#like no wonder he’s killing it w fresh love

[sturnioloho]

literal dream man

[yandere-writer-momo]

Part 2 🖤I made the demon king a black man. I don’t see many Yandere POC OCs 🖤

Yandere Head Canons:

Defying Destiny

Yandere Demon King x Isekai Saintess Reader x Yandere Hero (mentioned)

TW: imprisonment, kidnapping, stalking, uncomfortable themes, sexual themes, Somniaphilia, Dacryphilia, etc.

Part 1

You woke up wrapped in the silk sheets of snow unfamiliar bed. Your eyes wild and your heart raced in your chest like a startled animal. Where were you and where was Reinhardt?! Why were there candles everywhere in this dark bedroom? Was Reinhardt planning to… oh god you were terrified.

You felt a sob rack through you when reality set in. Had Reinhardt stolen you away to live out some sort of sick fantasy instead of going through with his quest to slay the demon king? No… Reinhardt wouldn’t bring you to such a luxurious home. But who on earth brought you here?

“I see you’re awake, my delicate flower.” Your head snapped to the doorway to see the silhouette of a large man. You felt your blood run cold and a shiver run down your spine by his presence. That raspy baritone voice belonged to a stranger.

You flinched when the man suddenly slapped his clawed hands on the end of the king sized bed. Your eyes met gold for the first time and you seeped your heart stopped in your chest from pure terror. There was no mistaking who your captor was… he was the demon king.

“What’s the matter, saintess?” He chuckled as he reached a taloned finger out to hook around a strand of your hair. “Cat got your tongue?”

You felt tears stream down your cheeks when he flashed his long fangs at you. He was bewitchingly beautiful with his burnt umber skin and golden eyes. There was no doubt he was a demon and that fact terrified you. What did he want from you? Was he… was he going to kill you?

The demon king sighed at your shivering form before he moved himself to sit beside you. His hand moved to hold yours. “It’s alright, darling. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You sniffled when he began to wipe away your tears. “W… what?”

“I’d never hurt my saintess.” The demon king gave you a toothy smile. “My beautiful, merciful saintess… my salvation.”

You gasped when he brought your right hand up to his lips to press a tender kiss to the back of it. “It’s so wonderful to finally have you here with me… you’ll be safe here.”

“I’m just a bit confused about all of this…” You felt so small under his intense gaze, like he was about to pounce on you at any second. “Who are you and why have you taken me?”

The demon lord chuckled as he rose up from the bed to stand at his full, intimidating height. His curved black horns nearly added another foot to his height which made he give you a smirk. “Why I am the Demon King but you can call me Amon.”

The demon king- no, Amon, bowed his head to you. “And I took you to save you.”

You were surprised to see a tray of freshly made food in front of you when Amon snapped his fingers. Your stomach growled at the delicious sight, but you were hesitant to accept… Amon quickly caught onto your hesitance and took a bite of the food for you. “Don’t worry, it’s real and completely edible. Only the best for my saintess.”

You shyly took a bite and smiled at the taste. It was lovely…

Amon smiled warmly at you, his golden eyes studied your satisfied smile in pure joy. He was so happy to please you!

Amon ran his talons through his long black hair with a smile. “I’ll take care of you from now on. You’re safe here.”

As the weeks melted into months, Amon kept his word. None of his demon nor monster henchmen were mean towards you, unlike the hero’s party. Sure Amon was never far from you, but his company was much preferred over Reinhardt’s. Amon would bring you meals and made sure you had fresh clothes. He pampered you like a beloved pet.

Though it was never officially stated, you were Amon’s lover. And thus, you treated as such by his subjects. They’d wait for you on hand and foot. You received various expensive clothing and jewelry, they were eager to make you smile. It was such a stark contrast compared to your treatment prior…

You often gazed out your window at the volcanic city below. It was fascinating just how different monsters and demons lived from humans… so why did the humans want to destroy them so much?

You jumped when Amon entered the room to wrap his muscular arms around your waist, his nose pressed onto your shoulder. A few of his box braids tickled your skin. “I missed you so much… I just wish the humans would leave us alone. I grow tired of the hero and his party. They’re so much weaker without your barriers and healing. To think they never treated you well. What a bunch of losers.”

You turned to gaze at Amon in interest. “What is it that they’re after? Why do the humans hate your people so much?”

Amon gave you the softest of smiles, a bit of his fangs peaked out from under his lip. “Our magic stones. Monsters and demons produce enough magic stones to fuel humanity for eons… they’re worth a lot of money to humans.”

Amon pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, his gold eyes stared expectantly up at you. “You’re the only human to ever question their greed and motives. You don’t wish to be bound to a destiny thrust upon you by the world.”

Amon bent down on one knee and pressed his lips over your palms and fingers. “Join me. Together we can defy our destiny. You don’t have to be a Saintess forced to marry the hero and I won’t have to be a page in the history books.”

You felt a blush on your cheeks when he tilted his handsome face at you. “Let’s watch the world burn together.”

And now you had a choice to make. To fulfill the destiny predetermined for you or to defy your destiny.

[mekatrio]

cuz at first ajaa wasnt even meant to exist it was just meant to be the trilogy and thats it, then while theyre porting it over to the nintendo ds capcom gives them the green light to go nuts with a bonus pseudo-dlc case and By God Do They, making the longest case yet of RFTA with fully animated 3d cutscenes + an incredibly convoluted plot that makes the most out of aa1's 3 day trial system + fully modelled 3d rotational evidence, hitting heavy themes of police corruption and evidence forgery and whatnot like they went INSANE, cuz this was supposed to be IT. this was supposed to be ace attorneys big finale and farewell but SIKE oh my god the actual Ministry Of Justice has knocked on capcoms door and told them hey can you make some propaganda for us. so now the aa team has to make propaganda for them. right after burning themselves the fuck out from creating rfta. all that time spent on rfta which couldve been development time for ajaa.... too late. cant be taken back. apollo justice is designed in less than a week and theyre marketing this game while the team is still making it, takumi crazed madman that he is decides to not rely on old characters which while that is an artistic slay, sets up the stage for a marketing failure, and a new artistic team of infinite ambition goes nuts with creating derangedly detailed animations

⬆️ like oh my god are you insane. thank you so much BUT ARE YOU INSANE? all while still making 3d renders of evidence and random 3d animations and it looks so awesome BUT THERES NOT ENOUGH TIME, 3 wonderful cases are made but 4-4 falls on its face. 6 hours long instead of the usual 10 and only one cross-examination in the final trial and 2 whole main characters with no backstory like its bad. its going to be bad. but its too late. the most incomplete ace attorney game has to be rushed out of the gates and the sales are made But The Reception Is Bad. Real Bad. 2000s hater gamer crowds were the first of its kind, being massively fuelled by the internet, haters back then could sink their teeth deep into a company, which is what got nintendo scrambling away from their wind waker art direction to appease the gamers w twilight princess. so similarly when the hate for ajaa came on, cuz whattt phoenix disbarred and no 😤 old characters 😤😤, capcom scrambled to appease the masses. but oh oh whats this? takumi says 'yeahhhh Nah' and says he wants to make a game about his dog. OK. cant persuade him away from that. might as well let some new blood handle the franchise in takumi's place then, but for The Love Of God do not make an ajaa followup. the gamers will kill us. and so the aai duology was born....... cool........ first one's reception was so bad that localization plans were dropped entirely for the sequel. wow. takumi is fresh off from ghost trick but fucking what, 5 years has passed now, and the new hot console is the nintendo THREE ds. 3ds. wowwww. fucking... PROFESSOR LAYTON kidnaps takumi to make plvpwaa and ajaa continues to be left in the dust. fucking nobody wants him. poor orphaned kitten left in the street. all while the trilogy gets 9584948 million adaptations. and yamazaki twiddles his thumbs thinking abt making aai3 but after thinking it over hes like yeah ill try making aa5. capcom lets him and.......... its over........ they tell him sure go for it But Do Not Follow Up On Apollo Everyone Hates Him please make phoenix the protag. a recipe for disaster. and a disaster aa5 is. juggling THREE protags a complete mess and they do a popularity poll and wow would u look at who came first, fucking APOLLO. JUSTICEEEEEEE. its almost like.... gamers opinions..... are not valuable in the long run.. and popular opinion has never signified artistic understanding.... aa6 comes chugging along and yamazaki addicted to racism cranks out something even worse. both aa56 makes the sales it needs but mindless fanservice can only get u so far... its been nearly 10 years since the ajaa 'trilogy' titles released and the general consensus is that Aaja Was Good and aa56 Not So Much but what can you do now? heres the apollo justice trilogy please buy it and deeply lower ur expectations for coherent and cohesive narratives which have basis in reality thank u. bc u will not be finding that here. ajaa never stood a chance.. they werent doomed by the narrative. its worse. they were doomed by STUPID FUCKING GAMERS AND STUPID EXECUTIVE DECISIONS 😭😭😭

[xo-cod]

https://www.tumblr.com/xo-cod/729110250731520000/you-know-what-i-think-would-be-cute-if-one-of-the?source=share

will u expand on this pls?? esp w simon i love it it's SO CUTE🥰

thank you so much babe :") <33 i just did simon but i can def do the others if you'd like 🤍

continuation from here

cw: abusive past + fluff

"look daddy! that's like you and mum!" her soft laugh of happiness fills his ears and for a minute he just watches her, the shock plastered on his face and then he takes a glance at the tv again. the toys he was placing away in its rightful place was forgotten as he straightened his back, watching the disney characters. they seemed so happy, so in love.

he stood still for a minute, wondering if she was being genuine as he looks back to the little girl who was giggling at him. he didn't have a healthy childhood at home and even as he entered his adult life, nothing but blood, guns and wars surrounded him.

it took him by surprised that lieutenant ghost, the man who knew little to nothing about love and happiness and peace now had a wife and a baby who was growing up in the homes he always wished he could live in as a child.

the only romantic love he could see around him was the abuse his father put his mother through, watching the light dim from her eyes everyday was a sight simon didn't think he could ever forget.

there were some scars that were seared so deep, even after time had run its course the pain was still fresh as ever. he didn't think he would ever heal from the shackles that wrapped themselves so deeply around him, burdens that he had to carry day in and day out in his life all the time. even though being with you had significantly lessened them, there were still moments that made him question everything he ever knew.

so being a father was scary but so exciting. the nerves were bundled up deep inside him, utterly worried that he wouldn't be able to love the child like they deserved. he remembered the night he paced your hospital floor while you were sleeping, full of the medications they were giving. all he could do was helplessly look at you, his heart pounding at the bundle of joy soon to be arriving. could he love them? or did the trauma from his father run incredibly deep that he'd cower away and hide? they were irrational fears, he knew that much. but it didn't help either way, he wanted to be the possible father ever. but how could he do that when he was do broken from his own?

and then his baby was born and he almost gave out, trembling when he held her tiny tiny body in one arm as the hand of the other ever so gently caressed her head. he looked at you with shock, his big brown eyes tearing as he chuckles softly. that was a sight you'd never forget. a sight he could never either

"me an' mama huh?" he spoke softly, his gaze going from the tv to back to his daughter who nods eagerly at him. she's so happy, its enough to make him emotional. because of him, she was safe and loved. because of him, a man who thought he was too damaged beyond repair, had a child who completely adored him and was living happily

she would never know a life full of abuse and suffering, he would make sure of that

he would kill for her, die for her and everything in between yet even so the small niggling voice of doubt filled his head every damn day wondering if he was cut out to be a father. would he change tomorrow, become the abusive intoxicated asshole like the man raised him was? he grew up in a world full of pain and torture and guns, happy things were far and few between.

"you little munchkin, c'mere" he teased softly, holding her in his massive arms as they both cuddle close together. she shrieks in delight when he blows soft raspberries on her cheeks and kissing her forehead. and he only looks at his baby with a look of pure unconditional love, his smile widening at every happy sound she made. even if he never got the love he deserved as a child, the love he received from you and the baby you both created was enough for him.

it was times like this, moments that he cherished so close to his heart <33

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 14

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

at last (i see the light) by @theroyalsavage

Of a tower, a missing prince with the sun in his hair and the ability to heal with a touch, and a terrible-dangerous-very-bad bandit who’s never been all that good at being very bad, dangerous, or terrible. An AU based off of Disney’s Tangled.

IVE BEEN W A I T I N G FOR A SOLANGELO TANGLED AU OMG. and this ATE. was so fucking good. obviously bc its theroyalsavage but still omg. sorry for harrassing u btw. but i LOVE this. nico as flynn pov and just fucking reluctantly smitten from the beginning.....oh i know that's right

2. a letter to the moon (it is not brighter than you) by @theroyalsavage

When his kingdom is plagued by a series of unsolvable murders, Prince Will Solace must confront several things: tragedy, helplessness, and the dizzy-sweet inevitability of falling in love.

is this, like the author's note indicates, reminiscent of bbc merlin? yes. and so i LOVE. rivals to friends to lovers my BELOVED. royalty aus my BELOVED. and honestly yall should be supporting my royalsavage agenda purely by her titles like LOOK at these. my heart hurts like

3. In the darkest grays by @izlaria

[The sun bursts, clouds break.] Nico di Angelo loves in color. This is something that Will Solace has always known.

hi. i am obsessed w this fic. a nico character atudy that is disguised as will character study that IS a will character study........something something they are braided strings of fate something something....also! sally jackson my love!! she is everything to me and of COURSE she would show up here!! i am also obsessed w longtime pining will like is it even a solangelo fic if will has not been in the trenches since he was ten years old

4. eudaimonia by @forochel

Nico watched Percy wave his arms excitedly at Annabeth and breathed through the habitual twisting of his stomach. For a moment, he thought of walking over to them - ever the masochist, he thought wryly to himself - but then Annabeth threw her head back in a laugh, and Nico dismissed the thought. There would be another time and another place. ** Diverges SLIGHTLY from canon in that Nico does not confess to Percy right off the bat - he gets the chance to heal, find himself and a place to stand in camp, and form friendships. Also, attempts to fix the whole Solangelo shoehorning thing.

AUTHOR IF YOU ARE STILL ACTIVE. FOROCHEL IF YOU SEE THIS. I AM BEGGING. KNEES ON THE GROUND HANDS CLASPED ROSARY CHOKING LIKE A NOOSE. PLEASE. PLEASE UPDATE THIS SERIES IM BEGGING. I KNOW IT IS UNGRATEFUL BUT 20K IS NOT ENOUGH. THIS IS N I C O S VOICE. LIKE ACTUALLY. dude it KILLS me this is HIM 😭😭😭 i cannot get over how wonderful this is and how FRESH....like this came out right after boo! it was fresh in ur mind!! and you went CRAZY like this is SO SO GOOD!! this fic is CONSTANTLY rotating in my mind and i am constantly thinking about the path it carved.....hve never gotten over it ever

5. Baby Satyrs and Charming Boyfriends by @biancadiangeno / @fiestiest

Nico di Angelo had absolutely no idea how babysitting works, and Will Solace was having way too much fun teasing him to actually help out.

this fic is so silly and fun. i love it!! and the ending made me giggle will needed that humbling

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[theriverbeyond]

THE ANTICAPITALIST MESSAGING IN HADESTOWN TOOK ME SO COMPLETELY BY SURPRISE IN SUCH A GOOD WAY AND I HAVEN'T SEEN ENOUGH PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT IT BECAUSE ITS SO GOOD AND IT WORKS WITH THEIR STORY SO WELL

YEAH EXACTLY Im like... is it all just so obvious everyone decided it's redundant to mention or??? HELLO???

And I was sitting in the audience as one does and Chant was actually the song that reframed the entire show for me -- up until then I was like "aw :') theyre falling in love and are doomed, I should google all these lyrics later" but that song just... I felt like I was being hit in the face w a fish, honestly!!

"In the coldest time of year/ Why is it so hot down here?/ Hotter than a crucible/ It ain't right and it ain't natural"

"In the darkest time of year/ Why is it so bright down here?/ Brighter than a carnival/ It ain't right and it ain't natural"

Persephone's lyrics here are so specific -> a "crucible" is an ancient tool that can be used to create art but also industrialized into mass production, a "carnival" something that is inherently about celebration and festivity and joy but it is also a thing that can be commercialized almost beyond recognition. Capitalism is ravenous and will never be satiafied or sated, it will steal & exploit every scrap of art and joy that it can, then corrupt it all into hollow immitations that it then sells back to you on websites like SHEIN and Disney+.

"It ain't right and it ain't natural" hits so hard in this song because nothing is as natural, or as "right", as death -- so obviously Persephone is NOT talking about the literal underworld to the literal god of the dead. She's talking about how we need to stay warm and safe and dry in the winter, but we don't need fresh summer fruits imported from thousands of miles away. We need to stay cool and safe and hydrated in the summer, but we don't need to steal water from another state to keep the golf courses green. The winter is natural, the cold is natural, seeking warmth and light is natural. What is unnatural is this overconsumption, this never ending, never satisfied hunger.

And then of course you have Hades' parts,

Here, I fashioned things of steel/ Oil drums and automobiles/ Then I kept that furnace fed/ With the fossils of the dead

And wasn't it electrifying/ When I made the neon shine!/ Silver screen, cathode ray/ Brighter than the light of day

And obviously "fossils of the dead" is a reference to Hades being the literal god of the dead, in the ground, in the underworld, and it is also a reference to the modern dependence on oil and fossil fuels, but TO ME it is also about how capitalism relies on the exploitation of workers. In this show, the "fossils of the dead" are literally Hades' subjects. They're the workers of his factory town, and he both exploits them and is fully dependent on them, just like how the furnance of industry/capitalism relies on YOUR body, YOUR labor, it eats you when you're alive and it often continues to eat you when you're dead.

And then like "wasn't it electrifying" -> it's EXCITING what technology and industry does, but the problem is the overconsumption and the overproduction ("Brighter than the light of day") beyond what anyone actually needs or even wants. It ain't right and it ain't natural!!!

Every year, it's getting worse/ Hadestown, hell on Earth!

And the wind is so strong/ That's why times are so hard/ It's because of the gods/ The gods have forgotten the song of their love

Lover, what have you become/ Coal cars and oil drums/ Warehouse walls and factory floors/ I don't know you anymore

And it all keeps building in this song, re-emphasizing that Hades is not who he once was, that he has changed. Which again is not only commentary about consumption vs overconsumption, and how so many things started as wonderful ideas that could save people and help people and help make the world better were corrupted and turned into profit machines, killing machines, etc. "The gods have forgotten the song of their love" UGH

I also think the Themes are magnified because this is presented extremely directly alongside Euridyce's growing desperation, especially with the context that Euridyce DOES, in fact, "sell out" to Hades' promises.

There is no food left to find/ It's hard enough to feed yourself/ Let alone somebody else

Desperation forces her hand, she turns to Hades because he offers salvation, and she ends up just another nameless worker turning the gears of his machine. And I feel this is so similar to how when rich people are like "Just do XYZ", or telling people to bootstrap, or selling quick fixes to desperate people, when the reality is they got where they did due to a combination of luck, pre-existing social/monetary capital, etc, and buying into their promises of wealth will only make them richer and you more dependent and vulnerable.

[cambion-companion]

Hello, did you see the viral tweet where they say that Helena did not see the evil/sarcasm in Aemond because she never saw it like that? it could be a request in the same scenario where the reader ( wife, you decide if she is a sister, cousin, niece or from another house ) is a sunshine and maybe it could be combined where in a fight or frustrated aemond he puts all his frustration on her and shows that hidden side? I love the angst but with a happy ending. Thank you

You lovely people are making me giddy with all your wonderful compliments, thank you! @lauraneedstochill made an excellent point that Aemond wouldn't be an asshole to who he loves...that's why I am struggling so much with this plotline haha I have to come up with something believable and he's not making it easy!

Aemond x fem!reader | angst to smut | 18+ only | reader getting bent over and her guts rearranged

“Aemond, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!”

“That’s not my point, Y/N!”

The two of you stood facing each other, hands balled into fists at your sides, glaring daggers.  You had taken a trip, unbeknownst to your husband, to Flea Bottom, visiting the orphanage there to bring food and toys to the children.

“Did you at least have guards with you?”  Aemond asked, tilting his head while his violet eye widened.

You hesitated, knowing full well you had not thought to bring a retinue of guardsmen.

Aemond looked to the ceiling as if praying for strength as he ran a hand through his silver hair.  “Gods help me, Y/N, you will be the death of me.”

“I am here, aren’t I?”  You cried, tossing aside the shawl you’d worn to the inner city. “Alive and well.”

“So the rumors I heard are untrue?”  Your husband pierced you with his keen gaze, folding his arms tight across his chest.  

He had already donned his long coat and sword by the time you got back, panting from the exertion of running.  A group of men had indeed interrupted your time with the children, their sole aim to capture and hold you for ransom.  Exactly how Aemond had heard that before you had even returned to the Keep only attested to the many eyes and ears in the city that belonged to the royal family.

“Y/N?”  His voice was low, daring you to deny it.

“I…”  You locked eyes with him, jutting your chin out in defiance. “As I have already said, I am safe. I-”

“You are a fool!”  Aemond barked, striding toward you, scaring you backwards with the suddenness of his movement.  He reached out as if to take your shoulders in his hands but dropped his arms at the last moment, instead leaning down into your space, his eye narrowed in anger. “A naive child.  To risk everything on a whim.  You could have been killed, or worse!”  Aemond smoothed a hand over his head again, turning his back on your shocked and hurt expression.

“I am not a child.”  You whispered, your face burning as you stared at Aemond’s tense shoulders.  “I wanted to help.”

Aemond raised a gloved hand, signaling you to stop speaking.  He shook his head, not speaking as he strode to the open door.  He didn’t so much as spare you a glance before he disappeared into the corridor beyond.  

“Shit.”  You muttered to the empty room. “He’s pissed.”

Your heart twisted; the image of his anger fresh in your mind’s eye. The underlying fear you had seen on his face sent a fresh weight of guilt crashing in your chest.  You had been in the wrong, he was right, you had risked everything…not even thinking to bring guards to the orphanage or telling your husband where you were going.

You couldn’t remain still, instead choosing to walk aimlessly down the stone hallways.  Your feet found themselves outside Alicent’s reading room, the one she so often occupied.  You raised a fist and knocked softly, wondering if you would get a response.  

“Come in.”  Came the soft reply.

Alicent was perched upon a sofa beside the flickering fire, a small book in her delicate hands.  She looked up at you, a small knowing smile upon her face, her brown eyes alight with sympathy. “Sit with me, Y/N.”  She marked her place before setting her book aside, patting the cushions next to where she sat invitingly.

You took a seat, looking from her face to the burning flames, the threat of tears still present behind your eyes.  “Where…?

“He took Vhagar out flying.”

“Oh.”  Your voice was small.

Alicent reached over and began rubbing small circles into your back. “He worries for your safety, Y/N.”  She ducked her head to find your eyes. “He loves you very much, you know.”

You nodded, throat constricting, fighting valiantly against the urge to cry.  Alicent’s face softened as she opened her arms to you.  She rocked you slightly as your own mother would, murmuring soothing words into your hair as you embraced her. She took your arms, steadying you as you straightened back up. “Aemond will still be cross with you when he returns.  Make sure he knows you won’t make that kind of mistake again, alright?”

“Yes.”  You spent a few more silent moments with your mother-in-law, sitting amiably with each other.  

As Alicent picked up her book to resume reading, you stood, brushing your skirts and making your way back into the hallway.  You were grateful for her counsel, Alicent knew Aemond better than anyone in the world.

The hour grew late, you had spent most of it pacing before your bedroom fireplace, chewing on your nails.  Aemond did not return, not even as the moon rose high in the dark sky.  As the flames in your hearth began to dwindle into burning embers, you finally changed into your gossamer nightgown, slipping beneath the covers.  You lay awake a long time before sleep took you, still waiting for the telltale opening of your chamber door heralding the return of your husband.

Warm hands caressing the skin of your thighs, digging into your supple flesh with firm fingers, roused you from a deep sleep.  You groaned, rolling onto your back, your eyes flickering blearily open to see Aemond sitting above you.  His anger appeared to be mostly gone, save for the pursed lips and steely glint lingering within his eye as he watched you wake.  His hands continued to knead and probe at you, trailing up to your breasts, squeezing hard enough to elicit a mewl from your mouth.  

“Aemond.” You hissed, beginning to rise into a sitting position only for him to swoop down upon you, pinning your wrists to the pillow above your head.  

His long hair, illuminated in the moonlight, tickled your shoulders as he leaned down, his breath ghosting across your open mouth. “You vex me to no end, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry.”  You wriggled beneath his heavy weight, your chest heaving as you panted. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“No.”  Aemond kissed you with such fervor it stole the breath from your lungs.  “You weren’t.”  His one hand continued to hold your wrists together while he sucked bruising kisses to the column of your neck.  “I can also tell you’re not sorry, nor do you think you were in the wrong.”  He cupped your jaw firmly, forcing you to look at him as you attempted to turn your head. “Those eyes of yours say it all, Y/N.”  Aemond kissed your lips roughly, dragging at your bottom lip with his teeth. “You can never hide your thoughts from me.”

“Is that so?”  In a fluid movement you wrapped your legs around Aemond’s torso, pulling and pushing in equal measure, catching him off-guard enough to flip him underneath you.  You blew strands of hair off your face, your hands now splayed across his bare chest, straddling him triumphantly. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”

Aemond made a low dangerous noise in his throat, a thin smirk curving his plush lips as he studied you, his hair a mess on the pillow and across his angular face. With seemingly little effort Aemond rose from the bed, his hands grasping your thighs to keep you flush against him as he found his feet.  You let out an undignified squeak, throwing your arms around his neck to keep from falling backward.  

Aemond walked to the wall, pressing your back against it non to gently, releasing your legs to instead grip your throat, applying gentle pressure, coaxing your chin up so he could capture your parted lips in another searing kiss.  You felt Aemond’s knee between your thighs, moving in tandem with you as you ground your heat down upon him, desperately seeking friction.  

His long fingers stroked a fiery path along the skin of your stomach, dipping down to the junction of your legs.  You jerked against his touch as he dipped into your slickness, rubbing languid circles against your swollen clit.  Aemond pulled away from your searching lips enough so he could watch your wanton expression with his hooded eye, your mouths barely touching as you breathed each other in.

He pressed into your quivering cunt, two of his fingers diving deep and curling against the spot that brought stars to your eyes. “Aemond.” You murmured, your eyes rolling shut as you felt your climax approaching, his other hand still holding your throat.

Aemond removed his fingers from you, leaving you empty and unsatisfied.  With a whimper of frustration, you opened your eyes to glare at him.

“You think yourself deserving of a swift release?”  Aemond quirked a brow at you, that damned smirk back on his beautifully wicked face.  

“I’m close…”  You reached down with your hand to try and pleasure yourself, but he caught your wrist, stopping you. “To giving you a swift kick to the groin.”  You snarled, fighting once more to free yourself from Aemond’s firm grasp.

He chuckled at that.  “You have enough fire to counter that of a dragon, Y/N.” Aemond spun you around roughly, your chest now pressing against the wall as he freed himself from his trousers.  “Bend over.”

Heat pooled in your belly, yet stubbornness prevailed, and you remained rigidly upright, your head turned to watch him from your periphery.  

“If you want to cum at all tonight, you will do as I say.”  Aemond’s voice was dangerously low as he spoke in your ear, his body pressed flush to yours as he pulled at your hips with his hands.  

You obeyed, your hands pressing against the stone wall as you allowed Aemond to pull you back while pushing you down, bowing your body beneath his.  You shivered, feeling his teeth and lips brushing along the exposed skin of your neck and back.  The head of his leaking member brushed your folds as Aemond lined himself to your wanting entrance.  He slowly pushed into you, agonizingly slow, until he was seated fully within your cunt.  Aemond held your hips firm as you tried to move against him, reveling in the warmth of your walls around his twitching member.  “Gods.”  He breathed.  “I could fill you with little more than just this.”

“Aemond, please.”  You didn’t beg often; he didn’t give you many reasons to.  But tonight was proving to be a unique situation.

His hands gripped the dip of your waist tighter as he pulled out of you just to sink right back in, a hiss of pleasure escaping his mouth.  “You’re so ready for me, Y/N.” He pumped into you again, taking his time, enjoying the sweet moans he dragged from your lips with each thrust.

You pressed your forehead against the wall, one of your hands reaching back to grasp at Aemond’s wrist.

“Do you need me to fuck you harder?”  

The filth of his words sent a quivering spasm to your core, Aemond grunting as you squeezed against his cock.  

“Please.”  It seemed to be the only word you could say; the only phrase you could think.  “Please Aemond.”

He rutted into you, making you gasp with the sudden force of his strokes as he increased the pace.  Your breasts bounced as he fucked you against the wall, his hands coming to hold them in place as he pressed his chest flush against your back.  Aemond mouthed at the flesh of your neck, pulling you to stand straight as he continued the demanding pace.  

“Look at me.”  His hand was at your throat once more as you turned your head to look at him.  His lips brushed yours as he looked down upon you. “Promise me you won’t stray into danger again.”  

“I-ah!”  Your hands clutched at his torso, your walls tightening around him. “I-”

“If you want me to give you release, promise me.”  Aemond’s breathing was heavy against your open mouth, he was just as close to his climax as you.  

“I promise…Aemond.” You gasped, his tongue flicking out to taste the nectar of your lips as your orgasm began crashing over you. “I promise.”  You said over and over as, legs shaking, you began to cum around him, your clenching walls milking the seed from him as he came with you.  He held you steady, his firm arms around your chest as you bent forward once more, the force of your orgasm taking hold of your trembling body.  Aemond continued to stroke deeply into you; once, twice, three times more, each motion sending a new shockwave to your center.  Finally satisfied, he stilled, his softening manhood buried to the hilt as you both slowly came down from your high.

When Aemond pulled out, allowing you to stand straight, you felt his hot seed escaping your used quim, trickling down your legs.  You turned your body, pressing against him as your lips found his.  “I am sorry, Aemond.”  You murmured, his soft expression prompting you to speak. “I never meant to cause you such worry.”

“I know, my love.”  He whispered, his eye flicking between your own. “All is forgiven.”  

He kissed you again, you felt his fingers scoop up the cum escaping from you and pushing it back into your cunt.  You shivered against him, newly aroused at this unexpected action.  He swept you up into his arms, depositing you back onto the bed and crawling atop you once more.  “I’m not finished with you, however.”  He grinned slyly, his hands spreading your legs for him to push long fingers back into your wet heat.  You arched up into his touch, already feeling a fresh wave of arousal.

Aemond kissed you deeply, drinking down your gasps of pleasure as he scooped more of his seed from your thigh and pressed it back where he wanted it most.  “There are still a few lessons I’m sure I can teach you before the dawn breaks.”  He chuckled sinfully against your mouth. “Roll onto your stomach for me, my love.”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

hello! :) could i do a request for xavier?

One where y/n & xavier are dating already, but since his nightmares of the hyde started he’s been ignoring y/n for their own safety but they think that they have done something wrong and go to confront him one night. y/n goes to his art shed where xavier comes out of the door with the fresh scratches on his neck. y/n wants xavier to finally tell them the truth about what is going on and they make up 🥺

Love your works! ❤️

Xavier gives kitten energy…am I right?

keep sending requests for Xavier

—

There's many different ways that you can kill the one you love. The slowest way is never loving them enough.

Something’s changed in Xavier. He’s been distant and cold toward you. Every time you try to make plans, he's got an excuse. A schoolwork that needs to be handed on Monday or an art project he wants to finish.

You were starting to think he didn’t want to spend time with you.

‘’I went to his dorm last night and he didn’t answer.’’

‘’Maybe he was sleeping? He almost fell asleep in English class,’’ Enid hypothesized, applying pink polish to her nails.

‘’Or, perhaps he was not there,’’ Yoko added simply, scrolling on her phone.

Enid nodded. ‘’Perhaps he was with Ajax? I saw them leaving the dining hall together yesterday,’’

You shook your head, looking down at your lap sadly. You wish they had been right. ‘’No. I could hear him on the other side of the door. He was there.’’

Two weeks went by and the murders started. A body had been discovered in the woods near Nevermore Academy a few days ago. A normie. The police claimed it was a bear attack, but bears don’t claw their prey that way and most certainly don’t steal a body part as a trophy.

In those two weeks, the distance between you and Xavier kept growing. You began to ask yourself if you had done something. Perhaps you had hurt him without realizing, or perhaps he was simply not into you anymore.

The latter was a harder pill to swallow, but you would rather know and be done than have this situation drag until Xavier mustered the courage to end it.

It was past curfew, but you couldn’t sleep so you slipped on your jacket and your boots and snuck into the boys’ dormitory. You were about to take the stairs to Xavier’s dorm when you saw him coming down. He looked a little frantic and agitated.

Quickly, you hid in the shadows and watched as he went outside. It was too late to go for a run, so he probably went to his art shed.

The night air was cold, but you ignored the chills and kept walking. You knew the way better in daylight, almost taking a wrong turn twice and stepping in a puddle. You were not a nocturnal person.

When you made it to the shed, you were having second thoughts. This shed was Xavier’s private place, his quiet corner to create in peace, and you didn’t want to step into his space. You felt like you were invading his privacy. The only reason you knew the shed was there was because he stopped by to pick up some things once or twice. You’ve never been inside though.

A wing blew, causing some dead leaves to fly in spirals and making you shiver. Going outside in your pajamas at 11pm was not your brightest idea. Especially in November.

Suddenly, you heard a scream accompanied by a commotion coming from inside the shed. Your heart leaped in your chest and you rushed to the doors, forgetting about privacy. Before you could reach for the handle, the door opened slightly and Xavier to come out.

‘’Xavier! Are you alright?’’

The boy jumped when hearing your voice, not expecting anyone around. ‘’W-what are you doing here?’’ His eyes were wide and scared, making you wonder what happened inside.

You reached for his face, cupping his cheek gently. ‘’I heard you scream. What happe—’’ He glanced back at the door, something inside obviously scaring him, and you caught sight of blood on his neck. Scratches. ‘’Your neck. You're bleeding.’’

Xavier covered them with his hand, hissing when he touched the fresh injuries. You saw fear spark up on his face and you grabbed his hand, pulling it away from his neck.

‘’What happened?’’ you repeated in a soft tone, trying to calm him, but the fear on his face wouldn’t dissipate. ‘’Xavier. Baby, talk to me.’’

His eyes found yours and he clutched your hand tighter, anchoring his mind to you. ‘’Can we please go somewhere else? I…I don’t want to be here right now.’’

You nodded and got back to the academy — to the dorms. As expected at this hour, there was no one around in the boys' dormitory, but you were still careful as you made it to Xavier’s dorm. You never know when one of the masters — or worse, Principal Weems — will be lurking in a dark hallway.

Strangely, Rowan was not there when you and Xavier got in. His bed was perfectly made still. Xavier would have worried about his roommate’s whereabouts if he had not been so emotionally shaken by whatever had happened in the shed, but Rowan was old enough to take care of himself.

The bed squeaked as Xavier sat down. He had calmed down since you had left the shed, but something was still bothering him. You could feel it in his demeanor, you could see it in his eyes.

He released a breath, then began talking. ‘’This creature has been haunting my dreams for the past couple of weeks. I see it growling with its big round eyes and sharp teeth and claws. I try to block it out, but I can't so I just come to the shed and paint it.’’

‘’At 11pm?’’

Artists get most creative at night, he had once told you after staying up all night sketching instead of sleeping. The drawing had been beautiful, but he almost fell asleep during Botany the next day.

‘’I paint to get it out of my head. It’s something Dr. Kinbott suggested that I do. It’s been helping, but this thing is strong. It has…power over me. I don’t know how to explain it.’’

You pulled your eyebrows into a frown. ‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’When I was painting tonight, the claws reached out of the canevas and took a swipe at me.’’ Xavier reached for his neck again, as if the creature was touching him.

‘’I thought you were able to control your ability?’’

Xavier shook his head. ‘’Not when it comes to this thing. I can feel it in the shadows, kinda lurking in my mind. It’s scary.’’

You walked over to the bed and Xavier’s arms wrapped around your waist, searching for something familiar and comforting. ‘’I’m sorry all of this is happening to you.’’ You circled your own arms around his shoulders and held him close. ‘’I…I thought you were made at me or that you didn’t want me anymore,’’ you said, feeling dumb and selfish for not thinking Xavier could be going through something.

Xavier shook his head, pushing his face in your chest and bathing in your hold. ‘’That’s nonsense.’’ 

—

Xavier Thorpe taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo---uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n

[italoniponic]

Burger (Short) King | Epel Felmier

Synopsis: It’s date night and the place you selected to go with Epel was this humble fast food restaurant that serves the best hamburger in the north part of the island. Well, even if you weren’t that curious about the truth in those rumors, you just wanted Epel to have fun at dinner for once. 

Epel Felmier x gender neutral reader / fluff / appleboy's accent / established relationship / use of “you” pronouns / word count: 900 words / Masterlist

Notes: This idea came from one of my talks with @pandoa about Epel’s SR Cerimonial groovy and I just idealized this dinner night with Epel. What can I do? I love bacon and the smile of happiness shining on Epel's face. And, like always, I tried my best to write him with a southern accent... I really tried ;w;

Burger (Short) King

The burger had barely been brought to your table and you just sat there in wonder on how Epel got so quick to devour the meal. It was just a dinner date in the Sage Island village at a decent Saturday night time.

But there he was — your little lilac gremlin of a boyfriend — stuffing his mouth full of meat, bacon and lettuce with gravy as if it were the first and last meal of his life after centuries of starvation. Manners at the dinner table aside, the promotional burger was really that delicious. 

When you saw the announcement promo on Magicam, you immediately remembered Epel. 

It was a double steak burger, with bacon and thin onions fried in shoyu sauce, keeping company with lettuce and fresh tomatoes, tasty pickles and a special sauce “ala Chef’s mode”. Everything a delicious fast food meal could offer in carbs and a few extra nutrients.

Or it was what Epel tried to justify on the way there, which made you both ask for apple juice. But the juice alone wouldn’t nullify the bacon or the steak, you assumed with good humor.

It was then that the real reason for Epel’s enthusiasm occurred to you: most, if not all, of Pomefiore would not take your dinner so good-naturedly.

You knew that clogging up with fast-food wasn’t beneficial in many ways, but it was only for one day. Epel wouldn’t die if he ate enough meat for one night. In fact, with the addition of the potatoes and the pie he planned to buy for you both as a dessert at a nearby bakery, you wondered how much Epel usually ate for dinner.

You knew that before Epel met you, he sat alone in the cafeteria most of the time at the beginning of the year. Sometimes he was accompanied by Jack because they were the same class, other times his dorm leader and vice would personally supervise him — if there was time on their lunch schedule.

Epel even had a bag of onions in his blazer pocket to put for lunch if he needed it, which usually drove Jack’s sense of smell crazy. But he didn’t have to bring anything like that to your date, fortunately.

“Is it good?,” you asked after taking your first bite of the burger.

Epel had his mouth full of bacon and chips when you asked him for his opinion. He swallowed it all before answering you.

“Delicious, I tell ya what!,” he replied with a big smile.

It took a few minutes but Epel’s mouth was freer to talk — and let slip a little of the accent you loved so much.

“You know that no one is going to steal your sandwich, right? You can eat more calmly. You know, like really chew and enjoy the food,” you giggled, trying to reassure him.

“Have ya forgot who my dorm leader is? Well, I s’wanee I’ll be damned if not admit that, without Rook, I wouldn’t even be here. 'To thank lil’ someone don’t kill nor take a bite out of ya', meemaw say.” 

You didn’t remember hearing anything similar before, but if it was advice from Marja Felmier, there was nothing to question.

Not to mention that it was a big truth — it took a lot of bribery and dramatizations of your wish to have dinner alone with your boyfriend to convince Rook to be your accomplice in this far from nutritional crime.

Just in case, you two were in the corner closest to the back exit of the diner, with no windows in sight and with a lot of things around to keep people from recognizing you. 

You never know when you’re picking a poisoned apple from a seemingly well-meaning old lady, or even an extremely romantic hunter. Can’t never risk enough, you could only suppose. You would do anything to ensure the success of that date.

Epel took advantage of your thoughtful moment to eat some more. His eyes, when not closed with satisfaction, had a delightful shimmer to them that put the night stars to shame.

It was the best gift you could have given him. In fact, the boy could only think that apple carvings wouldn’t be enough to reward you.

He was actually going to try to plan something truly worthy of your kindness to him — and his countryside stomach that wouldn’t deny good meat in front of him.

But you didn’t feel like you needed any reward. Watching his joy was enough to make your heart happy. You took a sip of the apple juice, amazed at the way Epel smiled even while chewing. You held back a laughter as you watched him lick a sauce mustache that was forming above his lips.

Epel’s joy was your greatest and most precious treasure. It was enough.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“What didja say?,” the boy asked, distracted.

“C-can you pass me a napkin?,” you tried to disguise your words, not wanting to scare him with the intensity of your emotions.

Although confused, Epel shrugged and held out the small box of napkins to you.

While you were bothering to wipe non-existent crumbs from your mouth, the look of your boyfriend and his smile went unnoticed by you. Even if it took a long time before you could repeat that kind of date night, nothing would change within his heart.

Epel would still love you tons.

| Special notes: I wanted to make it a little longer but maybe another time. And I stand that I would fight all Pomefiore just to deliver the most crazy stuffed burger from McDonalds to Epel. They can't hold the power of sertanejo in my veins!! |

[bendycxmet]

Crowd—Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Summary: You watch as Wolfwood tries to find you in a crowd.

Word Count: ~1.5k

Pairing: gn!reader x Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Content: down bad reader and Wolfwood, mainly fluff, gets a lil cheesy but oh whale

A long day of traveling calls for a long lunch break, you and Wolfwood decide. Tucking yourselves into a restaurant at the edge of town, Wolfwood lets a low whistle out at the populated cafe.

“Just our luck to pick possibly the most popular restaurant in town when we’re starving.”

Your stomach grumbles aggressively at the smell of fresh food wafting in from the kitchen. Your nose twitches. Ahh, grilled Tomas. You cast your eyes to the menu hanging from the wall, immediately honing in on the longest description. You wanted something filling as a reward for the amount of steps you’ve accumulated for the day.

“Mind ordering me the Tomas Special? Gril-”

“Grilled with a side of hot sauce. Want some fruit juice too?” Wolfwood finishes. You smile at his thoughtfulness, nodding. 

“Exactly that. You already know me.” You pinch his side, Wolfwood yelping and jolting out of your reach. “I’m gonna go find us a table before someone takes our chance to rest our feet.”

“Don’t go too far, sweetness.” 

You wave your hand behind your back, focused on your search for a table. You find a tabletop outside, right beneath some fans. Perfection. You take a seat, watching as Wolfwood walks up to the counter to place your guys’ order. Your mind wanders, disassociating from your surroundings as you observe every detail that is Wolfwood.

His long eyelashes caressing his sternful eyes, the gentle slope of his bumpy nose, leading you to his plump lips forming the words of your order. You gaze down to his lean but broad shoulders that constantly tote the monster of a cross across his back, his long legs that are in a wide stance, demanding space and authority from those around him. Your eyes catch on his sturdy hands that quickly grasp the change that the cashier hands to him, pocketing it as he turns to look around the cafe.

You decide to toy with him for a bit, letting him look around for you. You wanted to continue your ogling a bit longer. His sunglasses are for once not obscuring his eyes, but instead hanging from his coat pocket. Wolfwood’s regal face is set in a way that the crowd flows around him, choosing to not get in the way of someone whose looks could kill. If you didn’t know him, you’d also avert your eyes. 

Instead, you lean your hand against your fist, softly smiling at the man you call your own. Whenever you are separated, you love to watch the people around Wolfwood as he searches for his other half. Wolfwood has a mission, and that is to be at your side again. 

“Why don’t you make it easier for me to find you in this hell? Raise your hand next time, sheesh,” Wolfwood admonishes you.

“That’s no fun, Nico. You look ready to murder someone if you don’t find me within the next minute, yanno that?” 

“So what I’m hearing is you do want me to put someone six feet under? Never took you to be violent, babe.” You shove him, only able to push him one foot away with how sturdy he is. If you didn’t know better, he let you push him so far. He chuckles at your antics. 

“Not what I mean! It’s just fun to see what you look like to other people when you aren’t looking at me.” He goes silent. You peer up at him, wondering where the usual witty remark is. You smirk at his pink cheeks. “Aw, is someone embarrassed?”

“Ugh, shove it.” He looks away, mumbling his next sentences. “Can’t fault a guy for wanting to look at his sweetness. You’re a sight for sore eyes compared to the uglies that wanna test me.”

“Ohh, so you’re calling me pretty??”

He rolls his eyes before looking down at you, lips quirked, silently answering your question. 

You laugh at how childish he acted early in your relationship. It took some time to thaw the ice that surrounded Wolfwood, ice that had formed as a result of a hard life that he rarely spoke of. So it was no surprise when it was hard for him to admit his feelings for you, especially such soft and tender ones.

He wasn’t familiar with the warmth he felt whenever you smiled at him, wrongfully diagnosing his racing heart as a premonition to some unseen danger in the area instead of feelings of love. That was uncharted territory for him. He was glad now that he could show you just how important you were to him. Now where the hell are they?

A sudden, melodic laugh alerts his senses to his right, eyes finally seeing a charming sight. His eyes skip over the mounds of heads that stand in the way of you leaning against your hand, a graceful smile painted across your face as you watch him. Your eyes are half-lidded, a serene yet distracted look hidden beneath your lashes. 

His heart stutters. He hates when it does that. He’d been trained ruthlessly to maintain an even and lethal composure in his day-to-day work by the Eye of Michael, but when it comes to you, years of training are forgotten. He knows the admiration etched in your entire body comes from watching his every move. It’s what he sees everytime you two look at each other. You look at him as if he was better to look at than the setting suns. 

Your smile deepens, eyes crinkling as you watch Wolfwood’s stony facade melt. He has never turned that predatorial intent on you, only ever offering you the soft, slight joy that is carved into his features when he sees you. 

His long strides carry him to you in no time, dragging his stool closer to your side. He sits down close enough that your knees touch, an affirmation that he is next to you. 

“You’re just never gonna wave me down, huh?”

“Nah, don’t feel like it.” Wolfwood hangs his head, sighing. A couple beats of comfortable silence pass. You blink slowly at the hustle and bustle of the cafe, watching customers waving their receipts at the waiter. Are they killing the Tomas out back? What is taking so long? You manage to hear one of the angry customers ask.

“You did it again.”

“Did what?” Wolfwood looks up.

“You walk around like you own the place. Hell, the whole town. People move out of your way. You got that much power without realizing it, Nico.” He cocks his head at you. Of course he doesn’t notice. “You’re scary. These people know without you even saying it that you can be a liability.” You let out a short laugh. 

“Hey, what’s the big idea? You just said I’m scary!”

“Yeah, but never to me. I know where your technique comes from.” He leans into your space now, eyes fully focused on you, gaze sweeping over your features. His fingers play with yours on the table, lightly lacing your hands together.

“Oh, you know me that well? I can say you don’t know the half of it,” Wolfwood brings his lips to your knuckles, grazing them softly. You recognize him trying to turn the tables, trying to steer you away from your analysis.

“Did you know you look at me as if I put the moons in the sky? Or if I was one of the stars decorating the night sky?” Your comparisons stem from the way that Wolfwood looks when night falls: peaceful. Almost glad that the darkness helps hide whatever burdens he still carries.

He brings your hand up to cover his face, knuckles now brushing his forehead. Maybe that was too poetic on your end. “I know without you even saying it that you love me, Nico. It’s written all over your face–is what I’m trying to say.” 

He rubs his forehead against your hand. “...maybe you do know the half of it.” A quick peck to your lips throws you for a loop for the first time that day. He separates only by an inch, ensuring that the next couple of words are for your ears only. “Let me say it out loud, then. I love you.”

“ORDER NUMBER 56 FOR NICOLE! GRILLED TOMAS SPECIAL AND A TOMAS BURGER!”

Groaning, Wolfwood’s head falls onto your shoulder. 

“That idiot of a cashier can’t hear for his life.” You chuckle, hand coming up to pet his hair.

“Whatever you say, Nicole. Now hurry up and get our food before someone snatches it.” 

With that, Wolfwood kisses the side of your neck before jogging to the counter. 

You rub where his lips were, heart racing. Damn him. He always manages to leave you speechless. 

a/n: yeah i needed to distance myself from my upcoming vash smut so woe wolfwood fic be upon ye

divider by saradika

masterlist

[gayometer]

Hi! Sooo, I was browsing the # of snv/ror x reader and found your blog. - I loved! I was wondering if I could get some headcanons for Gods and Humans w/ a strong personality y/n? Like the idfg y/n, pls. Sorry for my bad english & kisses from Brazil! ^ - ^ [ btw, could you please tag me if you do? My Tumblr aren't showing me notifications those days T v T ]

Not tired, just doesn't care

Glad you like my blog! Your english is fine! Kisses from P.R. ❤

💚Ask💚

💚 @msnightmare777 💚

POSEIDON who tries his best to not show his frustration, how dare a mere human like you be so casual about him? It takes him a while to understand it's not disrespect it's friendship and you just have a strong personality, tough love if you will.

HADES who sees so many similarities between you two yet so many differences, you're not mean you can be pretty caring. But the way you so casually talk and even slap gods is amusing to him.

ADAMAS who tried to be all angry and grumpy with you but ended up being the biggest puppy. He comes to you when Hades isn't available, he doesn't know what it is but you kinda remind him of his big brother.

ZEUS who pokes fun at you just cause he knows you won't do anything, he doesn't try to "break" your facade and annoys you the same way he does Odin....by making you babysit him and essentially give him scary dog privileges.

APHRODITE who tries to get any reaction out of you, she isn't used to someone looking at her and not at least smiling.

HERMES who pokes you just for fun, he says it's to get a reaction out of you but we all know he does it for the funsies.

HERACLES who rants to you about anything that comes to his mind, he likes your strong personality and how you so casually talk to him, it's a breathe of fresh air.

ARES who started off with seeing you as a disrespecting mortal to then come to the conclusion that you're a glorified babysitter taking care of beings much older then yourself, including him.

LOKI who bugs you on a daily to try and get a reaction out of you, he obviously fails miserably but at least give him points for effort. He hasn't had this much trouble with a mortal since Jack bamboozled him about tea.

THOR who doesn't pay much attention to you, he doesn't mind your "attitude", high chance it's Forseti causing more noise about respect then Thor himself.

ODIN who much like Thor doesn't mind all that much about hoe indifferent you are however, unlike Thor he has limits. His crows are still the ones causing way too much noise about respect and shit, but if he does eventually get bothered by the "disrespect" he'll just get up and leave. He's not a child and can leave places if he feels like it, so shut up you two bird brains.

SHIVA who can and will make you join him and Rudra dance. He also tries to break your facade but that doesn't work. Shiva is pretty chill about most things but is still slightly irked that you have absolutely no reaction to being face to face with a god that uses the earth as his animal crossing island.

BUDDHA who just vibes under a tree with you, you both don't talk and just enjoy being close to each other.

ZERO who is basically your unofficial child, he's the only one who can make you break away from the tough love and "indifference" just by being himself.

BEELZEBUB who tries to keep his distance from you since he's afraid he'll get attached. He doesn't hate you, he just doesn't want to kill his new friend.

SASAKI who's normal cheery and laid-back attitude made you gravitate to him. His grandpa vibes give you more then enough comfort.

QIN who is adamant in making you his friend, no you can't escape him and the power of friendship shall be blasted upon thou.

ADAM who has the same nature and therefore doesn't mind, you're his child and that's that.

TESLA who took your silence as the greenlight to go on a rant about science and his latest inventions, you two have an odd friendship, he rants and you listen.

LU BU who normally wouldn't go out of his way to befriend some, but he hasn't had someone who doesn't run or worship him immediately in a while. Can you fight? Cause he wants to fight you.

RAIDEN who takes his time to stare at you, he yaps your ear off but he's also staring at you without blinking to make sure you don't "make a cute face" without him seeing....apparently it's not fair Thrud can see you crack a smile or giggle.

JACK who would normally stick to himself will try to socialize with you, he ended up enjoying you silent company and is one of the few who managed to get a smile and full sentence out of you.

[menlove]

any McLennon fic recs ?

CRACKS FINGERS

immediate rec is your lucky break by @forthlin bc millies writing makes me throw up and scream and cry and this is the fic that got us talking so!! also, young paul and dilf john and I eat it UP. also literally any of their fics are so so good. the latest one is our fic together so I won't rec it but... their writing in the john pov they wrote is soooo good so. I'll rec their half!

✨ = all time fave

just pulling from my bookmarks.......

grow old with me

Paul breaks his arm, and John panics

explicit. fix-it.

and when the broken bodies are washed to shore (who am I to ask for more)

“Jesus, took you long enough,” John says, adjusting the duffle over his shoulder. “Thought I might be out here til morning at this rate.”

For a second he wonders if he’s drunker than he thought, but no. As far as he can tell, it is still 1980, and he hasn’t seen or so much as spoken to John in ten years

mature. fix-it.

John My Beloved ✨

They've always loved each other, in their own way...

explicit. major character death. literally fucking killed me I sat there at 7am after staying up all night and teared up. I cry like. once a year.

i was a younger man then (now) (post hoc) ✨

John’s twelve when a bloke appears from a flaming pie and says, “From this day forward you are Beatles with an ‘a.’” The bloke is Paul.

Or: paul and john meet at all ages and eras and john is the time-traveler’s wife the way only john lennon can be

mature. fix-it. time traveler's wife au that lives forever in my mind rent free.

Stop all the clocks (by @javelinbk)

‘1967. After Brian dies, Paul decides not to go ahead with MMT, and takes John up to Scotland for a month instead.’

mature

Like Love, The Archers Are Blind

He wants to push Stuart out of the way, not even with a violent yank of his collar like he sometimes imagines. Just to melt into his place like butter sliding in a pan. Have it be an effortless breath of fresh air when John looks up at him and sees it all reflected back in his eyes. It’s you.

Hamburg, 1960

explicit

Boy, You've Been A Naughty Girl ✨

John makes Paul a bet. Paul takes him up on it. Crossdressing shenanigans and angst ensue, and ~feelings come out in the wash. 1961.

OR: boys in knickers, lots and lots (and lots) of sex, angst, homophobic slurs, schmoop. The Pineapple Club is fictitious. Originally posted on LJ in 2012

explicit. what can I say but whshwjjajjakak

I Still Miss Someone (series)

It's 1976 and Paul keeps showing up on John's doorstep with a guitar. Eventually John turns him away and Paul goes off to sulk in his hotel room the night before his flight from New York. Based on real events

explicit. not a fix-it.... real to me though

christmas lights (keep shinin' on)

"I'd have you," Paul said, eventually, and John felt the air being knocked out of him. "If it was different. If we were different."

mature.

two of us (burning matches)

It won't stop raining. Paul doesn't know what his feelings are doing. John's practising his right swing. Somewhere along the way, they fuse together

explicit. honestly literally everything by obstinatrix is 💖💖💖

one and one and one is three ✨ by @pauls1967moustache

Even with how badly he wants this, John wouldn't want it if he didn't think it would make Paul feel good. That's the point. It can be good, the three of them. It can work, if Paul lets it.

explicit. failed yoko/john/paul. also literally everything this author writes...... shout outs: a great threat (female paul/yoko w delicious mclennon in the bg) baby it's all relative verse (don't talk to me. the one time I've ever Ever in my life read foot kink and it???? it works??? they'd do this. I don't want them to. but this is real. entered my "psyche of john lennon" file. )

PROBABLY MORE....... but these are the ones that I keep thinking about and ruminating on.

[court-jobi]

Best Medicine

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (AFAB | fem pronouns, but fairly neutral)

Words: 7.7k

Rating: Teen/Mature, 18+ (spicy first half) (K'oyacyi, sweet minors)

Warnings: Implied sensual release, grinding, cuddling, love confessions, carbonite sickness, language, memory loss, emotional hurt/comfort, survivor’s guilt, sleep intimacy, talks of consent/taking advantage, FEELINGS, the helmet comes off, Mandalorian marriages, Din deserves everything wonderful, Fluff/Hurt/Comfort roller coaster ride, angst with a happy(ish?) ending~

//set in pre and post- Season Two | The Mandalorian and the Book of Boba Fett (time jump)...// Translations included at end of work//

A/N & credits: Honorable mentions to @writerlyhabits for helping my mind run wild with carbonite sickness headcanons, and for inspiring me to write out this emotional ride of comfort-HURT-comfort for you all. It’s not often I make any form of whump, my Tumblr lovelies, so be kind and apologies in advance for this… It was both a challenge and an adventure to write~ I promised there’s a lovely silver lining in all my works, and I hope this one is enjoyable!

✨May the 4th be with y'all✨

Need more Star Wars fics? Get your fix w/my masterlist HERE!

Read on AO3

Summary: These are the soft moments you live for: each caress and light word of banter chisel the dark heaviness of life away, chip by chip. Tonight’s no different– you are swept up into the arms of Mando who’s taken your bait, and loving every minute of it. You’re overdue for a break and some quality time.

The quiet cabin of the Razor Crest gave you the space for cozy confessions, to learn more of his mother tongue, and give in to your tendency to get carried away like teenagers, if just for a spell.

Laughter is the best medicine: from the dead of hyperspace, to whatever bed you've landed on while on the run. Yet will that be the case– as the cruelty of time and circumstance test it?

"Ho-okay, c'mere you."

Relishing in your giggles as you wedged your hand in between his newly exposed ribcage, the Mandalorian let out the catch in his throat and quickly picked you up by your thighs– the perfect way to toss you up on one shoulder. You squealed and couldn't stop laughing even as he groused about your ‘cheeky hands where I can see them’, and walked you over to his quarters. 

He swung you back down so that you plopped with a bounce on the recently laundered bunk. It’s tidy – well, was, before you fell onto it– and still smells fresh and windblown from your last stop. Pliant under his shadow, he towered over you with a hand on each side of your head. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t wearing armor; he’s still impressive.

"Do I have to teach you to mind your manners, too?" The rasp came out as annoyed, but you knew better.

He chides the kiddo all the time. 'Quit picking at things', 'don't give her that attitude'; all the magic words have to be instilled in him, as well as just keeping to himself and not being a nuisance. Munchkin has to be taught such things; they're juvenile. 

That's not what he means with you. He's talking about the glances, the bounce of your foot taunting him when your legs cross, the playing with your belt which then tugs your neckline… when you line up your scope just right, just as he taught you, and you give him all the credit. 

You really don't have to try hard at all to get Mando’s attention– it's the game of keeping a step away that leads into a chase that gets under his skin. Especially when he just knows you're up to it. 

You have a few hours to kill until the next leg of your adventure begins. It’s bound to be a restless one when you touchdown planetside, so spoil him, you shall.

You couldn't stop smiling when he caught you.

"C'mon, you can't blame me, space cowboy. You're fun to tease." 

Since you were taken down, you brushed your hair back, let your arms hang above your head, toying with him through your eye’s bat.

The visor transfixed on you told you everything you needed to know: you were practically gift-wrapped under him, and he’s obsessed with the view. That was by design.

Your laughter died down to little hums as you watched him glance to the wall, back to you, then again toward the shelf. He finally decided to palm the panel brusquely to shut the door behind him: encasing you both in automatic darkness. 

You heard the click of the underside of his helmet. A relaxed, hollowed chuckle transitioned to a bright one to fill the silence. 

Jackpot.

Strong arms came slowly down to the bed to hold you, with a warm, -now ungloved- hand brushing more hair back that had framed your face every which way.

The Mandalorian cooed down at you with a saccharine smile you knew had to be there,

"I love hearing you laugh…"

Hearing and touch senses honed in, you reached tentatively to where his shoulder would be, pulling him in and inviting him to lay in his newly claimed spot between your legs. The Mandalorian followed so, gingerly.

You murmured an affirmation as a questioning reply, coupled with a breathy string of chuckles to confirm his desires. Truly your eyes couldn't know the difference between open and closed in total blackness, anyway.

"--and I love listening to you sing," he praised you again. “I can hear you better this way.”

You hummed sweetly, 

"Aww, so you do enjoy being serenaded huh? Big, scary bounty hunter brought to his knees by a wannabe wordsmith with a funny accent?"

Eager lips laid their caring touch to your forehead. 

“Every time." He pressed little cheek kisses to you, too, explaining his untold, priceless comforts in between, "The minute you put the kid to bed is my favorite part of the day."

He feels your fingers trail up to his hair, nails taking through the crimped mess of curls there. He froze his affections the moment you did that. You ease moans out of him at one, singular touch.

He doesn't care how small he sounds, you think. All he knows is ‘I’m safe.’

"And this, is mine:" you said with a softness reserved for him. All teasing is set aside when you do choose to be serious. You shifted so he can let down more weight onto you in the newly shared room, "Taking care of the one man who puts everything and everyone else before himself. It's quite the honor, for me."

Sighs fall from him so easily. You'd imagine his eyes shut at that. 

“It’s you who honors me,” Mando countered.

You wanted these moments to count: taking any chance you could to affirm and provide whatever comfort you can with the little downtime you had.

You know he won't show you, but it doesn't keep you from wondering… when he's so close, you wonder what he looks like under the helm. What kind of hair, how long. What breaks in the skin have cut into him after wearing it for so long, or did he have any prior to swearing on the names of his Ancestors. 

What of his eyes alone? There's the usual gemlike hues, earthy tones; or there's always the artificial overlays people use to disguise themselves or the retinal scans– it's just a special effect they use in those holovids you watch on the weekends. Just the kind he mocked when he caught you watching them. 'Silly and pointless and ridiculously scripted.' And yet while he sassed about the waste of time, you often corralled him enough so that he'd at least sit with you while he cleaned off the carbon scoring of his rifles, to watch them passively by your side… he'd caved to your whims if you so much as touched him. That's what got you here.

With him at his most docile, you felt brave enough to ask what has always mystified you,

"What color are your eyes, hon?"

You heard Mando’s head tilt up with its sleepy intake of breath. A flash of worry that you overstepped hit you, feeling his form rise from its concave state under your touch… but he didn't go away. Fingers wound their way to cup the back of your neck instead– 

–to prepare to taste yours in just a few moments.

"Purple," he answered.

You snorted at the lie. It's just a little bluff, but you'll entertain it… you both are teetering in the realm of what's permitted within his Creed anyway. 

His lips are a breath from yours. You played along; like you'd won the guessing game,

"I knew it."

Your winner’s kiss was the touch of warmth he'd needed all day. 

Eh, maybe he'd tell you the truth one day, maybe not– besides, you don't have any brainpower left to wonder when he's kissing you. 

One turned into two and more, with the Mandalorian’s hands roaming your features until they reached low enough to switch spots and roll you over onto his chest instead. His palm’s exploration over your shoulder gave you the chance to pull away for a breath, leaving you to process the shivers he's causing and taking the time to relish his touch.

"I really do have to thank you," Mando confessed between deep breaths. Deep, like he was really breathing for the first time today. "I've– never felt so.. safe. Ever -in all my life- than when I'm with you."

You melted, until he said more.

"Feels like I’ve cheated the Fates to even be left standing, much less lie down without needing to keep an eye open. I never-- really thought I.. deserve this."

You wondered why. Your browline tensed with worry, why he would be so self-deprecating even after a career like his… littered with wins and paygrades and beskar trophies?

"Ill-deserving of what?" You asked plainly. "--having someone care about you?"

Your Mandalorian fell quiet, simply running a hand up and down your back with complete tenderness. Where his blunted nails caught your skin on the backstrokes, the pads of his glove-worn hands soothed the loving scratches’ path. 

This silent confirmation wouldn’t cut your questions: it’s still a force of habit, Mando using actions to show what he means. 

"You give me kindness. Kindness that," Mando spoke of the wonder of this feeling, "I had to convince my heart to accept. Who'd dare refuse a gift from you… But I can't help feeling it's wasted on someone like me."

Someone like him: a hunter? Or a Mandalorian? Folks frowned upon both mantles. You knew the biases, but you treated him fairly, made him feel valid– even before your feelings for him grew into something much sweeter than a working coexistence. Thank the Stars, you were so happy to find your chemistry was a feeling Mando shared after a late night with a too-close call. A feeling he was apparently still getting used to- hence the apparent guilt of what ‘gift’ he'd been given by having someone so generous like you for a partner.  

This broke your heart every time. Not just hearing his affirmations and words of appreciation when they catch you off guard– but how he’d thank you for the most basic needs of his own.

"Honey," you leaned down your forehead to his, "You matter. Whether you believe it or not, you're loved and not alone in this galaxy. Your words, feelings, they matter to me. It's not wasted, any of it, baby. I'm honored to be the one who gets to love you on the day-to-day basis, yeah, but... even if I wasn't in the picture, I should hope you’d still seek out getting your needs met. That's all anyone wants, I think." 

You caressed his stubbled jaw line with your thumb as it slid and traced down the seams to his chest. Something inspiring bumbled around in your head, so you tried working it out.

"You know as well as I do... these days can blur together so fast when we're moving too fast. We– get in the way of our own thoughts, and that can make our minds a messy place. It’s easy then, we forget how needed our wants are, sometimes.”

The hands caressing you stilled; reverent to every word you said.

“Keep your word, settle your debts, all that’s still true,” you shook your head, “But please don't forget this part, hon... You matter, and that includes the softer things you want. The nice things. What the amazing, kind- hearted man underneath needs."

No person has ever respected him so much. To honor his creed and what it entails, to support what he did, the lifestyle he chose-especially one as taxing as this. He wouldn't call himself a kind man; he was a killer, detached and for the longest time, keen to remain that way.. But if this woman so dear to him said so, maybe he was learning to be gentle after all.

You wished more than ever that you could stare him in the eyes so you'd know he heard you– but you swung for the next best thing: you held your hand right on top of his heart. Its beat was faint under his padded underarmour, but there.

His breath faltered at the touch. 

Mando reached his to find the digits caressing him and dancing his along each one: skin to skin. Has no one really ever told him that? A little huff of air escaped him; you felt his head shake from the motion rustling the pillow beneath him.

"Hell, you're sweet," Mando brought your fingers off and laced them to his lips. "You mean that."

"Of course I do. I don't say it to prove I'm being right. I want you to know the truth."

He was quiet again. Only this time, a purposeful finger ran along your side to coax you out. Tickle, more like.

"Ok, sometimes I like being right!!" you rushed out to make him stop.

"I have a running list of wagers a mile long that says otherwise, cyar'ika. You fool no one, let alone me." 

Mando amused himself every now and then, a sound you loved like a drug, too. You took control and dove up for another kiss, his deep laugh turning into something stronger, deeper. He always kissed you like he was drowning and you were his source of life and air. As if you'd fly away at any minute.

His hands pulled you tightly to him, demanding closeness with firm, undulating grips on your thigh and on your neck to direct you. Kiss after kiss, you eventually led from your point of leverage to start kissing down his neck as an experiment.  He'd gasped at first, but the good kind. The kind that begged, not stalled for less.

“Loving on me,” Mando rasped, “Is that wha’ you– you’re calling nngthis?”

Your boy needed reassurance, something awful, tonight.

You'd normally tease him as you go, gauging his response to touching these new places, but were kind about it tonight. As touch-starved as your Mandalorian is, you didn't want to overwhelm him.

So you merely paused, gave a sweet “Sir, yes, sir~” and carried on after a quick peck on the cheek.

You couldn’t help but let your giddiness escape again when you reached a soft spot on his neck; one that made him say your name in an awestruck cry. Soft on the clips, long on the vowels. God, you love the sound of it, bobbing under your waiting lips as you worship the space. He's warm, stubbled, and just perfect. 

"The way you say my name,” you beamed, “I'm starting to think you like me or something, honey."

Mando sighed out, moving a hand to the back of your head to get your attention:

"Din."

You still kissed him, asking him to repeat with a little hum.

"m'... m' name."

The loving haze blew away, and you with it. A zing thrummed to life in your chest. He’s never told you his name– ‘anonymity was his strength’ dictating the secrecy, after all. Despite the dark, you leaned up on an elbow. 

Your eyes went wide, looking into nowhere at the wall, breathless at the discovery.

"Your name is Din?" 

He was just as breathless beneath you, equally rendered mute as you were. Made sense, it was the first time he'd said the word to anyone in years; the proof lay in how his chest was heaving, "Yes."

"...Din."

He melted at the sound of it on your tongue. 

"Din Djarin." he offered up his family name.

"Din Djarin." so you honored the clan, just the same.

He shuddered, "Fuck, yes".

In a surge, Din Djarin -no longer just the man you affectionately called ‘hey you’- pulled you back to his lips. Heated minutes passed with his hands all over you and your delighted, soft laughs breaking your kisses from pure happiness. 

You now knew his name. Two words that coded him in a way few knew, and you were one of the select recipients of such intimate knowledge. This would take your bond to new heights tonight, and you could barely stand the euphoria that flooded you.

You'd started shuffling about with your hips instinctively over his once as much as your perch allowed and when they settled as an unintentional roll, Din sighed deeply and with a tighter grip. One hand gathered up your hair in his hand, where he could relish the waves in it and hold you back enough where he could lap at your neck as you'd done to him. Your hips found permission to work their magic and you were met with a carnal side of the Mandalorian you'd anticipated he held back all along. Even though his thick trousers and your leggings separated you two entirely, it was enough to scratch the itch and blind him even more to anything around him in a matter of seconds.

Little phrases passed Din’s lips; sweet nothings you thought, with no idea for their meaning. But with him talking, you didn't care if he was reciting the alphabet, his dinner order, or the damn 'Ode to the Empire’. He was practically praying hotly in your ear, and that was a buzz you'd never try to stop and put a pin in the moment to demand a pocket translator.

"Mesh’la, cyar’ika. Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la. B’d jate... Jatne o'r ner sur'haai…" 

One deep roll sent him gripping you tight so he bucked back. The sensation hit you in a special place too; you cried out a bit louder than you anticipated. Before you could even think to be shy about it, Din sucked hard on your neck– and your surprise jumped an octave.

"That's it, sweetheart." Din swallowed, "Kriff, that's a good girl." 

He set a pace that you had no control of anymore. You'd be losing control yourself soon enough.

A bit helplessly, you whimpered along with the rolls, listening to his begs, 

"Din, I ---nnnguhhh"

"What is it, sweet girl? Rejorhaa'ir ni. Does that feel good, huh?"

"Mhmmm.. it feels good,"

"You sound good. Heavens, you sound amazing. So.. so fucking pretty.." Din sought a sloppy makeout that you happily fell into. 

From the warmth buzzing in your face through your body, you shot away breathless in a tiny whine into his cheek; something was going to burst inside.

"Ohmygodohmygod, Mand– Din, I can't..."

He ground up a bit faster, "Ni ganar’e, cyare, I've got you. Let go. Let me hear you, c'mon."

You'd whined again, shaking your head against your better judgment. 

Sensing the fight in you, Din fisted the hand on your hair into a deliciously tight hold– his loving, seductive mouth speaking into the soft flesh by your jaw while his hand explored its way down to your thigh.

"C'mon, I know you're close. C'mon." The bass in his voice turned it into a growl easily. He was desperate too. "Be my best girl, like I know you are."

Oh God that tempted you. You'd been grinding faster, yourself. Not unlike hearing the pre-flight tells you catch when the engines cycle power in the cockpit: you're racing the lighting inside you while still trying to be conscious of the moment. Staying centered on him. 

On Din. Din Djarin.

And with another suckling, lazy kiss to your neck, you'd cried out. The tremors jolted within you, subsiding into trembling shakes even when you quit thrashing against him.

Din's hand dropped to brace your back after your rush, keeping up his pace while you fought for breath. His voice choked out fast, too, ending his chase in a hard groan and his own hips rutting against you a few times harder than the rest, then fell back altogether. Your highs concluded quickly– with the mellow clang of his head thunking against the bar at the top of his bunk as he fell back.

You didn’t mean to, but you chuckled at his small 'ow', so you cupped your hand up to cradle his head. Massage it, to comfort. Even he, the man who takes vibroblades to the flesh and barely sheds a tear, feels vulnerable enough to give a little whine out to play for sympathy.

 Catching your breath has never felt so good.

 Soon enough though, you felt both his hands slide to your hips and push up a bit.

You lifted gingerly, "Oh, am I hurting you?"

"I.. I uh,... made a mess." Din sounded so winded.

You ran hot at that admission.

"Oh. Heh, sorry ‘bout that."

"Oh hell, don't you apologize for that," You could hear the smile, albeit the awkward stumbling behind it. "Wait- wait here." 

He tipped you on your side and kissed you quick. 

"Eyes closed?”

You nuzzled his forehead pressed onto yours, "Already there."

"Atta girl." Din  leaned into another kiss.

He left and changed quickly. Gave you enough time for you to collect your hair up and over the pillow from where it got mussed, hugging a pillow to yourself in his place, still giddy at making the Mandalorian lose himself.

Making Din lose himself.

By his dulled footsteps and overhead bar of light painting a Mandalorian-shaped shadow onto the door again, you hid in your pillow dramatically. The rumbles of his voice carried to you as the door closed and he crawled back to you as before; bare to the room once more and laughing at your comical eagerness for him to shed the helmet again.

"Ok–" Din’s welcoming hand pulled your arm down; familiar, to when he'd collected your hands at the start.

"Hey you." You cooed shyly.

"Hey you." He purred back.

You lifted up into another kiss, this one much calmer and softer, having been sated in the most tender way with him.

Settling back, breathless you muttered out a quick 'hey' to bring him back to the present. "Teach me how to say something?"

Obeying your pause, he slowed to a stop. "In Mando'a?” he asked.

"Mhm?"

Interest piqued his tone, “What do you want to say?”

What your heart’s been singing for months every moment he has his back turned. What you’ve meant and said a thousand different ways other than the three standard words. Only this time, you want him to be in on the secret, too. You wanted to be able to tell him this in a way that will only resonate with him:

“..I wanna say 'I love you'.”

Din went rigid. Then straightening up, he brushed your hair back soothingly, falling to a whisper- another secret.

"We would say..ni kar'tayl gar darrasuum."

“Ni cart ah-"

He chuckled, "ni kar'tayl,"

"ni kar'tayl,"

"gar,"

"gar?"

"darrasuum."

"darrasuum."

"That's it. All together?" Din guided. 

You tried for all three, and when it did , it slid perfectly off your tongue so that a happy, wet sound left him. Something about it must have stung his eyes you couldn't see. You pressed a couple small kisses to his lips.

Mando’a was a gorgeous, sonorous language– and quite possibly the trickiest to pick up.

Then your tone turned curious, "Haven't… you been saying that to me? All this time?"

"You remembered." He nuzzled your forehead, but shook his head a little to answer, ‘not quite’ teased in his motion. "Kar'tayl means 'to know', or another way... It means to care deeply, to care for. Mandalorians use it for many things, depending who they speak it to. There is no word for 'love', so... "

"To really know someone is to love them." You finished sweetly.

You hit the nail on the head, and speaking that core tenet earned you a loving sweep of Din’s thumb across your cheek.

It’s inevitable; your chest was going to burst.

"That's beautiful, Din." You blissfully sighed. He snuck both arms around you, pulling you forward. “Din Djarin.”

"It means so much," he whispered, "--coming from you..."

In that moment, you hoped his heart could rest…

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Din lays at your back, having nestled up subconsciously overnight. 

His arm -the perfectly still, bracing one he relies on when he scouts- found its place so easily spooned beneath yours. Proof you are part of a matching set: intwined in love and bond and safety, even in sleep– at least to him, who you knew once felt he didn’t deserve such sweetness and warmth.

This would have been nothing out of the ordinary, nothing out of character for Din to do with you in bed. He cuddled you nightly, religiously, from that first evening onward, sharing your bed and souls alike since you spoke your first word of love to him. Normally, you’d welcome it, you always welcome him.

But– not now. Now, it set you on edge. Since his last shift of the blankets when he rolled over, you haven’t been able to fall back asleep. In uneasiness, you lie awake and aware of how a once tender act was wrong. Your conscience nags at your gut: no, no, no.

Not like this. 

He doesn't know what he's doing.

Stop him. 

Tell him to move.

Move him.

You willed yourself awake when Din curled in; you really shouldn’t allow this. But for the sake of his rest as all the docs all say he needs, you let him seek his peace however makes him the most comfortable, content enough to watch the ongoing lanes of traffic of early and late commuters of the Ring out your window’s slats. 

Sleep wasn’t easy for you now anyway– not with this every present knot in your throat. It’s set to burst when your mind wanders too far towards what got you here…

There were two callsigns you memorized since meeting Din– not as a request or favor, but a demand. One of course, was his, and the other belonged to one of the last Mandalorians standing from his former covert as a last resort. One that he quizzed you on over and over about answering, ‘should anything ever happen to me’. 

One day, that callsign just pinged you– and sent a good bit of ice into your stomach when you greet a wide-cut blue helm filling your holo. 

“Master Vizsla.”

“Lady Djarin,” Paz greeted with a warm-enough familiarity. 

Something in the way he chose how he delivered his words around you told you that he’s perhaps making an effort to appear personable over a holomessage, whereas he may put on fewer airs face-to-face.

You were honest, 

“I feel like there’s few reasons someone like you would call me, and none of those reasons strike me well…”

“ I’ve only said two words, little bird. Your intuition is a curious one,” his helmet shook a little, “-though, not misplaced...”

You leveled your face, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“I have news. I recovered your riduur. He is alive, though not in the same state as when he left you.”

Now that is a curious response. 

You outsourced yourself for a job and have taken a good, six-week-long hiatus from your shared space rented on the Glavis Ringworld pursuing your own contracts. Although confident in this share of responsibility, it’s been harder being away from each other than either of you anticipated. You spoke on comms for each other’s voices about every other rotation in your separation, though never nearly as far from each other’s mind. But this was your marriage, one you honored in every way- together or apart. 

And anything to bring in some extra credits, and… take your mind off the kiddo’s absence… has been a welcome distraction. 

Only now, with Paz’s news, you’re both relieved and far more anxious to learn just why Din hasn’t answered your hails from an unusual, weeklong stretch of radio silence…

“Sorry, not the same– state?” you asked, “what do you mean? What about his state…”

Before your headspace had the chance to spin– running wild with concern over his body, what he could have suffered, could have fought, could have breathed, ingested, poisoned–

“...state of mind, I fear.” was Paz’s cool answer. “He has lost his Path, and you need to help him guide it back where it belongs.”

This, as it would turn out, was not so easy a malady to heal.

You met Paz at his transmitted coordinates to collect your husband and work through what was to become the biggest challenge this -or any relationship in your life- has ever faced:

Fekking carbonite sickness. Or whatever corrupted version of it Din Djarin had quite literally trapped himself into.

While on his own mission, Paz recovered a poorly thrown together carbonite freezer that a petty gang abandoned, with a select few targets within. One of which entombed none other than his own kih’vod. The reason why he described it as ‘a botched job’ was that the alchemical readouts of said carbonite chamber pointed to a tainted solution: not pure in ingredients that typically secure a clean, minimally-invasive freezing process. When you start cutting corners to save costs, you compromise the effectiveness of the flashfreeze. Some sentients did not survive this treatment; though it was a blessing Din clearly did– though not before taking a unique toll. 

Typically, carbonite would blitz your vision, your extremities; make you feel like a ten-ton transport has dragged you across the Dune Sea then set you spinning through a wash cycle, expecting you to walk a few miles blindfolded as a cool down without a single misstep. 

It makes you drowsy– not lose your short-term memory. 

When Din awoke, the questions posed to him concerning what events led him to his present predicament went unanswered. Not from a place of obstinance, but complete confusion. He’s unsatisfied with himself, the frailty he feels. Being stripped of the mind stung equally as bad as if it had his body– which conveniently, was also hurting. 

He got angry, Paz said– furious as to what could have altered his head and made him feel so out-of-body. There were decent chunks of recent days, weeks he claimed he could not recall. That list grew as he couldn’t even say what his last paygrade was, what he’d done with the Guild for the last year, what had become of the covert on Nevarro. When he glanced at a darkly mirrored reflection of himself, he didn’t know how he procured the newer portions of his chromed armor. 

The bad news continued to careen out of control. He didn’t recognize the mudhorn etched on his shoulder; had to ask the Armorer why that creature was added. To her immovable surprise, she sobered at how serious this truly was. He didn’t know his Clan? Of its addition?

He didn’t..--he didn’t know the name Grogu. Never even heard of such a species. 

When shown a holopic of the kid, he simply looked at you and asked if something like that could speak- could maybe answer to what happened to him. That nearly broke you on the spot if the Armorer hadn’t ushered a still-throbbing Din to sit and receive a medical consult and diverted your attention. The whole scene was a heartbreaking one, though Vizsla spared you most of the big questions you wanted to ask by ripping off the emotional bandaids himself.

It was by Paz’s explanation that Din had been told that you were his wife, his riduur. For some strange reason, he accepted that quickly. Explained straight away why you stuck around. But in the hours and days that followed, your partner was far from the cozy and nurturing man you’ve known for so long. Even if he tolerated you, he still appeared to consider you a stranger. You knew why, and therefore didn’t blame him one bit. He was hard enough on himself for his failings on a good day. Getting himself into such a vulnerable situation and having to nurse this blasted headache everyday that barely seemed to let up would naturally only make that self-image worse.  His steps fall heavier, carrying weight unseen. 

It was clear a depression was setting in as the hard first days melted into a week. Into two. The man you loved walked through your shared home as a cold, distant shell of himself, filled to the brim with unspoken anger, confusion, guilt, and lost pain. 

While in your company every day, you led most of the talking- just about practical things. Suggestions when he lost his train of thought, simple choices, graciously avoiding the oliphant in the room by keeping topics in the moment with your usual, helpful nature. It’s your default and, so, hard to break; but for the most part, Din Djarin accepted that too with nods and hums of agreement. He poured himself into some easy reconnaissance missions and errands to try and pull himself out of the dark, but he offered very little depth of dialogue with you, claiming he’s focusing on meditation. Centering himself. 

But you knew better. Centering, introspection– that takes a different form with Din when he’s in a bad headspace. He’s hating himself, punishing: for being a disappointment, to be your problem. 

Though… oddly enough… your nighttime routine had not really changed. That’s the most bittersweet feeling of all of this. 

When it came that first night to talk about your living arrangement, he insisted that nothing change: for you to keep your bed, and he would busy himself elsewhere. But as you both just talked things through about what your next steps should be, sitting side by side against the headboard watching the nightlife stream in through the porthole of your room, your drowsiness took root, and he somehow fell asleep right beside you– as though nothing had changed. 

In the silence of morning, he didn’t speak on it; you carried about your days as before, getting by. But sure enough, when you’d catch up at the end of the day, the same sinking feeling around you would hit at the same hour, you’d lie down, wake with him having never left his side of the bed, and the cycle would repeat. 

A poignant, if painful, reminder of what connection still stood between you– and what little  comfort the universe was offering you in the midst of a horrible situation through your Mandalorian’s touch.

Still, you know it’s not the same. It’s instinctual, not intentional. You don’t cry anymore about it. You’re all sniffled out, though your throat hasn’t gotten the memo. It seizes every time he calls you by name instead of Cyar'ika. 

So here, he sleeps behind you:  seemingly none the wiser about the more amorous nights that bombarded your god-awful, precious memories. These dreams, they keep you awake at all hours of the early morning when even Din’s subconscious cries out to hold you. To allow him to sleep by your side when surely his entire world felt numb and unfamiliar? It was his blessing, and your nightly curse.

A noise, finally. A little catch, high behind your neck- a barely-there attempt to wake up. In trying, he squeezes you in, then settles with a soothed groan. Din’s nuzzling between your shoulders. The scent of your conditioner must be the only thing keeping him in such a drowsy state. On the edge of sleep, he’s still able to make you melt with his rarely-seen gentle nature. 

And despite the circumstances, you laugh at this, softly.

"What are you doing?" you ask of yourself more than him: but he answers…

"Mmmm... y'r warm.."

Now that’s your Din. That’s your Darling talking. 

It’s him… and not. 

"Djar…” you sighed with a catch in your chest, “Honey, wake up."

You’d shown him where he stowed his helmet on the shelf while you slept and that you’d never get up before him, so he didn’t feel exposed. It was torture though– you always woke up before him now and were subject to his snuggly nature: sans the intimacy you once shared by turning into each other. That wouldn’t be fair now, wouldn’t be right, even if it was what you craved the most about mornings with him. For now, you’d face away, until he was ready.

Din stirred again. His limbs gave a quivering squeeze to wakefulness. You knew it the moment he must have opened his eyes, because his breaths seized. He’s aware, then... even more aware.

"Oh,” he broke through his morning voice with a rush, “I'm so sorry-- I was just-"

"It's ok, just relax,” you threw confidence into your voice, “How’s the head?" 

“It um.. It’s ok. Kind of achey.”

“C'mon. Lay down and rest.” You’re selfish and can’t help settling in, "It's not like we have to get up yet. Paz still has the speeder, so we can stick to this side of town until he brings it back."

You held onto his wrist carefully, returning it to its lax spot between your breasts, just where it fits. You just want him lucid; even if he doesn’t hold you as tight as he used to.

After the Grogu holo incident, you couldn’t bear to ask him more about what he does or doesn’t recognize. You couldn’t bear to ask him if he remembered you, and you wouldn’t, even now. How could he, after all? If he didn’t even know the face of his own son, what chance did you have? You’d met him months after taking on his charge. Based on the gap of time Din struggled to remember, you certainly fell within that ocean of nothingness. No, you didn’t bother to ask him things of that nature. You simply accepted his companionship and moved along.

At your word, Din nests back in, presumably to get a few more minutes of sleep. But then, he  breathes in, and you sense it’s not purely therapeutic, the way he’s settled into you. He’s scooted closer, and not to readjust his posture. He’s moved your hair, and not to get it out of his face for his comfort–

He starts– kriff, he’s kissing you. Kissing you like he means it. Little pecks. Your neck, your shoulder, and– you stop him.

"D- babe,- you don't have to,” the warning lights fire off in your brain, holding his wrist firmly now.

Din mumbles more between presses, "I want to.”

"Mando, you-"

"Call me Djarin again."

The way he hushes you, so fekking softly, it sounds like him… dank ferrick. .

Stars, it’s weird. This whole thing is weird. When was this supposed to let up, a vague ‘week or two, come back for a new assessment and we will review the prognosis’? You try to hope he’s feeling more like himself after a good night’s rest, but you can’t really explain this behavior.

Your restraint now is a testament, a promise to protect him as he’s always protected you:

" You’re–” you shoot yourself in the foot and craft the words as they break your heart. “You're not yourself. I can't ignore that. I know it, even if you don't."

You’ll curse this blasted phase in the future, when everything settles and eventually goes back to normal. But this is the one time you’d ever call such tender treatment truly insufferable. He pauses in his affections,

"--No," Din then counters, gentle and curious, "I… I remember this part..."

Remember what? You’ve shown him video still after still when he asks, letting him lead his own recovery journey as he wills. You obviously do your best, but it hurts you– and you’re not so sure he doesn’t notice judging by the sweet ways he apologizes for troubling you. 

You’re sure he’s being kind. "Do you, now."

Facing the wall with empty focus, you kept your sights down, ignoring how he braced himself on one arm and attempted to turn you onto your back. You followed the give of his hand’s press on you, but not much. And of course, you still didn’t look at him. Can’t stomach him revealing himself to you when you assume he’s doing it out of duty; what’s expected of him as an unwilling, ‘newfound’ spouse.

But when he spoke again, the barest of touches skidded along your collarbones, up the neck…

"You were born with these,” Din shares with a reverence. “Here. Little Ones, from the sun. But this: this was an accident. When you were small; your skin was too new."

Your eyes honed on a red traffic light outside– the sight of it mimicked your alarm. He’s brushing a scarline– yes, from a childhood incident you told him about… months ago…

"You really can't see it unless your face turns red. Pretty sure I’ve seen that,” Din trails off, sets to brushing your cheek, “Turns white, against the curve. You get embarrassed, but I remember telling you to quit–”

"--to not worry about it." you finished as a whisper. “Din.”

‘Makes you who you are. Pretty as a picture, meshla. Think of it as a brushstroke, when the Maker was putting on the finishing touches of you.’

He knows. He does know you. He hasn’t forgotten?

Your eyes stung when you tried to blink the memory away. This makes no sense…

"I’m sorry- you remember that…” you shake in awe, “But– not?…"

Grogu?

"I know." His brow furrowed, "or.. rather, I don't."

His hand set atop your bicep– something grounding.

“I want to," he begs of you, "Truly, I want to say I feel like I’m nearly there. If only to convince you to look at me.”

You laid flat the rest of the way. Mostly so you could better hear him and not make him think you’re hiding, but also, you could now reach him more comfortably. 

Bittersweet tenderness braided you two together-- here in an unbelievable turn of events. 

You lifted your eyes to him at last. Din whispers again,

“Angel Eyes…”

The endearment makes you nearly sob. Dammit, he does remember. Relief, grief, it’s all muddy.

"I don't remember my foundling’s name.” you’re crushed at how mournful he sounds, “-which is a sin in its own right…" But he speaks with life-rendering conviction,  "But I know I told you mine. I know where we stood, which light panel on the Crest I turned off, how you- h-how you kissed me back that day.”

Your foreheads touch, the invisible string pulls you to do it. The lids of your eyes shut on contact with the ebb of a hurricane behind your eyes.

“Please use it-" Din asks of you, "-until I can remember all of the rest. Until I can remember every time I have ever told you ‘I loved you’-- and revive it, tenfold."

The tsunami's pressure strikes you down. You bury your sob down your windpipe and lunge for him– to kiss sense into him if it's the last thing you do.

And kiss, you do: for the release, for answers, for solace in an unfair time. For whatever reason, your riduur finds the same comfort, though he is desperate at the other end of the spectrum. You, in knowing a shred of him still exists and rejoicing in that; in him, grasping onto that one fact like it’s the only thing he has.

His entire energy is sad beyond belief, but he looks at you like you're his lifeline when you part. Din wets his lips- masking a tremble by how he bites it. 

"This is the only thing that feels normal. Feels right. I don't understand it…"

The shadow of his humility shines, even as he wallows in his present struggle.

"You'll get there,” you swore through tears- not all of them sad anymore. “If this is any proof, you'll get there. Won’t last forever."

You share another kiss for healing. By how his brows seem to even out, you wonder if it’s actually helping to ease the pain after all. It’s firm, longing. It’s all you have to give him.

Din looks you over as he’s in close proximity- refamiliarizing himself with every high point in your face, every contour, and gives a genuine smile. 

“Pretty sure…” he worked through the whirl of ideas behind that dreamy gaze, “... had a dream about that kid. Kept taking that– did he try to take the gear shift off the Crest? Y’know, the ball end? Think it was a toy?”

And finally: you laughed for the first time in weeks. 

“Yes, he did! It’s the one thing that survived the crash!” you burst into happy tears. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it~ see? You’re–”

"You haven't laughed. Not in days," Din interrupts– "I like it when you laugh."

You hear it once more, plain as day:

I love hearing you laugh.

–like it was yesterday…

"I know you do." you calm yourself. "Maybe one of these days, you'll remember how you bring it out of me."

He considers you, and a funny little aire of critique passes across his face.

“Something tells me that’s not hard to do. I’ll try my best,” he scrunches his perfect nose, “M’not a comedian though, fair warning. ”

“That’s ok. It’s your delivery that’s the funniest part. Munchkin thinks so,” you reminded with hope. You worded it like a question, hoping Din would visualize the instance easier if you made it sound casual. 

“Seems to favor testing me, more like– what you've told me so far.” Din trails off on his own. His brow twitches, showing his head may be pulsing, but he’s fighting through it. “Better be one to mind his manners the next time we see him. Wonder if the Jedi teach that, too.”

Understanding just how many times he'd looked your way expressionless under the guise of armor, he'd learned the benefits of using words when you came into his life and makeshift home. It was a change of perspective that was all too necessary; that he could truly speak his mind and that you would listen anytime- day or night. The way he communicated was truly poetic once he felt comfortable to release the matters of his heart through his mouth. 

So now, even when his mind has split and you were left to patiently wait out for his memories to return in full force, you'd simply hold his hand and keep the anchor set so his heartstrings could untangle themselves.

You smile despite the gap in understanding the gravity of what he'd just spoken- that Grogu was with a Jedi without hope of any visitation date that you knew of. It's still so hard without him– another pain you feel that you're shouldering alone…

“Have I said that before?" Din's flare of insecurity flared like the ebb of his headache. "I'm not making things easier by opening my damn mouth, am I…”

You sift the thoughts away, out from the forefront, "No…" you say, to ease his worry. 

You're reminded of how much he is still the same Din. The power of his gentle words and the potency of laughter: the best medicine he could take. With knowing tears lining your eyes, you answered with a massage to his temple,

“It just means more, coming from you."

Translations:

Mesh’la, cyar’ika = Beautiful, sweetheart. Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la = Stars above, you're beautiful. B’d jate = So (good) Jatne o'r ner sur'haai = Perfect (good, superlative) in my eyes. Rejorhaa'ir ni = Tell me Ni ganar’e, cyare = I have you, my sweetheart

[cozymoko]

I'm glad that you back!

Yandere Carla tsukinami and shin tsukinami punishment headcanins or yandere alphabet! <3

reader is human and she is short lol (1.40)

PUNISHMENT HCS W/ SHIN TSUKINAMI

Note: Thank you! I'm glad you're always requesting. I'll do Shin's punishment since I already did Carlas' ♡

PAIRING: Shin Tsukinami x fem! short reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, physical and emotional abuse, requires minor editing.

Want more diabolik lovers? → Masterlist! ★

THE YOUNG FOUNDER is not kind to you. That, you realized thus far. After falling victim to his frequent tantrums, how could you not? Now being pinned to the floor, its crude lips kissing your battered skin. Wrists taking on a sickly purple hue. All while lying beneath your "beloved". It's comical.

SHIN, unlike his brother, tends to go a bit overboard. Often clouded by his viable greed and blood lust. As there are not many things he wouldn't do just to see you weep like a helpless child.

For your cries merely aroused him. So shrill and sweet, he could hardly contain himself. You watched in horror. Aa a lewd grin drew at his lips, his tongue trailing over the cold metal. Your blood striking the ground like an endless stream.

"Heh, it'd be a shame if another man saw you like this. I'd kill 'em."

God, you were pretty. Even like this, you were perfect and he despised you for it. Gripping the supple skin of your disheveled face.

Colorful bruises had seized every inch of your being. Your neck. Your thighs. Your breasts. Swathed in deep lacerations. The ashen color of your dress was no more as blood seeped through your fresh wounds, soaking its thin fabric.

Beautiful.

He could not help but wonder what compelled such a cute expression. His delusions lead him to another man. You coughed as his booted heel connected to your side. Your body lying limp, eyes in a daze.

You were swallowed by a familiar sadness l, heartbroken by the man you loved the most. Shallow breaths slip through your chapped lips. Your hand reaching out for the founder. Hoping, praying for just an ounce of warmth, something to cling onto. Something that wasn't him.

“Tch, you mortals really are weak,” He scoffed, uncrossing his slender legs. With a quick hand, he raised you into his arms. His forearm tucked gently beneath your knees, whilst his hand settled along the small of your back.

“Don't think for a second I’ll let you die this easily,” Shin whispers against your ear. “You’re mine. Forever.”

[whinlatter]

hope (harry/ginny) | a microfic

for @hinnymicrofic day 14 | prompt: hope (slightly nsfw!)

They lug their trunks across the Burrow’s yard in sweaty, stony silence. ‘Beautiful evening,’ her mother remarks, as her children clamber back over the threshold of the rickety old house. ‘I do hope we get more of this lovely sunshine.’ 

Stupid thing to say, she thinks, stupid thing to hope for. There's a wishbone out drying on the kitchen window sill. Wonders if her mother plans to waste it wishing for more good weather in the middle of a war.

Dinner is shepherd’s pie - her old favourite, a Molly classic, and yet it tastes like dust, like ash, like nothing. ‘I know you’ve had a tricky time, dear,’ her mother says gently. She stiffens, glares at Ron, traitor, but then - ‘what with your exams being cancelled - and right when you’d done all that work -’ so she's safe, then, goes back to moving mash potato around her plate. ‘Made of real shepherds,’ her dad says, weak smile, trying his best. She gulps down her mouthful and excuses herself, slams the bedroom door shut, finds she's shaking.

Lying on her back on her bed, staring at the sunset’s stains on the ceiling, the only sound the late summer birdsong out of the open window. Quiet, too quiet, for a house this full. Downstairs, the kitchen’s all whispers. Every now and then she hears an unfamiliar footstep creak on the landing, strangers on the staircase. Headquarters, now. The war’s come home, and it’s using their loo.

She’d got her hopes up, that's the thing. First mistake, stupid. He’d been telling the story of Ron’s camp-bed collapsing in on him that time, lying back on his elbows under their tree with his hair ragged, handsome. She’d laughed, see, and said well, maybe this summer we’ll spare you the indignity of the campbed and being dense, he’d said well Fred and George’s room was nice if you don’t mind the smell of soot. She’d rolled her eyes, said Potter can you really not notice when a girl’s trying to get you into her bed. He’d gone red, then, stammered a bit, but it was all over his face: the wonder, the want. Your mum will go ballistic, he’d muttered, but he’d said will not would, and his hand had toyed with her hip, fingertips trailed her thigh. He’d wanted it too. He’d thought they’d have it, thought they'd get the summer, at least. 

We could’ve had ages, he’d said. Months, years, maybe. Stupid, stupidest thing, hope. No use for it.

It’d have been cramped. He’d have had to sneak down from Ron’s room, under the cloak. She’d have shown him her Harpies poster, now this is what a proper team looks like, Potter, worn her nice pyjamas, the ones with the shorts, asked him to take them off. Cleared a space for his glasses on the bedside table. He'd have slept on the right, nearest the door, ever on guard, and stroked her cheek with his knuckles, looked at her that way, like she’s precious. It would have been like that time they’d fallen asleep under their tree, heads together - the time she’d slipped up, let herself imagine it: two bodies in a bed in a house with a garden, laughter, little people running around who’d look a bit like them both. 

Stupid, stupid thing. Grips the bedspread in both fists, banishes it: all of it, all the hope. File away that future, bury it. Kill your darlings, push them out to sea.

Knock at the door. Ron, with two cups of tea and a half-empty box of Caramel Kappas. ‘Thought you might want some company,’ he mutters, sheepish, sitting on the bed. She sighs, no fight in her, and so brother and sister sit, sipping, in birdsonged silence. 

‘How are you doing?’ he asks. She means to snap - how do you think I’m doing - but takes one look at him and finds she’s fresh out of spite. ‘You’re going away with him, aren’t you?’ she says, instead. Ron nods, and it’s awful, all ache, terrible, gaping grief, all this filling in the blanks of everything that she’s losing. 

‘I just hoped,’ she says, eventually, eyes on her knees, ‘we’d have more time. I know - I know it was stupid.’

That’s all of it, really, isn’t it: her great failing, uttered aloud. Crumples, then, beside her big brother, and cries, heaping earth on all the hope as they lower it into the grave. Stupid thing, useless thing.

She thinks about the wishbone downstairs on the window sill. Thinks how stupid, how stupid it is, for something to die, and someone to make wishes out of its bones.

A/N: did not intend to write this, blame @brightlybound for this one - turns out gentle demands for a ginny's pov companion piece to yesterday’s fic will absolutely work on me, also Twenty-Two Days remains the h/g dual pov love story of all time for me so wanted to do a tribute. enjoy/sorry! back to regular writing now i swear!

now up on AO3 here | ask me anything

[blackjackkent]

Poking through Minsc's camp dialogue tree for Reasons. Lots of fun commentary on Jaheira and the other BG1/2 characters, some of which I didn't encounter in my initial run:

Player: You and Karlach must have a lot in common. Minsc: Indeed! A berserker after my own heart. Though hers is made of hellish heat, and metal, and... some manner of coin-operated device? Player: Don't mock, Minsc. It's killing her. Minsc: I would never think to mock! She is as fine a warrior as any I've met - Mazzy Fentan stretched two spans tall!

--

Player: Have you and Jaheira always had such a quarrelsome relationship? Minsc: We have! Is it not wonderful? Player: Do you even know what 'quarrelsome' means...? Minsc: To irk your friend so that she wishes to fill you with some crossbow quarrels - but knowing she never will, for fear of hitting your hamster. There is no need for sweet words between companions such as we. Too often those are the weapons of flatterers, and frauds. But she who will beat you about the head with the cold and pointy truth? That is a true wychlaran.

--

Player: You clearly care for one another - so enough of the arguing. Minsc: ...I know you mean well, my friend. But Boo, being your friend, wishes to share some of this cold and pointy truth I mention. 'Mind your own godsdamned business.' My hamster's words, not mine Jaheira: And I am in total agreement. See? No arguing.

--

Player: For such a sacred title, you hand it out pretty freely. First Dynaheir, now Jaheira. Minsc: You suggest that Minsc uses the term lightly? Simply leaps from Dynaheir to Jaheira, with no caring for the custom itself? An unworthy thought - and WRONG! In between there was also Aerie, my second witch. She needed a protector, and Boo suggested that it might as well be Minsc. And when she went her own way, Minsc and Boo set to thinking: There is power in the wychlaran bond. Far too much to be wasted on weeping. To use that power to serve the living does not sully the dead - it honours them.

--

Minsc: You do not know this custom? Great Rashemen is ruled by the Masked Ones - wise women you might call 'witches'. To each wychlaran is bonded a berserker bodyguard. To dog her heels and watch her back, until death claims one or both. So it was with Minsc and his witch, Dynaheir. Until she died, and Minsc had to carry on without her. But Jaheira was there - to help Minsc take vengeance, and to kick his backside when he fell to brooding. As any true wychlaran would.

--

Player: What is your fondest memory of adventuring with Bhaalspawn? Minsc: The bards sing of fallen gods and mighty battles, but that is a small part of any saga. They do not sing of the times in between. When Sarevok's butt had been kicked so hard that we thought he would never return, we settled in Baldur's Gate for a while. Gorion's Ward, Imoen, Jaheira, Minsc, Boo... and Dynaheir. My witch. She hated the city at first. Too busy, she said, too noisy. Too many people. She complained of the smell, although she complained of Boo's smell too and he smells of fresh honeycakes, so Minsc believes her nose was confused.

Then, one day, we walked past a shop full of wonders. Tiny magics fizzed in the air, and wizards from every corner of the world bickered and bartered. Sorcerous Sundries. Dynaheir fell in love. Dragged poor Minsc there every day, and made him stand watch while she browsed the shelves. Minsc frowned and complained. He felt more like a babysitter than a berserker. But how Dynaheir smiled.

Not long after, Minsc and Boo were captured, and Dynaheir was dead. I would gladly be a babysitter again, to see her smile. That is what I remember, more than any battles against Bhaal and his spawn. Yes, Boo. I know you miss her too.

--

Minsc: Minsc may have been mistaken. Boo presents compelling evidence that Astarion may in fact be a vampire. Player: That he is. But one of the good ones. Minsc: Minsc has met many vampires, and never one whose smile did not hide treacherous teeth. But... as you say. This world is a strange and wondrous place. Minsc has seen the soul of an angel in a child of Bhaal. Once, even a kind banker.

--

Minsc: Ah, the great Blade of Frontiers! A fine name - Minsc has no idea what it means, but it suits young Wyll's air of mystery well. It is good to know the city did not go unprotected while I wore pigeon droppings on the Wide. Jaheira did her part, of course, but she prefers to scowl from the shadows. The city needs a name - a face! Preferably, a furry companion too.

--

Player: What are your thoughts on Shadowheart? Minsc: She hangs split between her two sides - like a flipped coin that Boo once ate while it was still in the air. But, like Boo, after a great struggle within, I think Shadowheart has finally brought that coin to earth. She is a Sharran no more - and free of her wretched and evil fellows! Player: Hard to believe Shadowheart grew up in that place. Minsc: My old friend Keldorn told me that the righteous must end their rage when the battle is done. But when Minsc thinks of those villains tormenting our gentle moon-witch, he wants to kick them in the cloisters!

--

Player: Shadowheart walks a dark path - but we can trust her. Minsc: You are asking Minsc to be pragmatic. That is a word that Jaheira uses to win arguments. It does not work on Minsc because Minsc does not know what the word means.