With a sigh of surrender, he nods. You take him by the arm, murmuring that Grogu will be fine, talking through the steps – I’m turning on security, I’ve got the monitor, IG will keep him safe. C’mon, you need this.

Coax, and corral and guide, until he acquiesces to your will and lets himself lean into your side as you head out to the spontaneous destination.

The cave is warm. The air potent with the smell of fresh water and minerals. 

You have him in a half recline, the pool you’ve sunk into together rises to lap at his pecs and upper arms. It swirls around your ribs where you straddle him. The small lantern sits propped on a nearby rock, casting a golden halo out across the underground spring. The contents of the med kit are laid out on the ledge by his shoulder and you reach for each item in turn.

The wound is not that deep. But you make a thorough show of the procedure. Giving him time to settle into the safe bubble you’re trying to create. He’s letting you work, dead quiet.

‘I don’t even think this will need dressing, you know,’ you murmur low. ‘It’ll heal in no time.’

Your words rouse him, and he lifts a hand – splashing out of the water to still your motions. His eyes track over you, scanning. He takes the cleanser you’d been dabbing to his temple. Sets it aside and twists around to pick up a fresh one, before lifting your forearm to scrutinise the abrasion there. 

You look at it in surprise. Hadn’t noticed it. It looks like a gravel rash, angry bruises smattered around it. He touches the gauze to it and you wince a tiny bit, hiss at the sudden burn. 

Din doesn’t look up, but he pauses there.

‘I did this to you,’ he says, voice soft and deep. His first words since leaving the cabin.

‘No, you d—’ you have to stop to clear your own voice, still raspy and strained. Now he glances up at you with abject pain. ‘You didn’t. You didn’t.’

‘I did,’ he insists. ‘I hurt you, here,’ he reaches up to stroke the skin by the strap of your singlet. You follow the gesture, see a multicoloured bruise. ‘And here,’ moving his touch beneath the water to trace along another fresh lesion on your thigh, blossoming out from the undershorts you’ve kept on. 

‘Superficial,’ you say. ‘I’ve had worse just from training and practice, you know that. They’ll heal. We will heal.’

The hand comes to your neck, fingers make a gentle path there. You still haven’t seen how it looks, but his eyes speak volumes. 

‘Here then?’ he says, asking you to defend this injury to him. ‘What about this?’

With an insistent shake of the head, and a ‘no, no,’ you move the hand so palm is pressed to cheek.

‘It wasn’t you,’ you say, pouring every ounce of persuasion you have into the words. ‘I was there, okay? I saw it. Every time you were a hair’s trigger from… from actually doing anything, you broke through and fought. I saw it.’

Drawing a thumb along his jaw, urging his chin up.

A mortal fear still plays on his features. He remains incredulous, stays holding tight to his guilt. 

A question occurs, and you ask it, ‘What was it like? When you were-- when- uh, I mean, what could you perceive?’

He looks a little confused by the turn in questioning, and his dark lashes drop low as he considers. It’s painful to watch. But a familiar posture emerges, a roll of the shoulders and a gathering of self, shrugging off the taciturn mask – preparing to open up to you. It’s a slight relief. 

‘It…’ he says. ‘It was like a… a thick sheet of glass was between me and my body. And I was trying to punch through it. It was foggy, hard to see-- what I was doing.’

Gods, you think. What that must have been like for him…

‘I remember glimpses of clarity,’ he continues. ‘You looking at me, terrified, holding your neck. You screaming my name, like that. You were so afraid, wh- what that must have been like for you? I can’t-- Then, uh, Grogu, freeing me. But I saw enough, I saw—’

‘Did you see the way you didn’t once use any of your weapons?’ you say, barrelling over him now. ‘The way you let me fight back? Or how about the fact you didn’t know which way your ship was? Would you ever not know the way back to your ship?’

He screws his eyes tight, sits up to press his forehead into yours. You push back, nose nudging into his. Breathing him in. Willing him to believe.

‘It wasn’t you. It was never going to happen. Hear me, Din Djarin? You were never going to hurt us.’ 

‘You were so scared—’

‘Of the tech, not you.’

‘I can’t—’

‘Please, if I’m going to be okay after this, I need you.’

That does the trick.

Over the lapping of the water, the echo of droplets all around, you hear the tiniest sob of acceptance. It wasn’t him. It’s followed by harsh puffs of hot air against your neck, where he buries it, arms reach around to clutch you tight. You need him.

Holding him around the shoulders, you feel them drop. Finally relaxing. Letting the wretched events you’d stumbled into slide to the side. That’s when your own guilt whirrs into motion – starts a melodic drone in your mind of your fault, your fault, this is all your fault.

‘I’m the one who should be weeping right now,’ you utter, pulling back. Imminent tears vibrating on your words. ‘Whole reason we were even there was coz of my mistakes.’

It snaps Din’s attention.

‘None of that was your fault, cyar’ika,’ he says, allowing you to ease from the embrace, but not letting go.

‘Wh-- of course it was,’ you say, fending off the urge to cry in earnest. ‘What do you mean? I- I…’

‘I’ll accept,’ he rumbles over you. An intensity in his gaze that seers across you. Heavy brows knitted together. ‘That tech… what it did, and what it made me do. I’ll accept that wasn’t entirely… I’ll accept that, okay? But you will not convince me that it wasn’t every one of my mistakes that led us there.’

You’ve lost the train of conversation. His mistakes? What is he talking about?

‘What are you talking about?’ you ask. ‘Your--? You haven’t… made any—’

‘Oh, yes I have,’ he says. He seems almost… angry? A fuming buzz just under the surface. ‘Many. How far back do you want to go?’

You can’t think of a single thing to say, so just stare – searching his face. 

He gives you a look like hm? A head tilt that you can’t help but be melted by. Something is swimming in his gaze, something profound, and you sense an immense emotion about to descend. Sure enough-- 

‘Back to when I realised I’d fallen in love with you, but didn’t tell you? Or to when I should’ve told you how Mandalorian custom works? And let you decide? Or how about to just to that day – what I put you through at that forge? Letting you go? Hm? My mistakes, love. Not yours.’

You’re reeling. This is- this is just--

‘Everything you did,’ he says, the anger dissolving into a well of melancholy. ‘In our time apart, everything you had to do – if I had.. if I’d just-- not been so afraid.’

The last word comes out a shuddered whisper and he takes a beat to draw a few centering breaths. You focus mainly on trying to take in a single inhale of air, mind swirling with the heady minerals and steam. 

A litany of feelings pass in this space you’re sharing. So much that has remained unspoken. While he considers his next words, you resolve to never let secrets be carried between you again. 

But when he goes on, your heart jumps into your – once again throbbing – throat.

‘I don’t hold any resentment that you… were with another, in that time,’ he says. You freeze in fear. Something thuds into place for you, why you had never brought it up, why you tried to just forget and move on. Because you regret it sure. But it happened. And you don’t want to know if he went and did the same. 

You’d rather never know – if, if he…

He senses it on you. Always reads you so easy. His features turn soft – tender and affectionate. A light dancing in his eyes.

‘Do not worry, cyar’ika,’ he says. He nudges a damp strand of hair off your forehead, draws the finger down your face, along your jaw, across collarbone, shoulder. Tracing a line of heat along your body until his bare hand is clutching one of yours under the water.

He holds them up, looks between them and your face.

‘From the moment I let you remove my glove, that first time… there was never going to be anyone else.’

He lets your joined hands drop with a soft ‘fwoosh’ back beneath the ripples.

‘I didn’t know I could let someone that close to me, and – I think it could only ever have been you.’

This confession is only just sinking into your bones, when he goes on.

‘There is something I should tell you,’ he says. Despite yourself, you still freak a little. Maybe something did happen, with someone else, and he just kept the armour on? Maybe- maybe he-- Gods, shut up, you chastise yourself. Don’t be daft.

This time Din doesn’t seem to be as attuned to your ridiculous spiralling. In fact, it seems as if he has drifted far away. A distant expression on his face.

‘I’m sorry for those things I said, before the mission,’ he says. ‘And you were right. You’ve shared so much of your past with me. It’s time I do the same.’

He lowers his head and you sit a little taller to caress him. Pull him close. Unsure what’s coming but feeling the air grow heavy with it.

‘I wasn’t always a Mandalorian,’ he says, whisper quiet but so close to you it shimmers in your veins. ‘I was… a foundling.’

Through whispers and utterances into your neck, against your shoulder, into your hair. He tells you about the world where he was born. About his village. His family. The attack. The cellar. About the Mandalorian who took him in arms and lifted him away from that life forever.

He tells you about the last time he saw his parents.

You listen with hands circling and stroking. With kisses to his uninjured temple. Grateful for the steam and the sweat on your bodies obscuring your tears, which flow free as you picture him. So young, ripped from the life he knew. Torn away in violence. So young.

He’s describing looking over the shoulder of his saviour, peering down at the ground shrinking away, when he stops. Lets a silent torrent of emotions pour into where he’s dropped his head onto your shoulder. Then a deep sigh of relief – of release.

He continues, in a timbre so achingly sad you have to bite down hard on a sob. 

‘I worry I can’t remember enough. It’s just that day now. The only clear memory of my, uh, my parents is that final day… just that last glimpse. Everything else is… fuzzy and… and I’m not sure if I’ve made memories to replace what I’ve lost and I don’t know if they’re—'

You interrupt him, sensing the distress returning.

‘You know I understand that pain,’ you say.

‘Yes,’ he rasps, drawing you back so you can see his face, so he can see you. ‘You do. And I think it’s why you’re the one. The way you carry it, inspires me. I think it’s part of what drew me to you. Part of why I let you in?’

He looks thoughtful.

‘Grogu as well, you know?’ he says. ‘He’s suppressed memories, from his past.’

You didn’t know that. ‘Really?’ you say.

‘Mmhm,’ Din looks sad again. ‘I’m afraid this experience will not be good for him.’

‘Hey,’ you say. ‘He’ll be alright. Whatever happened in his past, he didn’t have you. Us. Now he does.’

You shuffle closer again, cup his face. Draw thumbs along each cheekbone.

‘We’ll play a few rounds of capture the flag when he wakes,’ you say. ‘You’ll let him win. He’ll be okay.’

Maybe it’s the air thick with confessions. Maybe it’s just exhaustion now. But he accepts that without resistance. A loose nod of agreement.

‘Should we head back?’ he asks.

You reach over his shoulder and pick up a device, thumb the transmitter. ‘IG, any report?’

The droid answers in an instant. ‘Nil report, the child continues to sleep.’ You turn the screen to show the little cam’s view, pointed at Grogu. Though muted, it’s obvious he’s snoring loud. Din watches it for a moment, then – thank gods – lets a small smile grace his lips.

You put the monitor back down. ‘I think we can stand it here a little longer, don’t you?’ 

The smile is on you then, and it dances over your chest and into your belly. A coy spark jolts lower down. 

Not now, you tell your body. Now’s not the time.

Giving yourself a little shake, you find Din’s eyes. They’re contemplative. He has a question.

‘What is it?’ you say.

With a tip of the head, he asks, ‘Earlier, you said something like, I “let” you fight back. What did you mean?’

‘Oh, uh,’ you aren’t sure how to explain it. ‘Just that, I was fighting you, as you were-- just, don’t worry about that, but I was deflecting your blows and stuff. Seems like, if you were wholly you, I wouldn’t have been able to do that… So…’

Din gives you a sly look, brows arching ever so slightly.

‘You don’t think you could take me in a fair fight?’ he asks.

‘Wh- uh, no? Obviously?’ you say, somehow feeling silly under the weight of his gaze. It’s a measured appraisal he’s giving you, making you shiver. His lips tweak into the tiniest smirk, some conclusion settling on him.

‘I think you could,’ he says. ‘If you were really trying. And I think you’d win. Way you can be so resourceful, cunning, fast.’

With a snort, trying to hide how flattered you feel, ‘As if you aren’t all those things too and crazy strong,’ you counter. ‘You’d just have to pin me and it’d be over.’

‘If I could get a hold of you. Big if.’ He grips your thighs tight, with mirth in his voice, ‘Wouldn’t take much effort for you to find the gaps in my armour though.’

The insinuation is heavy, and it sends another thrill through you.

He doesn’t miss it this time, and the shift is instant – the hold on your legs turning amorous.

Large fingers glide up, dig under the hem of your shorts to find the crease at each hip. With a light tug, and a little yelp of surprise from you, he pulls your pelvis flush to his.

‘Um, D- Din?’

‘Mm?’ he hums, leaning up, eyes raking over you.

‘What’re you—'

‘Want you,’ he whispers in your ear.

‘Now? Are you sure? It’s been an emotional t—'

‘Please,’ he says. ‘Want to feel you.’

Well, if he wants it. Who are you to deny?

‘Okay…’ you say. Your body is way ahead of you, already thrumming like a taut string. ‘Kiss me?’

‘Please,’ he’s arching his neck and you tilt your head to seal lips together. 

It’s still and quiet as you revel in the softness shared between you. He pushes forwards to deepen the kiss. 

Before long, the only movement in the cave is your mouths making hungry paths to and fro, out and in. Heads angling and reaching for more. The only sounds are the ones you make together, bouncing off the walls and back to your ears. Loud and erotic. His tongue is hot and delicious, licking deep. Pulling back to let teeth make merry – to nip and seal and suck whatever is there.

Your shared breaths also grow into the space – short, harsh huffs of air made to sound like a fiery force brews within the cavern. His panting morphs into tiny grunts the longer it goes on, growing impatient and needy.

A rippling of water radiates out from where you're seated as he lifts his hands. Steaming from the spring, they cup your jaw, hold you still so he can make a feast with you. He drags bared teeth across your lower lip and it’s a hot spark that garners a desperate little whimper from your throat.

The contrast of his soft lips and coarse facial hair, traversing your cheek and jaw and the column of your neck, never fails to draw chesty whines out of you. So it’s not long before your voice joins the chorus of aching need as well. The crescendo concludes when a sudden, insistent suction of teeth and lips just below your ear draws a startled ‘Ah!’ out of you. 

He reacts by dropping his hold down again. The loud splash as he breaks surface tension to seek and grip your ass drowns everything else out as he shifts forward, pulls you in and lifts you. Rushes of mini waterfalls cascade from your bodies as he rises, you going with him, just enough so he can turn and deposit you to sit on the pool’s edge.

He doesn’t stop moving, stripping off your soaked singlet and little shorts – laying you down so your naked back presses into the warm rock. 

His bulky figure looms above, obscuring the light as he leans down to kiss you and kiss you. He mouths over to your ear and whispers, ‘okay? Comfortable?’ The husky rumble of his voice going straight down, landing in your cunt and sending ripples over all of you, just like the spring. At your nod and uttered, ‘yeah, s’good,’ he moves down, sinks below your field of view.

While he pauses at your chest to suck and tease your tight nipples, roll his tongue over your breasts, you reach up to grasp the edge of his cloak – laid out a ways from the water where armour and clothing rest. Curl the cloth into a tight fist. Just to have something to hold. Your other hand cards into his hair, moving down your body until you’re all but holding him in front of your leaking entrance. He slides a palm along the inside of a thigh, gliding over the droplets clinging there. 

With a sweet hum of content, he mirrors the motion on the other side of your sex – now aching, throbbing, pulsing.

He moves both hands back and forth, back and forth, massaging your legs and spreading them wider. Wider. Until your knees are nudging the rocky edge and your feet skim the pool’s surface.

The caress on your left thigh turns to just two fingers, traversing the curve, crossing the crease and making a reverent landing at your apex. He parts your labia and a probing pad swipes through your slit. The contrast of the clingy damp on your skin and the slick juices gathered there… It’s otherworldly. A chesty moan rips from you without warning, arching your back off the saturated rock.

‘Ready?’ he teases and you just ‘hnnnnn’ back at him.

It’s an ‘mmmmm’ of immense satisfaction that meets your pussy as he buries his face there and devours. Hungry lips make a meal of your pleasure. A precise tongue hits all your sweetest spots – creating even more for him to taste, lick up and swallow.

He takes his time moving back and forth through your folds – even deviates away to lave at the sensitive flesh on either side. Each time giving a grunt of approval as you tug him back to the source of imminent bliss. 

With his usual inhuman patience, he works at your core and waits for you to beg.

It doesn’t take long. 

‘Din, pl—’ 

He pushes forwards, nuzzles himself between your thighs. Those two fingers hold you open so he can get close enough to drive his tongue into you, lips and teeth parted wide, fucking your cunt with everything he has. The angle lets him in deeper than you’re used to; he takes full advantage – groaning with an animalistic intent as he makes deft curling motions through you over and over. 

It is so indescribably hot, and wet, and slippery. Warm all the way to your centre, it’s an inferno he is stoking in your lower belly. All your senses are funnelled to the heated tightness drawing down to your core, nearly ready to blow. 

Incoherent amid the ecstasy, you’d somehow forgotten he has another hand. So it is with an undignified shriek that you feel a thumb seek and circle your clit. 

It applies the exact pressure, to the exact right place – setting the bundle of nerves ablaze and you are lost in it.  

You can’t even hear yourself but it’s some kind of babbled string of, ‘Din I’m gonna c-- I'm gonna – Ah! Muh!’  

And it crashes over you. Rushes in, spreads over your entire body before ebbing into a dewy heaven.

Looking down at him, you gasp. Curls fall over his forehead, brush across the tops of his dark brows. They crown his long eyelashes, twitching and flexing along his waterline – where his eyes are closed as he drinks you down. He’s in his own world, taking in your pleasure as if it were at a font of eternal life.

It’s a sight so erotic that, as you watch and feel, another tidal climax washes over you.

When he pulls you back in and settles you over his lap once more, you feel he’s rock hard. At some point while working his mouth over you, he’d tugged his own shorts off and his cock twitches against your belly under the water. 

You’re staring down at it, tongue swiping a lip in hunger. So at first you don’t notice him grasp your wrist, lift it – and place it with a firm insistence at his neck.

Your attention snaps up to him. He’s drowning you with those dark, desperate eyes – an imploring look in them. But you shake your head.

‘Uh, n--’ you say. ‘No… Din. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not right now.’

‘Please?’ he says. ‘Just, please. I want to know…’

‘I really d--’ You try to pull your hand back, but he grips it there – pushes it higher. 

‘I trust you,’ he whispers, husky and wanton. ‘Trust me?’

At that he drops his hold, both arms go to your waist. Your hand stays where he’s left it, but doesn’t move. You look at him for a long, long moment – watch a droplet of moisture leave a damp curl over his forehead, fall across his temple, down along his jaw and drop onto your arm. 

The sense of intimacy expands and clouds your senses the longer you sit there together. He waiting. You thinking.

Still unsure, but willing to test – you trace a featherlight finger across, over his Adam’s apple. A jolt of desire whips through you when you feel his cock bounce against you, an instant response to your action.

Okay… you think. Maybe.

You stroke two fingers under his jaw where, if you were to do this, you’d push in to compress and restrict his breath. His lips part in a little moan, eyes grow heavy as he tips his head back – holding onto your waist for dear life.

‘Please,’ he breathes again and you watch his throat contract and bob as he swallows. Shift a thumb down a thick straining tendon to the valley between his collar bones, feel the skin peaking there as he pants a little. 

‘Hey,’ you say, drawing his gaze back to you. ‘This isn’t about… like, it’s not punishment, right? If I do this for you… it’s about only… It’s all about…’

With the same insistent grip as before, he takes your free hand and places it against his chest. Trails your linked fingers down, over sternum, stomach, to wrap around his erection. Leaves you gripping him there to cup your face, staring right into you.

‘I know, mesh’la,’ he says, and you swear his voice has reached such a low rumble it echoes all around you. ‘I know. I trust you. I want to feel this with you.’ 

Okay, fuck. What else to say to that?

So you shuffle your knees a little to get settled, make sure you’re steady with full control over your respective holds. Thinking for a moment, you say, ‘Hold onto my waist again – if you want me to stop, let go.’

He shifts to obey, large warm hands landing on the sensitive skin around your middle.

And then you wrap your hand around his throat, find the sweet little pressure points… and squeeze.

It’s a stretch – his neck so broad your reaching fingers only just span wide enough. Only just get the feel right. He doesn’t seem to mind, his face instantly overcome with a beatific lust. Eyes rolling back and mouth falling open – a few short gasps of air cease on a strangled growl that rains over your body.

Gods, you think. Oh gods. You thought you’d seen him at his most beautiful. How wrong you’ve been.

You set up a pattern similar to what he had done for you. Easing back to let the blood rush in – watching his face for any signs of discomfort. Squeezing in again when he seems ready for more.

The hand on his cock hasn’t moved yet, though you feel it pulsing. You’re waiting. Waiting for just the right moment to—

Just as you ease off and let him suck in a breath, an involuntary but forceful thrust of his hips makes you bounce upwards. Leg muscles growing tense and trembling under you. There it is.

You press in again and start to stroke his at-attention shaft in earnest. Patterned, rhythmic. Just how he likes it. His reaction almost takes you to the edge – a grip on your body so tight you might burst, a blistering whine splitting the air, head thrown back and body shuddering under you.

‘How does it feel?’ you murmur, letting him pull in air. ‘How does it feel, Din?’

‘F- feels,’ his lower lip quivers, nose scrunching in an enormous effort to tell you, ‘Feels, you feel… s- so divine-- gods, g- goddess. Uh!’

Without your volition, working on pure instinct, you shift forward to push your pelvis into the base of his cock and grind yourself onto him, upper hand squeezing harder, harder, him nodding into your hold, getting so so close until--

All at once, he stops you. Both your wrists are seized and hands yanked off him. Worried, panicked, you start to babble a string of ‘sorry, sorry, that was too much-- I knew we shouldn’t’ve, sorry sorry,’ but he shuts you right up with mouth on yours. Hot breath pours into you as he gasps and gasps. He’s desperate with it, almost clumsy, sucking and nipping at such a pace you can’t keep up. Just keep lips parted and let him have you.

When he pulls back, an intensity is radiating off every millimetre of him. A primal need.

He wraps your arms across his shoulders, then hands are on your ass and he’s lifting you again. 

This time he pitches forward. Steps into the pool and into deeper water. Walking until it’s up to your shoulders, pressing you against the wall.

‘More, love,’ he pleads. ‘Need more. Need you so--’

He’s never been so needy, never ceding such control to you. It’s setting your every nerve ending on fire. You keep hold of his shoulders long enough to tilt your hips to guide yourself onto him, until his cock finds your sex, slips through your folds and – Hss, ah, gods yes.  

With him halfway in, you pull him into another kiss right as you place a hand to his neck again. The feral moan he unleashes is almost drowned out by your cry of ecstasy. Because, the second you restrict his breath, he slams himself to the hilt and, without a single beat of blood through your veins, fucks you at a relentless pace. Forcing the air from your lungs and filling your head with a heady pleasure.

‘That’s it,’ you say, eyes locked on his. Those dark irises, unfocused and lost in bliss. Plush lips parted. The feel of his neck muscles – coursing, flexing with power under your hand. ‘That’s it, beautiful. All for you.’ He drives harder, shifts his grip just long enough to hike your knees higher, bends his own to find the angle to go deeper. 

The hard stone at your back leaves nowhere for you to go, allowing him to put just the right pressure on your clit with every piston of his hips. Your cunt sings with the desire running through you.

The resonance of the cave has it feeling like there are many of you – every strangled cry, every gasp, all the grunts and groans of desire from the two of you, echo around as if your joined bodies were endless.

All your senses are alight. It becomes too much. You have to let go, shifting your hand to bury it in his hair, as a nova explodes in your core – sending rings of sensation out to spark and flicker in your fingers and toes, the crown of your head. 

On a startled inhale, Din drops his head into your neck, shuddering with his own release. It feels like it goes on and on – one heavy buck of his hips after another. Guttural exhales turn to shaky sighs and, with one final, uhn, slam into you, he wraps arms around you and goes still.

Sinking a little deeper into the water as his legs go lax, his heavy lean and the hard wall are all that keeps the two of you up. He stays there as the space grows quiet and still again. You don’t want to move, don’t want to disturb whatever nirvana he’s resting in, but another slip down the wall has the water at your ears. 

You have to nudge him. 

‘Din?’

With a little shudder, and a groan of protest, he moves. But only to carry you – once again – back to where you had been seated. Holds you to him, until you’re back where all this began.

He’s settling, stroking hands over you and muttering, ‘so soft, so…’ when a question occurs to you. And you’re so desperate to know, you let it out.

‘Hey,’ you say, he responds with a soft ‘mm?’, continuing to lean back and fondle you. ‘Before, you said you’d realised you were in love with me, but didn’t tell me. When was that? Do you remember?’

He pauses his handsy ruminations to give you a lopsided grin; it makes your heart torque with lust and relief. With a flex of abs he sits back up, gets close to your ear, and whispers, ‘I remember, yeah, crystal clear. It was when you…’ His husky vocals ripple over your body as you listen, eyes roll back with it.

He finishes speaking by taking an earlobe between teeth and giving it a gentle suck. Then a long lick around the shell of your ear.

With a smile in his voice, he asks. ‘How about you?’

Returning the smile as he looks at you again, feeling so warm and fuzzy you might dissolve in this pool, you say, ‘Oh, you know, around the same time…’

That gets a surprised flutter of lashes; him blinking with a disbelief that confuses you.

‘Really?’ he asks, in all genuineness. 

‘Yes?’ you reply. ‘Of course?’

‘But y—’ But what? What is he getting at. ‘You hadn’t… seen my face, then,’ he says, the confusion morphing as you watch, into a kind of wonder.

‘There’s much more to you than this handsome mug,’ you say, fending off a sadness that creeps at the base of your skull. You’d been denying your feelings – back then. Running scared at the movement in your heart. But, in retrospect, any fool would have seen it.

‘And you know,’ you go on. ‘As it was happening. As I was falling for you,’ you don’t miss the shiver that runs over him at your words. ‘I truly believed I never would see your face. Sometimes I gotta pinch myself, you know?’

It’s almost too much, the look he gives you. Such a soft, reverent expression. You try with all your will to memorise it, to hold it in your heart forever.

‘Yeah, I know,’ he says. 

Not long later, the two of you step through the doorway of your home just as the child stirs, eyes slipping open and arms reaching for his father. Din reaches back.

–

The bustling hub is just as before. Delicious scents and alluring dishes everywhere there is to look.

Din strolls through the crowd. You at his side and the child in his arms. He’s enjoying Grogu’s happy burbles, a sticky sweet clutched in his paws – your idea, to keep him from Force-nicking any more food.

The three of you are hanging around, waiting for the sale of the oddly acquired ship to go through. 

He can tell you’re excited. A buzz radiating off you, likely contemplating the new state-of-the-art climate system the Crest will be getting from the windfall. He’s glad too – no more busted heating mid-jump leaving you to shiver away in the hold. And the upgraded air filtration in the fresher won’t be so bad either.

You couldn’t wait to install it, you’d said. Din thinks the job will – as always – give you that inexorable sense of control, of will, of youness.

He’s looking forward to it too. To watching you work. Seeing that light in your eyes. A light he loves.

He shifts the child to one arm, so he can reach across and link your fingers together. He tugs you close, tilts down to whisper into your ear, ‘You doing okay?’ he asks.

He hasn’t stopped checking in since returning from the cave. And you seem to be indulging it, happy to reassure him as much as he needs. 

‘Yeah,’ you say, squeezing your digits in his. ‘God damn hungry though. No idea what to get, still.’

Just as you say it, his eyes track over a vendor’s display.

Hotplates sizzle with the critters laid out row upon row. Dozens are skewered and arranged on their backs, so that hard carapaces become crispy and sticky. Spindly legs poke up into the air, curving into the bodies growing soft with the cooking process. A huge guy stands over them, basting something over and over the crackling delicacies.

‘Plazir Bay Bugs!’ yells the cook. ‘Bugs! Get ‘em while hot! They won’t last!’

You blanch just as Din makes a hard pull on your arm to drag you in the opposite direction. Strides you both away from the insect kabobs as the touter’s voice fades into the hubbub.

A full block from the stall, he slows. 

‘Uh, yeah,’ you’re saying as he turns to you. ‘Never again.’

In total agreement, his visor scans the surrounds. 

‘How about…’ he trails off. Feeling haunted.

With a quirk of the lips and another squeeze of his hand, you point to a sign.

‘How about a soup of some kind?’

Grogu gives his consent with a hearty, ‘Wah!’ He’s run out of sugary distraction.

With a sigh, Din says, ‘Soup it is.’

[earako]

Hi brain woke up angsty/flangsty and uhh

Just

The Amazing Devil's song "Chords" but as Ballister and Ambrosius slowly relearning each other again

Slowly and at first hesitantly mapping out where to lay their hands as they cuddle

Relearning all of the little quirks and traits that they adored about the other

And also relearning each others fears and anxieties, miscommunication tore them apart in the first place and so now they make it a point to practice open and honest communication

Ooo, Ambrosius taking up guitar while Ballister sings....

Nimona joining in later and music being a thing that helps repair the frayed bonds between the trio...

[sitp-recs]

Hi! Do you know of any good fics where Harry and Draco hate each other (LOL!) but both want custody of Teddy Lupin so they fight for it in court and end up bonding over having to share him and eventually falling in love? Or in other words...being forced to co-parent Teddy brings them together.

Hi there! I did a reclist with Teddy bringing Drarry together but I can think of two fics where they specifically fight over Teddy:

Catalyst by thedementorskiss (T, 7.7k)

When the issue of Teddy’s guardianship comes into question following Andromeda’s death, both Harry and Draco are asked to take care of the boy. Now two men who have been indifferent to each other at best following the war are forced together in raising a child that means the world to them both.

It Was We Who Were The Cliché (But We Carried On Anyway), orphaned (M, 31k)

When the reconciled Black sisters go on holiday together, Andromeda entrusts Draco, rather than Harry, with five year old Teddy Lupin for three weeks. Harry is convinced she made the wrong choice, and he decides the way to fix this is simply to keep turning up at the manor and refusing to leave Draco alone.

Systemic Morality by zeitgeistic (E, 34k)

One screw-up changes everything. Harry really should learn to lock the door before having sex with Draco when his godson’s around. A tale of hot, steamy, flowing love—for Padma Patil and Theodore Nott. A tale of colossal screw-ups and slow, flangsty (sexy) resolutions for Harry and Draco.

1000 Days of Harry Potter by violenttulips (M, 36k)

Andromeda Tonk's untimely death leads to an unexpected custody situation for her grandson, Teddy. He begins splitting time between his godfather and his cousin, who have never been able to stand one another, but that's about to change.

[rebelfell]

saraaaaah i reread your frenemy!eddie fic for the 2738236th time and i’m in a flangsty mood (your fault for being the queen of flangst lmao but ily)

how is he gonna react when he sees reader out on a date on valentines’ day because she got tired of waiting for him so she gave a random dude a chance... :c

WHY ARE Y’ALL TRYING TO MAKE ME HURT YOU, HUH???? ooh you like a little pain, don’t you?

But this actually parlays into something, cos I just decided right now that V-day actually plays a role in the origin of their frenemy-ship…