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fuckmyskywalker · 7 months

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"Never Trust The Smuggler!" — Luke Skywalker.

— CW: 18+, smut! Glory hole!, blowjob, voyeurism, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, implied HanLuke. | Word count: 1.1k (not proofread!)

— List of films! | Taglist.

“Are you sure this is the place?” His voice trembles as Han pushes him inside the filthy, dark bathroom of the cheap, seedy cantine he got dragged into. The room’s dimly lit, smells like shit, and the floor is sticky.

“Yes, a hundred percent sure— trust me” The taller man responds, kicking the bathroom door of the last stall open with his worn boots, forcing Luke to sit on the dirty toilet.

The walls are covered with ripped posters, various ridiculous propaganda and vandalized to oblivion; Luke looks around, scrunching his nose at the stinky smell when he notices a hole in the wall, conveniently at a low level. Signs and words in various languages surround it, he recognizes a few ones: Aurebesh, Rodian, and even some insults in Huttese. The only thing he can read is: “Whore”, “Free use” and “Insert here”.

Han Solo rests his back against the stall door, crossing his arms over his chest and smirking at the way Luke’s cheeks redden at the realization. He knew bringing him here was the right choice. His reaction was just like he imagined, and he can’t help but feel his cock twitch inside his pants at the view.

Pointing at the hole with his chin, he speaks almost shaking with excitement. “Go ahead.”

Luke stares at him as if he has gone mad. “Are you kidding me?” His blue eyes glance at the wall again. “That’s why you brought me here?”

His friend laughs shaking his head— the naivety of the blonde boy amuses him. “Pretty much. So, what are you waiting for? She won’t bite. Well— unless you want her to.”

Luke gulps, keeping his eyes on the hole. A tingling feeling runs down his body, he has to admit the thought is… not a turn-off; but, he can’t expect anything clean from a place like this. How can he possibly consider this? This is absolutely insane! He knew it wasn’t a good idea to trust the smuggler. The air around them feels heavy, both of them in silence for two different reasons— Han waits patiently, knowing Luke will give in eventually, while Luke is dumbfounded, cursing himself for actually thinking about doing… that.

“Make up your mind, Wormie. We don’t have all night.”

Han’s brown eyes glow with furor when he sees Luke fumbling with his belt as his back faces him. His hand sneaks down to rub his clothed crotch, wondering how is he going to watch this without exploding instantly. The blonde stays still, one hand wrapped around the base of his half-hard length and the other one on the wall.

“Do I just… stick it in?”

“Duh”

“Oh, shut up—”

For good measure, he works his cock until it’s a tad bit harder; hesitantly, he guides himself inside the hole, feeling his knees go weak at the mixture of anticipation, fear, and arousal. Once he is fully settled, Luke holds his breath.

“Aren’t you a pretty boy” A foreign voice makes him jolt, as your warm breath hits the tip of his cock. “Is he your friend, Han?”

“Kind of” Solo replies from behind Luke.

“Pretty cock, I bet he’s a pretty boy” You reply, surprisingly keeping a conversation as if there wasn’t a dick in front of you. Luke hears some muffled fumbling and the faint sound of a package being ripped.

A sharp gasp escapes his lips as he feels your hand rolling the condom over his cock, shuddering at the touch of someone else on him. “Don’t be scared, pretty boy” Your voice is sweet but the salacious undertones ring in his ears. “It’s just safety measures, ‘mkay? Nothing personal.”

“We have to leave soon, dollface. Can you make it quick?” Han sticks a hand inside his trousers, palming himself with a smirk.

“I should charge you.”

Luke is astonished at the banter— but his thoughts quickly melt when he feels your tongue licking his tip. With a weak wine, Luke holds himself up with both palms glued to the wall, closing his eyes when you slide him inside your warm mouth. You begin with a slow, delicate pace, testing the waters to see what he likes.

“Be gentle, it’s his first time getting a blow” The brown-haired man wraps a hand around his member, stroking unhurriedly, admiring how Luke’s knees buckle and his breath hitches every time you slide another inch inside your greedy throat.

“Shut up—” Luke protests, moaning next at the sensation of having his cock being deepthroated. “Ah— fuck”

Humming in delight, you jerk him off while focusing on sucking the tip, even daring to graze your teeth on the sides. This is absolutely filthy, something straight out of those awful, cheap pornos that he has seen around the Holonet; and yet he is enjoying every second of it. After you get more comfortable with his size and girth, you dare to speed up, drool pooling in your mouth and trickling down the side of your lips. He’s big— not as thick as you thought firsthand but he is definitely long, 7 inches, perhaps even 8 if you were feeling extra generous tonight… and his moans are the sweetest, it is pretty obvious no one has ever done something like this to him.

“Oh—Oh Maker” Luke moans louder, buckling his hips and biting his lip. He’s about to come, and he has no idea who is the one behind it.

“You like that, Wormie?” Han asks, biting his lower lip and stroking himself faster. “You like having a whore sucking your cock?”

Luke nods energetically, it is more than certain that he will never forget this night. You seem to read his small twitches and whines, urging him to come undone inside the condom. “Go ahead, pretty boy. Let me make you feel good. You have such a cute cock, big and heavy— wish I could have it inside me”

And that rather much does it for him. Filling up the condom, Luke wishes he could at least know your name, it would be a cute gesture to moan it while he comes, or at least that’s what he thinks. He listens to Han’s strained groan behind him, but the drumming of his ears makes him ignore it. His heartbeat rises to the skies, and not even with his own hand he has orgasmed this hard. Resting his forehead against the wall, his breath is ragged and heavy. As the haze of the orgasm wears off, the blonde cries when you pull out the condom, tying it up and throwing it behind your back. He sure has a nice cock. Your voice is the last thing he hears before his friend places a sweaty hand on his shoulder, spinning him around and caging him against those sticky, repulsive walls.

“Come see me again one day, maybe I’ll let you come in my face.”

— 🐚 if you wish you be added to my taglist there's a google forms in the beginning of the post! There you can select which days you would like to be tagged in (or choose the option: all the above!). If you send me a DM or an ask I will tag you on every day! | some tags might not work due to your settings, so let me know!

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes!#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 kinktober 2023!#luke skywalker #luke skywalker smut #luke skywalker x reader smut #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker x you #luke skywalker fanfic #hanluke smut #luke x reader x han solo

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shadowbriar · 1 year

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Sirius Black - Sweet Rubbish

Pairing : (F/M) || Sirius Black x Reader Word Count : 5.2k Warning : I don’t know, nothing I suppose. Synopsis : Their game of love hate pretend has to put to halt as Sirius gazed into the crystal ball. Notes : Post number 1 for my 7-days post celebration. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

“Divination is rubbish.”

Sirius whines as he drags his feet to the class, spiteful mumbles escaping his lips with every step closer to the dreadful lesson. He loathes Divination class, to say the least. Other than the fact that the Professor always rambles about nonsense Sirius could never comprehend, sharing the hour with her irks him to the bone.

“Just because your pea-sized brain couldn't compute the knowledge given does not mean the class is rubbish, Black.”

Sirius sent dagger eyes at the girl who now walks past him with her head held high. There is no unit in this entire universe that could measure the level of hatred he has for her. She's the bane to his existence. Not a day passed without him seeing her face and wanting to take out his wand to mess her beautifully combed hair or to hex her to trip from her graceful walk. Pity she is the way that she is. He would have admitted she's magnetising if she wasn't.

“Didn't your parents ever teach you that it is improper to reply to someone when they weren't talking to you in the first place?”

“You were yelling for the whole corridor to hear, I was only doing it out of pity from the lack of feedback. Even your friends look like they've had enough of your moans.” She replies, stopping her pace to turn at him with an unamused smile “You're not denying your pea-sized brain, then?”

“My brain isn't pea-sized, it's huge! Humongous even!”

“Of course it is.”

With another toxic laced smile, she turns away and continues her journey to the class. A complete contrast to the sulking boy, she seems to be in her best mood today. Divination has always been one of the many classes she excels at. She has a clever mind and witty brain, complementing her charming personality. Just another trait of hers Sirius detests.

“One way or another I will rip off that ever so brilliant smile off of her face.”

James scoffs, “Right, mate.”

“What was that?” Sirius turns to his friends, looking incredibly offended at the unamused expressions his friends were showing “Why don’t any of you ever believe it when I express my despise to that girl?”

“Because you’re all bark and no bite, Pads.” Remus chimes “You’ve hated her since you first laid eyes on her yet you never did anything. You even got mad at Wormy for accidentally pranking her back in 3rd year.”

“Indeed,” Nods Peter, looking rather pissed at the flashback of Sirius’ overdramatic anger at him a couple years back “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re secretly in love with her.”

“Me? In love with her?” He asks with a bewildered expression “I’d rather drown by the Black Lake than to ever imagine being in love with her.”

“If you say so, Pads.” James says, patting on his best friends’ shoulder as if he understands the underlying message Sirius was implying “If you say so.”

—-

Sirius stares blankly at the Professor’s face. His mind wanders elsewhere, completely detached to his surroundings. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her sitting just a few tables below him on the right. Her posture was straight as always, complete focus and attention poured to the lesson taught. Her house coloured headband glimmers under the light of the class, enhancing the beauty of her hair. Sirius has imagined running his finger through the soft strands of her hair every once in a while, wondering what scent her shampoo would be but he would rather be jinxed with the cruciatus curse than to ever admit it aloud.

He doesn’t love her. No, love is the complete opposite of the emotions he holds for her. Sirius hates her, loathes her in fact. He couldn’t pinpoint the fundamental reasoning behind his strong abhorrence for her, he just does. Perhaps the fact that she’s too good at everything, or that she’s genuinely loved by everyone including his best friends, or that she’s simply too perfect of a girl to ever be real.

Perhaps the idea of someone being too perfect that he couldn’t ever dream of being deserving of her, makes him hate her.

“This is horse shit.” James mumbles. The bespectacled boy then turns to the thick textbook laying on their table, skipping through the pages to find any interesting rituals they could do to fill in the time “Pads, do you want to see your future?”

Sirius glanced at James, confusion filling in his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“This,” James points at a spell on the Crystal Ball reading chapter “Looks a lot more fun than whatever mambo-jumbo the professor’s talking about, doesn't it?”

“Looks like another lark, that is.”

James rolled his eyes, “Shut up and stare at the ball. I’ll say the spell and you tell me what you see, alright?”

Sirius huffs, clearly wanting no part but hearing the Professor’s lecture for another minute would certainly burst his brain out. Reluctantly, he stares at the crystal ball with a hand supporting his chin. A small frown decorating his face. James’ whisper of the spell begins to enter his eardrums, making the slightest flame of intrigue and curiosity spark in his chest.

The once cleared crystal ball now turns cloudy, some kind of mist begins to pollute the inside of it. Sirius brows furrow, completely taken aback by the effect happening. He certainly didn’t expect James’ mispronunciation of the latin spell to work, yet here they are.

“What do you see?” James asked.

“Nothing yet,” He answers “Just some ugly grey fog.”

“Look harder!”

“I’m trying!”

And as if on cue, Sirius begins to see some sort of vision. He wasn’t even sure if it was truly happening or was his brain just playing tricks with him, but either way the grey mist now turns into shapes, slowly forming what seems to be a ceremonial venue. There were chairs lining up in front of him with flowers decorating them. He was wearing a suit, the most elegant suit he’s ever worn and there have been plenty of dress robes he’s worn in his life yet nothing compares to the grandeur of the one he’s wearing at the moment. He looks to his side, noticing the mists that now become James, Remus, Peter, and Regulus standing a couple metres away from him.

His gaze now averted to where the rose petaled aisle ends. A woman was standing with her bouquet of flowers in her hand. Her beautiful silk dress sweeps the floor as she takes the first steps closer to him. Her face was still blurred, as if the mist was still trying to craft the person’s face. A small smile now tugs on the corner of Sirius’ lips, feeling proud and content of the setting he’s in. Whoever this person is, it pleases Sirius to know that the crystal ball predicted a pleasant romance in his future.

The vision felt real now as Sirius’ heart began to palpitate, feeling the warmth of her gloved hands as it reached for his. His smile grows wider, cheeks warm from the fulfilment. It no longer feels like he was watching a prophecy, no, it feels more like he was in the scene, slowly occupying the body that is now reciting the vows the priest was saying. The feeling only gets more intense as he finally shares the kiss with his bride. He swears he could feel her soft lips on his, the hint of cherry from her lip gloss and her warm heavy breathing on his skin. It feels too real to be just a forecast.

After what seems to be the shortest forever, they finally pull away. She was smiling, her warm eyes gazing back at him with love and admiration. Her features were soft, much more beautiful than how he always thought now that he no longer had to deny the beauty of his wife. She giggles, calling his name

“Sirius!” James silently yelled, nudging his best friend with an annoyed expression “You completely ignored me for the last five minutes!”

Sirius blinks, trying to comprehend his reality.

“You were gone,” His best friend continued “What happened? What did you see?”

The raven haired boy cleared his throat, “Nothing. I– Uh– I saw nothing.”

“Bullshit, you definitely saw something.” James scoffs “Your cheeks are red!”

“I didn’t see anything, alright!” Sirius defends with more persistence “Must be because of your shitty pronunciation or something, I don’t know!”

James frowns, muttering his confusion on how his spell fails when it wasn’t the most tongue-twisting one he’s done before. Sure he wasn’t the most brilliant out of them four with charms, but he was still better than most and nailing a spell in the first trial wasn’t a new thing for James. He wanted to argue more about the hunch he has that Sirius was lying but the boy looks like he’s seen a ghost. Perhaps the spell did work and the vision Sirius had was just something he’s not ready to talk about. Whatever it is, James has made it his mission to find out, be it today or tomorrow.

—-

The next couple of days the strange behaviour Sirius tries his best to hide is becoming more and more visible. He would skip his meals and turn the other way when she was around. Even when she was busy with her group of friends and completely unaware of his presence, Sirius would still avoid her like the plague. He would exchange seats in classes he shares with her, occupying the furthest spot from her and blocking his view physically from her.

And such action didn’t go unnoticed for too long.

“Have you been sick or did the dementors kidnap you, Black?” She mused, taking a seat opposite of him and next to Remus “I haven’t seen you lately.”

Sirius gulps, completely frozen in his seat.

“Morning, Love.” Remus greets her “He’s been avoiding everyone, don’t take it personally.”

“Has he? Here I thought I was a special someone to be receiving such treatment.”

“He’s been acting strange since divination class,” James says as he swallowed the bits of food in his mouth “We were fooling around and tried to read his future through the crystal ball and– Oof! What was that for?”

James yelped at the sudden nudge to his rib. Sirius glares at him, sending him a death threat.

“Really? I thought you said Divination is rubbish, Sirius.” She teased, her playful smile decorating her face “What did you see? Anything interesting?”

Sirius lowers his gaze to his plate of food, not daring to spend another second staring at her face. His skin feels warm, like the temperature somehow raised a couple degrees and he’s the only one boiled.

The lack of response from him somehow twisted a knife she didn’t know was stabbing her heart. It was evident that he was avoiding her, for whatever reason he might have. His silent treatment now only proves the effort he’s made to keep his distance that she so hard convinced herself was nothing more than a mere illusion. Sirius, as loud and apparent as his claims of vexation for her all these years, still holds a soft spot and that their love-hate relationship was nothing more than a silly game of pretend. Perhaps she was wrong all along.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” She fakes a chirpy persona, taking his mute to be her cue to leave “I’ll see you gentlemen around.”

As if a splinter’s been taken off of his toe, Sirius lets out a relieved sigh once she leaves their table. The audible huff made his friends raise their brows high, completely lost at the charade he’s playing. The two would always bicker, picking fights and arguments over the slightest most trivial matters that more often than not the boys would wish that they could hex the two with some stunning spell. Yet for the first time in their lives, they’re left wondering why Sirius would zip his mouth shut in her presence.

“What?” Sirius asks, noticing the questioning eyes glued on him.

“Do you really expect us to look past the fact that you didn’t spare her a word for the first time in your life?” Peter asks, fully suspicious of his friend’s antics “Are you ill, Padfoot?”

James whines, “Come on, mate, tell us what you saw on that crystal ball.”

“I saw nothing, Prongs.” Sirius says with a more stern tone “And I’m not ill, Wormy.”

“Well you’re certainly not straight in the head.”

“Oh yeah, Moony? And what makes you say that?”

Remus shrugs, “You’ve been acting strange for days and now that she’s here you’re completely ignoring her. Did she break your heart or something?”

“No, no she didn’t.” Sirius fidgets, tapping on his cheek as he looks at Remus accusingly “Say, when you call her ‘Love’, do you just– You know, casually call girls that or do you mean it like.. I don’t know.. Like my Love kind of thing?”

Remus turned to James with a baffled expression while Peter now had his jaw hang low. The three boys are now whisked deeper into the maze, trying to decipher Sirius’ true intention. He was never as cryptic and never held secrets from the boys before, always been the most open and true to others yet he’s acting like a completely different person now.

“Oh Merlin, is that what you see?” James asks with a shocked tone “Moony and her? Did you see them snog each other?”

“What? No!”

“That wouldn’t make sense, Prongs. If Moony was snogging her then it should be Moony who’s seeing the prophecy, not Padfoot.” Peter comments, slowly understanding the riddle as the smirk grows on his face “Did you see your future with her, Pads?”

Sirius cheeks heat up, shaking his head vigorously, “No.”

“You totally did, you tosser!” Remus points out with a victorious smile “You actually saw a future with her, didn’t you?!”

Sirius buries his face to his palm, trying to cover his now crimson face.

“You are so pathetic, Pads.” James laughed, completely entertained by the sight in front of him “All these years expressing your disdain for her only to have the universe pairing you two all along.”

“I don’t know Prongs, he’s always been in love with her for me.” Remus pours more salt “He’s just too embarrassed to admit it.”

Peter chuckles, circling his arm around Sirius’ shoulder to make him come out of his shell, “So what exactly did you see, Padfoot?”

—-

Coming clean to the boys only made Sirius more conscious. They have been acting as persisting bees in his head, lecturing him non stop and urging him to let go of the cat and mouse game and just come forward with his feelings. Crystal gazing is one of the most conceivable forms of divination, as Remus notes, yet the chance of the prophecy being false was never zero. No kind of divination is 100% false proof and Sirius still couldn’t tell if the vision he saw was a true prediction of his future or was it just a manifestation of his deep desire for her.

And if all this hype was caused by the latter, Sirius wouldn’t know how to survive from the heartbreak.

So now he finds himself walking to the other side of the castle, taking small steps as he climbs the stairs to the Divination class. He has to see the prophecy once more, make sure that the spell James uttered that day was right and that the crystal ball was truly predicting his future with her. He needs to know that his head wasn’t playing tricks with him just because he’s been turning deaf to what his heart has been yearning for all these years.

Coming inside the class, Sirius' pace was put to halt when he spotted her, sitting on her usual table as she gazed into the crystal ball. She looks up to him, probably hearing the sound of the creaking wooden floor when he enters and flashes him a smile, looking surprised to see him yet appreciative at the same time.

“Sirius,” She calls with a pleasant tone “What a surprise.”

He gulps, “I– Uh, I think I left my textbook here.”

“Did you? I think the Professor stacks the left textbooks on that corner, perhaps you’ll find yours there.” She points at a cupboard, seemingly buying the lie Sirius came up with.

“What are you doing here?”

“Crystal gazing.” She answers “Would you like to join?”

Sirius hesitated but found himself sitting next to her, heart pounding loud inside his chest from the close space. Sure it wasn’t the first time they sat next to each other, but it certainly is the first time they’re together with no other soul present. This is the first time they act civil, if not friendly, to each other. This is the first time, after seeing their wedding prophecy, they’re at each other’s company.

“Should we see yours or my prophecy?”

“Yours.” Sirius answers.

“You’d like to see mine?”

“Can we do that?” He asks, completely oblivious of the topic “When I tried it with James he couldn’t see my prophecy.”

“Well, I am not James, am I?”

Sirius smiles.

“Put your hand just above the ball.. Yeah, just like that,” She instructed him, utterly unaware of the nervous havoc Sirius was feeling when she touched his hand and positioned it above the ball “Are you ready?”

He nods.

She begins to cast the spell, something similar to the one James uttered but this one was lengthier. Like she knew a different, more advanced, spell to use for their fortune telling ritual. Sirius' eyes now travels from her to the crystal ball, trying to see what her prophecy would be.

The clear ball slowly turns misty, just like when he did the gazing with James. He could see the Great Hall forming, with its long tables now exchanged with seats filled with who seemed to be graduating students. He could see her, sitting among these students with her eyes glued to the podium where he was shaking Dumbledore’s hand. He could see himself, jogging back to the empty seat next to her with a big bright smile, pulling her close to his embrace once he reached her and sealing her lips with his.

The vision was short. Much shorter than the one he saw with James but the intensity was just the same. He could practically feel her lips on his, the pressure of her body as he pulled her close, and the sweet scent of her perfume that he has just now learned much lighter than a fine spring breeze. It was too real to ever just be a vision.

He looks up to her, noticing her lack of expression, “You don’t look disgusted.”

“Why would I be disgusted?”

“I kissed you,” Sirius says with an unsure tone “You saw that too, didn’t you? Or was that just me?”

She narrows her eyes, “What are you talking about?”

Sirius turns pale, gulping at the fact that he just blurted out what he saw.

He opens his mouth, only to close it again in the lack of words. His brain stopped functioning at the very time he needed to explain something to her. His blood turns cold, scared to death that he’s making it awkward between them but before he could actually pass out, she lets out a heartfelt laughter.

“Merlin, you’re so pale right now!” She says between her laughter “I’m only joking, Black. I know.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” She affirms with a nod, resting her hand under her chin as she watches him intently “This isn’t the first prophecy I have that involves you in it.”

“It wasn’t?”

“Nope. I had one too many about you, if I’m being honest.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” She answers with a smile “Are you going to continue with your two worded question? I mean it’s cute, but certainly out of character from the typical Sirius Black.”

Sirius’ cheeks turn red, turning silent this time.

The glee from her face waters down fast, noticing the silence she’s caused between them. If he didn’t know better, Sirius would’ve sworn that he saw a glimmer of disappointment and heartbreak in her eyes, but why would she feel such feelings, right?

“I– Uh– I just remembered I have this thing to do,” She says abruptly as she she stood from her seat, evidently trying to flee from the situation and packing her belongings “I hope you’ll find your textbook, Sirius.”

And with that, she left.

—-

To say that he feels horrible from how their encounter ended would be an understatement. Something about her departure feels off, like he just did a grave mistake he wasn’t sure what about. The way her smile dilutes and the dimmed glint of spark in her eyes as she left haunts him.

He tries to recall the last moments before disaster strikes. He couldn’t look past the strangeness of how she called him cute one moment and bolted out the door the next. What went wrong?

“Someone’s pinching your bird,” James coos.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “Meaning?”

“We just saw Lucius asking your girl for a Hogsmeade date.” Remus adds, taking a seat next to him “She didn’t say yes, though. Wait, did she or did she not? I’m not sure, we left before she could give an answer but I’m betting she said no.”

“I bet 5 galleons she said yes.”

“Wormtail!” Sirius says with a pure betrayed expression “I thought you were on my side!”

“I was, but you’re slacking mate.” Peter reasoned with a shrug “Whatever issue you think you have with her is certainly more important to you than the prophecy you’ve seen before your own eyes. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“I’m with Wormy,” James nods “I bet she says yes to ugly snobby Lucius.”

Sirius lets out a gasp, completely surprised at his friends’ betrayal.

“You know what, maybe you’re right. Maybe she said yes.”

“Moony!”

Remus shrugs.

“She said no.” Sirius says with confidence, firmly “She said no, you wanna know why? Because she too saw her prophecies with me. Yeah, prophecies, meaning multiple times. Loads of times. She saw her future with me so she would not say yes to Lucius’ invite.”

The boys look at each other, confused and surprised at the new information dropped.

“I don’t know mate, it seems like she said yes.”

Sirius turns his sight to the direction James was pointing at. There they were, her and Lucius entering the Great Hall with what seems to be the most intriguing conversation ever. She was smiling, her cheeks red from all the laughter. Her eyes were glued on Lucius, as if no one else were present in the room, as if Sirius wasn’t in the room.

Jealousy was never in his dictionary but for the first time in his life, Sirius has never ever wanted to pluck someone and hex them to disintegrate until now. Exactly what can a guy as arrogant and grim as Lucius say to make her laugh like that? No one should deserve to see her bright smile and hear her melodious laughter. No one but him.

“Better work your way soon, Padfoot.” Remus comments “Or else your vision would turn into nothing more than a mere fantasy.”

—-

“Wait, wait!” Sirius shouts as he runs, trying to catch her before she vanishes again “Wait!”

She turns, looking surprised to see the boy with sweat laced skin coming to her. His hair was dishevelled, not that Sirius ever combed it neatly, but much more messy than the usual. He looks as if he’s run through every corner of the castle, trying to find her.

And in reality, he did.

“Black,” She calls, hands folding in front of her chest “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” He nods, catching his breath “Tell me you did not say yes to Lucius’ invite.”

She blinks, looking completely appalled at his request.

“My friends told me Lucius asked you for a date. Please tell me you said no to him.”

A frown forms on her face, “Why do you care what I said to him?”

“Well you’re my future, aren’t you? Of course I care about what you said to him.” Sirius reasoned “Now will you please release me from this torment and just say that you said no to him.”

She stares at him as if he’s grown an extra head. Sirius could feel his feet cold, shrinking down under her gaze. There’s nothing he wished he could do more than to read her mind right now. Something went wrong that day, Sirius knows it he can feel it, he just doesn’t know what it is and he fears that it would only be the gasoline to the supposedly budding romance between her and others.

“I don’t get you, Sirius.” She begins with a disappointed tone “First you act like you didn’t want me to be your future and yet now that someone asks me to be their date, you suddenly want me? How is that fair?”

“Wait, what?” He asked, appalled “When did I ever say I don’t want you to be my future?”

“You’ve been ignoring me ever since you saw that prophecy with James, whatever it may be about, and you went silent when I told you that I know about our prophecies.” She reasoned, her nostrils flaring from the vexation she could finally burst in “It's pretty clear to me that you don’t want me to be in your future.”

“You– You think I was avoiding you because I didn’t want you to be my future?”

“I don’t know, do you have any better explanation than that?”

“Yes,” He answers, only to shake his head the next minute “I mean, no, but–”

Sirius runs his hand through his hair, looking visibly frustrated at the misunderstanding they somehow got entangled in. He looks at her, who's still waiting for his explanation, and flashes her a sad smile. He was never good with words, not at crucial moments like this, but he knew that if he didn’t try tonight, he might as well say goodbye to the prophecies that have turned into the dreams he’s seeing every night in his sleep now.

“Do you even remember when we started to be so hostile to each other?” He asks gently.

She shakes her head, unsure on where the conversation is being directed to.

“I don’t either but I’ve always known why I could never be friendly with you.”

She gulps, asking with a voice barely above a whisper, “Why?”

“Because I don’t believe that someone as perfect as you exists in this world. I just can’t.” He confessed, a shameful smile shown on his face “I just couldn’t believe that someone as smart, as lovely, and as beautiful as you is real and I don’t think anyone is deserving of that. Even for someone as narcissistic as I am.”

“As you are?”

“Especially as I am.” He repeats “And I thought, if I couldn’t love you I should just hate you. Maybe that would water down the affection I have for you over the years and I have been doing just fine with denying my feelings for you until James stupidly made me gaze into that stupid crystal and I saw it. I saw us.”

Her facial expression softens, yielding to the sweet words he’s uttering, “What did you see?”

“I saw you walking down the aisle.”

She smiles.

“And I was there.” He continues “As the groom, if that wasn’t clear in the first place.”

A laughter broke from her lips, easing Sirius’ mind that he could finally diffuse the tension.

“You were beautiful in white.” He adds, eyes full of love and affection “And I can’t wait to finally be on that day so please, for the sake of my pathetic tottering heart, please tell me that you said no to Lucius.”

She begins to sniffle as the beads of tears that were decorating her tears started to fall. Her eyes were still glued on him, watching him as if he was the one thing she ever asked the universe to give and have finally been granted of it. Her shoulders were relaxed yet no matter how beautiful the sight he’s seeing right now, Sirius still couldn’t find peace until she gave him her assurance.

“Please tell me those are happy tears and not because you said yes to Lucius.”

“Oh, bloody hell, can we please stop talking about him? You’re ruining our moment!”

“Well I can’t really enjoy our moment with the possibility of you going on a date with someone else still hanging now, can I?!”

“Are we seriously arguing right now?”

“I don’t want to but it just feels so natural to argue with you.” Sirius huffs “So did you or did you not agree to his date, woman?”

“I did not.” She finally says, mirroring his exasperated expression “Happy now?”

“Very.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“You are very annoying, do you know that?” Sirius asks, his brows still furrow in irritation.

“No, not really. Must have slipped off my mind, just like every other million times you utter it.” She says with her hands now resting on her hips “Is that all?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “How do you mean?”

“Well did you look for me just to ask if I said yes to Lucius? Or do you have something else you wanted to do with me other than confessing your, as you claim, pathetic tottering heart?”

Sirius opens his mouth, taking full offence at her mocking of his confession, but her question birthed a new urge in his heart. He’s confessed to her and she has accepted it, so it seems, would it be proper for him now to ask for a kiss? Would it be a proper time for him to ask for them to seal their future romantic endeavours?

His cheeks begin to turn rosy at the thought of finally kissing her. The emotions from the prophecies start to fill his chest, now feeling much less satisfying than how they used to. With her standing in front of him now and giving him the same heart eyes, the image of them kissing now could barely mean a thing as the possibility that such a pleasant gesture could happen any time soon. And he prays to whoever deity up there that it would happen sooner than later.

“So? Do you really just want to confess?” She asks, giving him hints now that she too wanted the delightful image to come to reality “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Sirius, don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now.”

“You just never know when to shut up, do you?”

With that, Sirius takes his bold steps to her, finally sealing their lips together. He could feel his soul bursting in flames, melting into one with her. He never knew that he was so deprived of such fortune until he finally tastes her, until he finally feels his body pressed into his, until he finally has her.

“Do you still think Divination’s rubbish now?”

“Still rubbish,” He answers between their kisses “Sweet rubbish.”

#sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #sirius black scenario #sirius black scenarios #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black oneshot #sirius black fluff #sirius black angst #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x oc

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moolmitowlthings · 3 months

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I FINISHED DEAD PLATE (it was so good I'm gonna explode RAHHHHHH)

favorite parts include (in no particular order):

☆ finally getting to the dinner party scene (I got stuck on the first ending like 5 times I was gonna rip my hair out fr-)

☆THE SOUNDTRACK IS GREAT!!! listening to it rn I can still picture moments from the game help-

☆ spam clicking on Vincent's shitty ass bathtub until rody gained some self awareness (seriously though who has steps in a bathtub-)

☆ *cough cough* all the dialogue during the chase scene *cough cough*

☆ rody wriggling away like a wormy lil bitch (GOD HE'S PATHETIC I LOVE HIM)

☆ whatever vincent had going on (I'm gonna read all the analysis posts I can find I NEED THIS MAN INJECTED INTO MY VEINS RAHHH!!!!!)

☆ MANON APPEARANCE!?!? so devastating and yet so scrumptious OUGH my heart-

anyways this game is delicious (unlike vincents cooking) and y'all should play it for reals >:3c

#dead plate #dead plate game #rody dead plate #vincent dead plate #rody lamoree #vincent charbonneau #manon dead plate #its good fr #i totally wasnt annoying the gc w/ my gameplay pshhh #to all my friends #im sorry #might happen again tho-

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years

Note

How did Jason's best friend reader react when he came back?

Alfred reached up and tilted Jason's head to the side tutting, "I see things went well."

"She only hit me once," Jason huffed. "Didn't think she could reach, honestly-"What he hadn't expected

"You aren't the only one that got taller," Alfred said passing him an ice pack.

"Not that much taller," Jason scoffed.

Honestly, he wasn't even angry that you'd hit him. He'd expected you to get pissed off. He'd lied to you for years. What he hadn't expected was for you to cry. When the Anger had burnt itself out and left behind the pain.

He could still smell your perfume. Your scent clung to him as fiercely as you had. Like you were afraid someone would rip him out of your arms. Like someone would wake you up and you'd go back to a world that didn't have him in it.

Anger he expected. But not the pain. The way the sobs wracked your body and all he could do was let your weight pull you into his arms and bear him to the ground.

"I'm sorry." It seemed like a wormy, wheedly thing to say. A paltry comfort. But it was all he knew to say. It had never been like this. This wasn't a knocked-out baby tooth. This wasn't a game of keep away that stopped being funny. Your heart had broken- for him.

"You left me."

"I know," he said, hugging you harder.

"You promised-"

He used the sleeve of his flannel to wipe your cheeks, "I had to stay away. I had to-"

"Alright, Jason?" Alfred asked, snapping him back to the kitchen where he sat staring at your eyeliner smeared on his shirt.

"Yeah," he said smiling a little for his benefit. "I'm gonna go-" He broke off and exhaled slowly, "It's been a long day."

"Of course," Alfred said, nodding. And as he watched Jason disappear down the hall, he sighed and shook his head. Time, clearly, had not healed the wounds that night left behind. And not even the frost of death had killed the feelings that had taken root so long before.

He only hoped everyone was ready for the thaw.

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd x reader #scruffy!verse #ask answered #anon ask #minors dni

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enthusispastic · 1 year

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Animorphs fans! If the kids got sario ripped back to the cambrian, what weird wormy things do you think they'd morph?

I think Rachel would beeline for anomalocaris.

#animorphs #😍#paleontology #cambrian explosion #cambrian #rachel berenson #anomalocaris

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aoi-kanna · 8 months

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Dream's Sandbox II

Time has passed and I still find this scene hilarious 🤣🤣❤️ Inspired on Dream's Sandbox, written by BookWyrm and Trasben. 🐥📢 Dialogues belong to the fic entirely

bb Dream & Dadmare belongs to Jokublog Killer by RahafWabas Horror by Sour-Apple-Studios Cross by Jakei

#aoi-kanna #my art #undertale au #random stuff #dreamtale #bad sans gang #dadmare #bb dream #rip wormy the worm.#killer #horror #cross #lil comic #just draw for fun ^w^)/#Killer lived up to his name and exterminated wormy (accidentally) It's up to him to do the eulogy.#This fic always cheers me up #dream sand box

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nikolai-alexi · 1 year

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Jegulus Mini Fic #3

WC: 6035 words, average read time ~40mins

CW: symptoms of GAD that are commonly associated with EDs, mild description of vomiting, brief mention of a self-destructive stims, detailed descriptions of overstimulation, mentioned use/overuse of magical stimulant and negative side effects, sensory overload + issues, descriptions of violence to a briefly mentioned character, ftm trans character, mentions of top surgery and hysterectomy.

There are days when James rolls out of bed that he really, really wishes he could just stay curled under the duvet and pretend the day didn’t exist. And from the second he opened his eyes this morning, it was going to be one of those days.

Days like this, where his skin feels too tight over his bones, and everything around him feels way too sharp but so dull at the same time, he has a hard time looking at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t like to see the haunted look behind his own eyes. He feels like an imposter.

It’s not like he’s sad, okay? He’s just…not happy today. It’s 7th year, NEWTs are breathing down all of their necks, the war is brewing quicker every day, and he’s just under a lot of pressure. That’s all. It’s not like he has any real excuse to be bothered. It’s fine. It’s just a day, he’ll get through classes, sneak in a few cigarettes and cheering charms to keep his friends from worrying, and then see Reg tonight and it’ll be fine.

He finally forces himself to look up into the mirror and nods firmly to himself. It’ll be fine. He practices his smile in the reflection before dragging himself into a shower before the other lads wake for the morning scramble before breakfast. He’s never more thankful for being an early riser than he is on days like this; well, actually, that might be a lie, he’s also very thankful for his early rising the mornings after a party, when he gets to be the one to wake all his hungover friends with a cool glass of water, exceptionally greasy food, and a hangover potion. They never fail to bitch and whinge about it, but he knows they’d be hopeless without him. The thought makes a small, but genuine smile flutter across his lips for a brief moment. That’s good, he thinks, maybe there’s hope for the day after all.

There is not, in fact, hope for the day.

By the time he and the lads get down to the Great Hall for breakfast, James has already had to hit himself with three separate cheering charms to keep appearances up and he’s starting to feel the effects of it. There’s sweat pooling around his shirt collar and it feels like sandpaper rubbing against his skin. His right eye is twitching every few minutes. His tie feels like it’s choking him and his hands are violently shaking every time he pulls them out of his trouser pockets. The noise in the hall is overwhelming and ricocheting inside his skull like a fucked up mockery of the muggles’ pinball arcade game. He can’t focus on anything other than the way his skin feels like it’s buzzing and the nauseating feeling of eyes on him. Merlin, how he hates this. He wants to rip his hair out by the roots, if for nothing else, to have something else to focus on.

Eating, is a hurdle of an entirely different kind.

His stomach feels like it’s lodged in his throat, but simultaneously also feels as though it’s being weighed down with lead. The smell of all the food around him makes him viciously nauseous, but he knows he needs to eat something. His friends are used to him working up quite the appetite from his sunrise Quidditch drills, so he needs to have some sort of excuse ready for when they inevitably ask him about his apparent lack thereof.

It’s Peter who starts the line of questioning. James isn’t surprised, Pete’s got a sharp eye for everything. Nothing gets past him.

“Y’alright, mate?” He asks, when James makes no move to add anything other than a piece of toast to his plate.

James shoots him a bright grin that feels entirely false on his face, “‘Course, Wormy!” he says, “Why’ja ask?”

Peter grins back at him and gestures to his plate, “You don’t seem to have much of an appetite this morning, just wanted to make sure, yeah?”

James’ false grin slips into a crooked little smile. Selfishly, he really liked when his friends showed they were concerned for him. He liked the warm feeling it gave him when they let him know he could tell them if something was wrong. He wouldn’t, of course, tell them. He refused to burden them with something so trivial as a bad day, but he liked to know the option was there. If he wanted it, which he did, even if he wouldn’t take them up on it.

“Nah, no reason to fret, I snagged a miniature feast from the kitchens before coming back to the tower this morning. Ran more drills than usual and I didn’t want to wait for you lazy sods to get out of bed while I was hungry,”

The lie tastes like ash on his tongue, but it comes easily enough. Peter is chuckling and shaking his head at his theatrics, Remus is rolling his eyes, and Sirius balls up a serviette to throw at his head. They’re always easily distracted when presented with an opportunity to tease him about something.

“Merlin damns the day that lazy sods like us keep a hangry James from his breakfast, eh Moony?” Sirius barks out. James retaliates with a serviette of his own, and lands it right in the middle of Sirius’ porridge. The offended glare he gets in return makes a smug little grin appear.

“Right you are, Pads, think I heard once that Circe herself once condemned a man fool enough to try and delay our dearest Prongs from brekkie after Quidditch,”

“Oi!” He protests in mock offence, “I’m not that bad, you rotten bastards,”

That makes all three of them nearly snort with laughter. He is absolutely that bad and they all know it, but he’ll proclaim innocence on the matter every time anyways. And he pretends not to know that they carry snacks with them everywhere they go, just like he carries chocolate for Moony, just in case he gets a bit hangry every now and again.

Thankfully, the lads are sufficiently reassured and redirected after that, moving on to whinge at the dreadfully long essay for DADA that only Remus and James had started, but were nowhere close to finishing and the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.

He manages to choke down his singular piece of toast and gulp down a glass of water, but he already knows it won’t be staying down. His stomach is cramping ruthlessly and he wants to slam his forehead into the wooden table. Classes haven’t even started for the day and he already isn’t sure if he can do this. It’ll be fine, he thinks, it’ll have to be fine. He can spin his mates a lie they’ll believe, but apparently, he’s proper shit at lying to himself.

When they finish breakfast and head to their first class of the day, History of Magic, thank Merlin, James is able to nip off to the lav with minimal fuss and an assurance of meeting the lads in the classroom when he’s finished. As soon as their backs are turned, he’s booking it for the nearest loo before his singular piece of toast makes its re-emergence from his stomach right there in corridor. He’s already kneeling in front of the toilet, a hasty locking charm thrown over his shoulder, when his body rebels against him.

He’s not paying attention to anything other than his own misery while his body shakes and retches, so when a pair of hands settle gently on his back, he flinches against them.

“Easy, Darling, it’s just me,” And he’d know that soft baritone voice just about anywhere, no matter what was happening. It’s easy for him to relax into Regulus, his side pressing against Reg’s front with his knees pulled tightly into his chest, still shaking with the aftershocks of his stomach turning inside out.

He’s vaguely aware that he’s crying, but he can’t spare the thought to be concerned about it when Reg’s cold hands feel like salvation against his overheated skin. He would very much like to simply bury himself in those hands, thank you. Regulus seems to know exactly what he wants, because he sweeps a hand from James’ cheek to the back of his neck and brings their faces together until they’re resting their foreheads against each other. James can feel Reg’s breath tickle his nose, and unconsciously begins to settle his own hiccuping, gasping breathing to match.

It’s an indiscernible amount of time before James is able to pry his gritty eyes open to meet Regulus’. There’s so much worry, anxiety, and endless amounts of love reflected in those eyes that James feels like he may be sick again from it. He has to squeeze his eyes closed again, feeling more tears leak out the corners, and he begins rocking back and forth. How could he put this on Reg? How selfish was he? Regulus had so much more on his plate than James would ever have; abusive parents, being forced into taking the mark and becoming a spy, trying to mend his relationship with his brother, hiding his relationship with his brother’s best mate, trying to keep himself, Evan, and Barty alive despite every contrary effort by the latter two, keeping his grades afloat, and captaining the Slytherin Quidditch team. There was no way James could add more hippogriff shit to Reg’s already overflowing plate. He refused to. He’s not really aware of his arm coming up and bringing his palm to the side of his head repeatedly, but he does feel it when Regulus catches his wrist and brings his hand to rest at the base of Reg’s neck and bury his fingers in the curls that rest there. He doesn’t even think about not winding the hair around his finger repeatedly, until the weight on his chest lets up a little bit. It’s only then he opens his eyes again. He searches intently for any signs of anger or annoyance he thinks should be in those ice blue eyes, but all he finds is love and concern. He wants to close his eyes again, but he knows he won’t.

“There you are,” Regulus breathes, relief coating his words. He twists to his school bag, pulling out a few vials of potions from within it.

“For your nausea,” he says softly, uncorking the vial and gently tilting it into James’ mouth.

He wants to feel slightly embarrassed about it, but his hands are still trembling as bad as Sirius’ or Regulus’ do after a conversation with their mother, so he’s under no illusions that he would most certainly drop any potions vial he was handed. And honestly? He welcomes the relief of an anti-nausea potion. He feels miserable.

Regulus grabs the next vial, an aquamarine blue potion that James would know in his sleep with the amount he’s taken them in the last few years. He’s still grateful when Regulus mumbles, “Calming Draught,” before he pours it into James’ mouth.

Next is a dark green potion that would have James scowling petulantly if he had the energy for such a thing. He detests Nutrient Potions. Regulus rolls his eyes like he knows exactly what James is thinking, which, let’s be real, he probably does, and says, “Only half of this, I promise. You just need something in your stomach,”

He lets out a pathetic little whinge, but doesn’t try to fight it when Reg holds it up to his mouth. He does, however, make a nasty face at it. Reg huffs a little laugh before directing a soft Aguamenti charm into his mouth to wash away the aftertaste. Merlin, James thinks, he’s the best secret boyfriend anyone could ever hope to have.

The last vial Regulus has is another green potion, but this one is a bright, almost neon, green and James understands why the Nutrient Potion was necessary. Headache Remedies are nasty business taken on an empty stomach, he knows that from firsthand experience and he’d like to never repeat that particular hell ever again.

“See?” Reg teases, a wry grin on his face, “I don’t always torture you for no reason,”

James huffs a little bit, more on principle than anything else, but Reg seems to understand exactly what he means without needing him to come up with the words to say it.

“Last one, yeah? Then we’re getting off the lav floor,” James nods, not really wanting to move, but knowing he probably should.

The Headache Remedy goes down much easier than the Nutrient Potion did, and he starts to feel the results of the potions almost immediately. The pounding pressure against his temples recedes, his stomach feels like it’s back in its anatomically correct spot, his hands are still shaking a bit but they’re better than they were, and his bloody eye has finally stopped twitching. He breathes a sigh of relief, he truly hadn’t realised just how awful he was feeling until now. It’s a rather sad thing to realise that he feels the best he’s felt all day after having a complete breakdown on a lav floor.

Regulus hauls them both up, casting heavy cleaning charms at both their clothes, scooping both their bags off the floor, and steering them to the sinks. It takes a bit of manoeuvring, but he somehow manages to get James sat up on one of the sinks. James’ glasses are snagged off his face with a deftness only a Seeker could have and tucked gently into the pocket of Reg’s robes. He conjures a soft terrycloth rag and wets it in the faucet, bringing it to James’ face, not wiping, but pressing the cold cloth to the undersides of his eyes.

“It’ll get rid of the puffiness,” he explains. He quirks a sardonic smile at James, pulling the rag away from his face, wringing it out, and refreshing the chilled water on it again, “The only good thing about masquerading about as a woman for a decade and change is knowing all the secrets to having a breakdown and coming out the other side looking better than you did before,”

That punches a pathetic little laugh from James’ chapped lips, but the spark that lights up in Regulus’ eyes at the noise makes him feel like he’s just been wrapped in a blanket with how the warmth encases him.

Regulus takes his time, pressing the cloth to the swollen undersides of James’ eyes, wiping the gritty tear tracks from his cheeks, and sliding the rag around his neck and the accessible parts of his collarbone to rid the sweat that had adhered itself to his skin. He regaled James with soft murmurs of castle gossip, student dating drama, something interesting he’d found in a new potions journal he read over the weekend, the latest disaster Evan and Barty had gotten themselves into, anything and everything he could think of. James would occasionally hum an acknowledgment or huff with a bit of laughter or indignation, but for the most part, he simply sat there on the sink with his head leaned back onto the mirror and his eyes closed. He looks exhausted. Regulus wishes, not for the first time, that he could take away everything and anything that ever made James feel like this.

He knows James is coming out of this episode when his eyes slowly open and he blinks rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. He lifts his head from the mirror and looks around owlishly until Regulus perches his glasses back on his face. When his eyes focus back in, James makes a peculiar face. His nose scrunches up and his lip curls in a poor imitation of a sneer, before he gracelessly folds in on himself and plops his head onto Regulus’ shoulder.

“Ugh.” He groans. Regulus chuckles, but doesn’t respond. Just threads his fingers into James’ wild hair and holds him.

When they part, James avoids his gaze, and his dark skin is flushed. He’s embarrassed. Regulus really isn’t sure why he’d be embarrassed, because James has been in the exact opposite position for some of Regulus’ own historical blubbering breakdowns, and he is not a pretty crier.

“Are you alright?” Regulus asks quietly. James just shrugs, still refusing to meet his gaze. Regulus takes ahold of James’ chin with a barely-there grip and brings his face where he has to at least look at his face, rather than the wall.

“James,” he says, a little firmer, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

He can’t help but worry about James’ parents, Effie and Monty, despite him never having actually met them. He cares about them regardless because Sirius and James care about them so much. With the war rising quickly on the horizon, he’s put a lot of effort into setting up discrete information pipelines on the elder Potters. He hopes it’s going to be enough to stop anything that will inevitably turn its eyes toward them.

“No,” James rasps, his voice hoarse, “Nothing happened. Just a shit day.”

Regulus regards him for a moment. James can’t lie to him for shit, not when he’s looking at him anyways, so he nods.

“Pink!” He calls out and a house elf apparates into the loo. She’s his favourite Hogwarts elf, her pinkish-purple eyes and colour charmed tea-towel dress had caught his eye in first year and she was the first to ever use his real name. He adored her. Today, her tea towel was yellow. It felt fitting somehow.

“What can Pink be doing for her favourite Master Regulus?” Pink was about as subtle as a hippogriff with her blatant favouritism towards him. He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t love it.

“Could you bring us some lavender chamomile tea please? One with two sugars and milk and the other black? If you’ve the time?”

Pink looked around the lav, judgement clear on her face, “Pink would be happy to get Master Regulus and Mr Potter tea, but she shan’t be giving it in the lavatory. No, no, no,”

The elf snapped her fingers and suddenly they were sitting in an empty classroom, their belongings at their feet and a table with a tea service between them. James had a bewildered expression on his face that Regulus couldn’t help but laugh at. They each made up a cuppa before looking back at Pink who hadn’t left. She nodded firmly at them.

“Much better. Young masters will call Pink if they need anything,” she says before popping away.

“Merlin, I love that elf,” Regulus chuckles. If he makes it through the war he’s going to find a way to force Dumbledore to part with her. Kreacher would throw a fit about it, but he’d come around soon enough.

It was slow work getting James speaking again over tea. At first he’d respond with a few words but mostly stayed quiet, but gradually two cups of tea later, he was responding with a sentence or two. There was a long, comfortable silence between them where Regulus took his chance and pressed the issue at hand.

“What’s wrong, Sunshine?” He asks, voice gentle and quiet. James presses his eyes closed for a moment. Regulus knew pulling the “sunshine” card was unfair, but he was a Slytherin. James knew better than to expect him to ever play fair, “Are you okay?”

James huffs an irritated sounding breath, “Ehhh?” He says, “I’m not…not okay,”

Regulus cocks his head, “Well…that’s something I suppose. What happened?”

James shrugs his shoulders, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “I don’t know! I just- really, it’s just a bad day. I don’t know. Nothing happened. I just woke up and everything was so much and it felt like I was drowning in my head. And it’s so stupid! There’s absolutely no reason I should feel like this!”

The amount of anger in James’ voice is unexpected, but Regulus can understand it. He get into proper strops over his own emotions constantly, but for the opposite reasons. James feels everything at 110% all of the time. Regulus feels things at maybe 10% on a good day. He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel things as the level James does, but he can imagine how overwhelming it could be. He’s still trying to form a response when James whispers, “It’s fine. I promise, I’m fine,”

And Regulus feels his heart break a little bit for James. He’d mentioned little things about his fits of anxiety and issues with certain sensory input here and there, but Regulus had never been privy to the actual moments before.

“Can I- Do you-“ Regulus couldn’t quite figure out the words he was trying to push past his mouth, “Is there something that Sirius or the others do to help when you feel like this? Something I can do?”

He felt a bit of a flush creeping up his neck, but he refused to think about it. He was trying to get better at communicating with his boyfriend. Trying to become someone worthy of having someone like James Potter in his life. These are the kind of questions that James would ask him if their positions were reversed, he’s sure of that, so he’s going to put his emotionally repressed brain to the side and be here for James, no matter how hard it is.

James looks at him a bit quizzically, like he’s genuinely confused as to why Regulus is asking that. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “They…uh…they don’t actually know about all of…” he gestures vaguely to himself and it takes nearly all the pureblood etiquette training he received his entire life to not let his eyes bug out in surprise. Merlin’s tits, this self-sacrificing idiot is going to be the death of me.

He’s seen just about every person from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff lean on James for something at some point in time. He’s seen James sit with girls while they cry over their boyfriend breaking up with them. He’s seen him sit with homesick first years, do quidditch coaching for second years, transfiguration tutoring for just about every year. He stops and talks to nearly everyone on the way to class because he knows a little bit about everyone and prides himself in being available for everyone anytime.

Hell, he beat up and hexed the shit out of some upper year Slytherins when he wandered by at the wrong time and saw them jump Evan. He hadn’t remotely questioned it. James had seen Evan, someone he’d frequently exchanged hexes with and barely knew outside of what Regulus had told him, bleeding and unconscious on the ground, and jumped head first with no hesitation into the fray to help.

James had managed to heal a fair bit of the damage done, and had Evan to the hospital wing in record time. While Madame Pomfrey worked over Evan, James had tracked down Barty, Regulus, Dorcas, and Pandora, despite being openly hostile with or barely aquatinted with Regulus’ friends, and he’d gone to Slughorn to file a formal complaint against the students responsible. James denies all accusations of string pulling with his father, but three out of five of the boys responsible for Evan’s attack had their wands snapped and had been expelled from the school before Evan ever stepped foot out of the hospital wing. Barty has never raised his wand against James since, Evan occasionally stopped to chat with him in the halls, Dorcas ran quidditch drills with him after practices, and Pandora has a standing invitation to pretty much any Gryffindor festivities.

James does so much for everyone around him, it simply doesn’t make sense to him as to how no one has noticed how badly James is struggling.

Regulus vanishes the tea service, shrinks their belongings, throws his outer robes on before hauling James up and doing the same to him, “Come,” he says, extending out a hand for James to take.

“What? Where are we going?” James doesn’t hesitate to take his hand though, and he hauls him through the now-empty corridors without answering him. They head straight out the front entrance hall doors, but Regulus doesn’t slow his pace until they get to the Black Lake. Together, they amble hand in hand around the waterbody.

“Are you not worried someone will see us?” James asks, a few minutes into their walk.

“No,” Regulus replies, “And if they do, that’s something I’m not unwilling to face,”

James turns a baffled look onto him, “But you said-“

Regulus holds up a hand to stop him, “I know. And when I said it, I thought hiding it would keep us both safe. But there’s a war on the horizon, Darling, and no one is safe. We’re in no more danger being together in public now than we will be once the war begins. If that’s something you want, if you want to be in public with me, I’m happy to give it to you,”

James thinks his heart might explode right there in his chest. He’s wanted nothing more than to scream his love for Regulus Black for almost two years now. Well, he wouldn’t scream it from the rafters, Reg would hate that, but he’s wanted nothing more than to be able to be with Reg outside of closed doors and late night astronomy tower visits. Now he has the opportunity.

“What happens when the war comes?” He asks, terrified of the answer, but hopeful all the same.

Regulus shrugs, “We can make a big scene, fake a breakup because we’re choosing different sides or somesuch rot, or we can grab the people we love and get the fuck out of this thrice forsaken country. Away from Voldemort and away from Dumbledore. Make them fight their own war, I suppose. Travel, if we want. Find somewhere we love and stay for however long we want. I don’t know, James, the war is coming regardless of what we do. I’d like to believe we have the power to choose our fates. Just this once I’d like to pretend that we have control over our lives,”

Regulus pauses for a moment before laughing to himself, “Just this once, I’d like to pretend that the biggest danger to us being together is dealing with Sirius when he finds out,”

James chokes out a laugh at that, fully able to envision his best friend’s face when he finds out. When. Not if. Despite the sharp ring of terror that James feels about that idea, the thought that he could find out and that he and Reg weren’t doomed to fail made him smile a bit like a fool.

“Merlin,” James breathes, “I’m not sure if he’d want to kill me or want to kill you more,”

They chuckle about it, squabbling like they do about everything with smiles on their faces, even if they are discussing more and more outlandish plots that Sirius would come up with for their demises.

James snorts when Reg describes a truly macabre murder plot Sirius could use to murder them both for daring to date each other, “Genuinely, I think we’re going to be in more danger when Pads finds out than we’ll ever be in with the Death Eaters,”

“Too right you are, Potter,”

Both he and Reg whip around and come face to face with one very, very pissed off Sirius Black. He can see Reg’s lips quirk up into a smirk and he knows this isn’t going to be pretty. He shoots a “help me” look over to Remus and Peter who are hovering behind Sirius, both of them shrug their shoulders as if to say “sorry pal, you’re on your own”. Lovely.

“Pads, look mate, I can explain,”

Sirius’ flinty eyes snap over to him and glare darkly, “If you’re about to tell me it’s not what it looks like, I will drown you in the lake,” he threatens. James laughs.

“No, it’s exactly what it looks like. And sounds like, I’m assuming, if you’ve been following us for a while.”

He looks at Sirius for a long moment, and Sirius looks back at him without wavering. They’ve long since mastered their communication without speech, but that isn’t what this is. It’s a bit of a battle of wills, but also a test. And James never shies from a challenge. When Sirius flicks his eyes heavenward, James knows he’s won.

“Sirius Orion Black the III, I’m hopelessly, helplessly, and doubtlessly in love with your brother. I have been for the last two years. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m not remotely sorry I fell in love with him. If it’s any consolation, I don’t love him enough to let Slytherin win on the pitch?”

Sirius snorts, a little bit unwillingly, but seems to take that answer.

“Janamejaya Fleamont Potter,” Sirius starts, a nasty little grin stretched across his lips.

James groans at his full name, dropping his head into his hands, “Merlin, I fucking hate you Padfoot. Two years. I went two years without him finding that bit out. You’re a rotten bastard, Black,” Sirius just cackles at the gleeful little smirk Regulus has on his face. Regulus won’t ever let this go. Serves the traitorous brotherfucker right.

He continues without paying James, who’s glaring death at him, any mind, “I really cannot fathom why you, of all people, would fall for my horrid little brother, of all people, but here we are. I will absolutely never forgive you for this, but I suppose I’m going to have to live with it, even if I really don’t like it, aren’t I?”

Both James and Regulus respond immediately with a resounding, “Yes,”

Sirius huffs a long suffering sigh, “If I ever, and I mean, ever, see shit between the two of you that isn’t fit for the public view, I will castrate the both of you,”

Regulus snorts in a very un-Blacklike way, “Shall I inform you of all the safe sex measures we currently employ, brother dear?” He asks, faux sweetness dripping from his works. Sirius goes pale, then briefly green, then a horrible puce colour.

Regulus is doubled over laughing at his brother’s misery. Remus’ lips are twitching in an effort not to laugh, and Peter’s somehow managed to get to the kitchens and back with popcorn and is watching the verbal duel with rapt attention.

Sirius has launched into a, frankly, well-informed lecture, whilst still shouting and still looking vaguely nauseous, and Regulus hasn’t stopped laughing yet. James knows exactly what Regulus is doing, and he can’t help the fond, but exasperated look he has on his face as he watches two of the most important people in his life attempt to verbally incinerate each other. They haven’t actually tried to murder each other yet, though, so he’s counting it as a win.

Regulus lets Sirius go on his tangent for about ten minutes before he finally pulls himself together and stops antagonising his poor brother, who’s about thirty seconds away from a heart attack if the brilliant scarlet colour his face is sporting is any indication.

“Sirius,” he says softly. Sirius doesn’t stop his ranting for even a second, Regulus can’t help but roll his eyes.

“Sirius,” he says a little firmer. Still, Sirius barely pauses long enough to take a breath.

“Siri,”

And of course, that’s what shuts him up. It seems he’s on a roll with pulling out unfairly emotional nicknames for people today. Regulus hasn’t called his brother that silly little nickname in over ten years. It makes a sad little smile slant across his lips. He lifts his untucked white shirt up over his lower stomach, where a long scar stretches across his abdomen.

“I got all of it removed when I had top surgery. Stop panicking, you idiot, I’m fucking with you,”

That’s the top of Sirius’ threshold apparently, because he launches himself at Regulus, tackling him to the ground and a pathetically short wrestling match ensues between the two of them. Regulus has Sirius pinned in no time at all, and James resolutely looks away from his boyfriend, only to meet the very smug gaze of Remus, who is surely going to rub this in both of their faces for all of eternity.

“Alright, alright! Regulus, let your brother up so he can lick his wounds in peace, yeah? Sirius stop whinging, Regulus is of age and can do as he pleases. Pack it in,” Of course the only person in the world that can get both Black brothers to listen to them is Remus bloody Lupin.

The lot of them continue walking around the lake as one group, and it’s a seamless transition. James and Regulus have their arms around each other, just like Sirius and Remus do. Peter is jumping between scurrying ahead or onto shoulders as Wormtail and popping back into the conversation as Peter. They tease each other relentlessly and poke fun the entire way around the lake. Remus and Pete argue about who figured out James and Regulus were together first, to which James and Regulus argue about when they actually got together to begin with.

As they near the castle, Reg slows his pace down and puts a bit of distance between the rest of the group and he and James, “Feeling any better, love?”

James seems a little bit startled by the question but nods, “Yeah, I do, actually. Loads better. Why?”

Reg laughs softly and has that mean little smirk that means he’s about to tease James relentlessly about something, “Apparently I needed to take my golden retriever of a boyfriend for a walk,”

James wants to feel offended about that, he really does, but the fact that he’s been equated to a golden retriever in three separate friend groups, when Sirius is supposed to be the dog out of all of them, will never not be funny to him.

Ahead, he can hear Moony’s laughter and hears Reg grumble something about “bloody werewolf senses”. Moony trips in surprise and nearly topples Sirius and Pete in order to keep his footing.

As they go to split off for their respective common rooms, James pretends that he doesn’t hear Moony talking to Regulus for a moment before they separate.

“I don’t know what you did, how you did it, and I really don’t know if I want to, but I just wanted to thank you for finding a way to be there for him on a day like this. He doesn’t let us in, Merlin knows we’ve tried, but he refuses to accept that he needs help sometimes. Reckon it’s some sort of misplaced guilt, but…” Remus trails off for a moment, running a hand through his hair with a vaguely frustrated noise.

“It’s gotten scary in the past, Reg. We rotate following him around when he disappears like that. Make sure he doesn’t get into anything stupid. Normally he goes up to the roof and chainsmokes until he’s out of fags or it’s too dark to see. When he disappeared off the map, don’t look at me like that I know he’s shown it to you, we all panicked. I don’t know where you found him or how you did it, but Merlin, I’m thankful you did. Maybe you can teach him what we keep failing to. He needs someone like you,”

Regulus has a soft look on his face, “Trust me, Lupin. I need someone like him too,”

Remus grins, it’s sharp and the points of his canines are clearly visible, “Good, because if either of you hurts the other, I’ll kill you both myself, got it?”

James and Regulus both exchange a moderately panicked look, but nod vigorously in response. That’s the unofficial cue for their group to disband to their common rooms, but before Regulus disappears down the corridor for the Dungeons, he glances over his shoulder at the backs of the four Gryffindors and asks himself,

“Did I just get bullied by a werewolf wearing a knit jumper? What is my life turning into?”

Only Remus turns around and smirks at him, “A comedy, Black. Best be ready for it. It only gets worse from here,”

Regulus shakes his head with a snort. Yeah, okay. A comedy is definitely a fitting title for his life. At least it isn’t a tragedy.

#regulus black #evan rosier #james potter #dorcas meadowes #jegulus #marauders era #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #sirius black #sunseeker #starchaser #wolfstar #rosekiller #mini fic #desi james potter #Janamejaya name credit to mraudersmoon #fic idea inspired by comet_fire on tiktok #james potter has GAD #among other things but this focuses on his anxiety the most #regulus is trying so hard to be supportive but is so out of his depth #sirius got over them being together way too fast but I didn’t want to keep dragging this on #also I kinda think it’s cute when he pretends to be angry at them but secretly he’s really happy they ended up with each other #if it has to be someone I think Sirius couldn’t pick someone better for regulus than James and vice versa #trans regulus #ftm regulus black #bamf regulus black #james & peter & remus & sirius #peter pettigrew #peter pettigrew is not a traitor #im gonna laugh my ass of if this gets two fucking likes the way number two did

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echoing--stars · 6 months

Note

Hi Wormy, how are ya, and I have a bit of an angsty bit for ya.

What if Volga took Rowan prisoner to goard Link into an ambush

Youuuuuu giving me angsty ideas! But I guess because you asked nicely...

(If you read this and would like to request a short snippet, see this post!)

When Link got to the bakery, he didn’t immediately notice anything wrong. The backdoor was unlocked. Nothing was broken or out of place. There were dishes drying next to the synch and containers of ingredients on the clean counter ready to prepare tomorrow’s doughs. He could see some already on their first rise, and assumed that there could even be some already in the ice box. It was as if Rowan had merely stepped outside or upstairs to take a short break, and would return any moment. But when he called out Rowan’s name, there was no response. The front of the bakery was just as empty, the room dim as the sun was already going down for the evening. The display cases were empty, the linens that lined the baskets replaced with clean ones. Link took the stairs two at a time, sure he would find Rowan in their apartment. Perhaps taking a break to make a snack or check on some notes or paperwork in their shared office. The apartment was dark and cold, no lanterns or fireplaces lit for the evening. It was as if Rowan hadn’t been up here since he went down to the bakery in the early hours of the morning. Link tried to tamp down the worry. Just because Rowan wasn’t in the bakery doesn’t mean something bad had happened. Maybe he stepped out to visit one of the neighbors. But he always locked the door in that case. Rowan never left the doors unlocked when no one was inside. It didn’t matter how safe their neighborhood was, it was a chance Rowan had never been willing to take. Which meant that the day Rowan had given him a key to the bakery and the apartment had been even more special. Link placed a hand over his chest, above where the key hung on a sturdy chain alongside his ring. It was a comforting weight against his chest no matter where he found himself. It was only when he came back in the kitchen that he saw it. A folded piece of parchment tucked under the canister of sugar. He hadn’t noticed it before, too hidden by the things on the counter to see until he got this close. Link reached for the note, eyebrows furrowed. Would Rowan have left a note like this? And why leave the door unlocked? But the writing on the parchment wasn’t Rowan’s neat script or even the messier scrawl he used when in a hurry. No, the words were bold and heavy, the letters pressed so hard into the parchment that it was a wonder it hadn’t ripped. And the message sent a jolt of horror through Link. If you ever want to see the red-head again, come to the abandoned fort west of Castle Town. Alone and unarmed. If you breathe a word to anyone, well, I can’t imagine a baker is as used to pain as a soldier like you. -V

#Lotus!!#worm writes #linked universe #lu fanfic #lu warriors #rowanverse

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wh0lemilk0vich · 1 year

Note

obsessed with the transfem stevie diner au ❤️❤️ here’s some ideas !!🪱

she catches eddie staring at her belly and thighs thru the blue dress or something idk, like he drops some food and spills something because he was too busy ogling her, draws attention to himself. it happens too many times for it to be coincidence, stevie figured him out quickly. i would love to see robin in this and just watching eddie be an absolute fucking disaster, stuttering and stammering whilst he tries to offer her an extra large portion (that is definitely not going to be thrown out if it isn’t eaten, shhhh) of leftover cherry pie because otherwise “it’ll go to waste”😭❤️

stevie accidentally rips the seams down the sides of her uniform when she bends over to pick up plates, her ass in the air, and eddie decides enough is enough, he needs to fuck this girl now. hanging up a hastily draw ‘be back later’ sign at the door, hurrying all 3 customers out, and hauling her into the back room where he just wholly worships her.

admits to giving her the leftovers and eagerly watching her plump up. afterwards eddie begs stevie to let him take her on a date, this man is fucking gone. stevie blushing and giggling , smiling all cute because being a girl is so fucking awesome, gingerly nodding her head and twirling her hair around her finger, still flushed from their encounter.

eddie takes her out, wines and dines her the whole lot. when he arrives to pick her up, like the gentleman he definitely is yep, he has a fucking aneurysm at stevie in a silky maroon dress that hugs and accentuates her curves. that little bit of belly bounces a bit through the dress as she makes her way outside on her heels, admittedly a few inches taller than eddie 🤤🤤🤤

eddie is pretty much drooling at this point. after he lets stevie into his car, (that he spent days cleaning to try and make it nice for her) he almost trips getting in because when stevie sits down, her thighs are just delicious. all spread out in some silky red wine dress, all the while she’s blushing innocently at eddie. her belly is sat in her lap over her thighs, beautiful well maintained hair cascading down her shoulders dusted in freckles and moles. she is fucking gorgeous

i need a girl like stevie 🫠projecting so hard onto eddie rn

Transfem-Chubby!Stevie Diner Au

Wormie my heart!!

Ugh I'm so into Eddie being down bad with absolutely no ability to play it cool. Just getting a dopey smile on his face every time Stevie comes in for her shift. Eddie always has a "Sorry this was supposed to be without mayo" or "You should finish off the blueberry pie, we're just gonna toss it" or "Fries got kinda burnt, oops" or "accidentally made the same ticket twice" as a way to win her heart and get more food into her. Spends most of his time watching her from the kitchen window, just enamored, and probably also trying to catch a peek at her cleavage or panties depending on how she's facing when she busses and clears down a table. But God, he's just so tongue-tied or flustered when she talks to him.

And like think about the opposite order. So like Eddie musters up all his courage and cleans up to ask the pretty girl from work on a date at the end of their shifts. "I was wondering, you know, if you'd like to go out some time? Maybe get food at a real restaurant for a change, see a movie?" Of course she says yes, I mean Eddie's the sexy, flirty(?) line cook that she's been harboring the beginning of a crush on and finds it hard to turn down all his little flirty food blunder treats. And it's so endearing when he shows up to pick her up, dressed in one of his uncle's dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up, and a tie, but still in his ripped studded jeans, and he's parted his hair. And Stevie is wearing one of her favorite dresses that she got after being on hrt for a bit, and like, she does not account for how much Eddie has been feeding her at work, because it looks pretty sinfully tight, not bursting by any means, but her new curves are so defined: the belly pooch, the hip/thigh dips, it actually fits well in the chest, but like another pound or two and she'll be tugging at the back to make sure it's fully covering her wider, rounder, Disney mom ass.

And when she's standing in front of Eddie (holding his bouquet of flowers), and he has to look up at her nervous smiling face, his own is plastered with a look of awe and admiration. He's so proud to be taking out this beautiful (giant, complimentary) woman. At the restaurant he orders for them both, but not in like a weird or controlling way, he like, gets them the tasting menu at this upscale but not over hyped place, and so he could actively avoid any scenario where Stevie might feel self conscious and not order what she actually wants. This way, he rationalizes, she won't have to think about what she's eating, and he knows she's going to be getting his money's worth. He even makes sure that they're getting slightly different courses so that he can let her "try" his dishes. Maybe he even tells a white lie about having had her tasting menu before, so she doesn't feel obligated to share back with him, he just wants her to get to try everything 🤤.

So then, after they start dating, and Eddie hasn't stopped his little screw-up scheme, all but feeding her intentional wrong orders, she finally has a wardrobe moment. Stevie is helping bus tables on a relatively slow day, just a couple of patrons. Eddie is watching her from the kitchen, as usual (his favorite show). Stevie bends over to wipe the table down and suddenly there's a pop, and she bolts upright, feels her side, goes bright red and runs to the kitchen, looking close to tears. Eddie tells her to meet him in the store closet, then runs out and apologizes to the few patrons, mostly stragglers just getting coffee or staying back to read the newspaper, ring them up, and lead them out.

He flips the sign to closed and runs back to Stevie. She's still rosey cheeked and tearing up, eyes a little bit puffy and Eddie, so sincere and earnest, is holding her head in his hands and smiling and trying to calm her. "What's wrong, beautiful Girl? What's got my babydoll so upset, huh?" And she moves her body and her apron that's twisted awkwardly to the side to show the burst seam. The first thing that comes to Eddie's mind is Pillsbury biscuits, his mouth is dry and he reaches his hands out tenderly to feel Stevie's warm soft sides, caressing them and feeling them flare out with the swell of her belly and hips, reaching back around her to cup her breathtaking ass, pulling her into a flush embrace. Their breathing is ragged, they're both nervous, and Eddie just holds Stevie's gaze for a moment before breathing out "Oh, fuck, Stevie...you're so fucking hot" and crashing their mouths together. Stevie's arms immediately fall around the back of Eddie's neck and he's desperately pressing her against a wall, slotting a leg between her thighs and dragging the skirt of her dress up to feel up one of her luscious cheeks. He's desperately grinding against her pillowy thigh and he can feel her, hard, against his.

Eddie pulls away for a second, scrambling to pull off his chef's coat, and then helps get Stevie out of her dress leaving her in a beautiful little bralette and hip-hugging silky panties. It's everyday underwear, not lingerie or anything, and he's just so smitten. She's hooking a leg around his waist while he kisses down her neck, nuzzling her perky little tits, rubbing a thumb over a clothed nipple. He kisses further down nuzzling her tummy, feeling her abs clench under the softness (she's ticklish). He kisses at her hips, bites at her inner thighs after pulling one over his shoulder, mouthing at her cock through the fabric and just looking up with so much desire and adoration asking her "🥺 Please, can I?🥺" And she nods yes, anxiously, but sincerely, not having felt this way before, desired in this way before, and it just feels right, natural. And Eddie makes her feel so exceedingly, knee-bucklingly, toe-curlingly, gut-wrenchingly good. She's just left there panting, chuckling, fingers clenching Eddie's hair, leg still up on his shoulder. He's pressing kisses into a pillowy, marshmallow thigh.

They get back to their feet and get dressed again. Stevie's hands move self-consciously to the popped seams at her sides, arms crossed across her body, hugging herself to appear smaller. So Eddie grabs his leather jacket from his locker and places it over her shoulders, giving her more coverage. She smiles meekly, glad for it, pushing some of her hair behind her ear coquettishly, and he gives her a smiling kiss on the cheek before taking her home, where she invites him in to help her try on her other uniform dresses. So they can test their structural integrity, especially after a meal or two, you know...like at work...it's purely scientific reasons. idk this really got away from me, but I'm in love with it.

#misha speaks #chubby steve harrington #transfem steve harrington #chaser eddie munson #steddie #chubby kink #stranger things #diner au #🪱 anon

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jangofctts · 1 year

Text

Bloodsport (Din Darin x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: nothin much. no smut. canon typical violence, explicit language, blood, Mando being Mando. im posting this bc im petty and because I feel bad that I never posted it in the first place. also this is over a year old so I apologize it’s not great

Never, in the entirety of your life did you think you’d return to Tatooine. Tatooine for fuck’s sake. A literal sandbox that upholds no feasible joy unless you count the annual womp rat raid or the pod races in Mos Espa. Even then—yikes.

Didn’t think a kid nicknamed Wormie would be the one to blow up the Death Star either. Or yknow, dethrone Jaba the Hutt with some fancy laser sword. Or was it a chain? Ah, whatever—good riddance to that slimy pile of sentient boogers.

Anyway—

You should have followed Wormie’s example and steered clear of this place—taken up that permanent post as Red Leader for the Alliance and live out your days in a cushy position on Naboo or something. But, you never did enjoy taking the path of least resistance, you’re a pilot after all. Live and die for all that risky shit—the thrill of a fight and near brushes with death. You’d rather stake out your own journey in life—forge out a path so bright that other’s cant help but envy.

Growing up on Tatooine, there weren’t many kids your age—you were always the youngest by nearly four years (not that it ever stopped you from nipping at the older kids’s heels). To this day you can still recall every face, every dumb nickname and inside joke you all created—all the dares and stupid challenges like licking a womp rat’s tail or eating a handful of sand (you always won). Wild and free like a pack of yipping dogs—smiling, dirt stained faces and scuffed up boots worn down to the sole each month. Scrapes and bruises were flaunted as trophies, a chipped tooth like a shiny metal pinned upon the chest. Trouble wasn’t in the vocabulary of your mouth’s—back then it was just fun.

But time has a way of twisting and mangling the glimmer of childhood. Everyone grew up—more responsibility and less time to play on the dunes. School instead of riling up a nest of whatever doomed creature you could find. Petty arguments that turn into venomous resentment, culminating rifts in friendships and the battle of loyalties between friend groups.

You’re not sure when the bitterness of living on Tatooine settled in. Sometime between your first schoolyard fight over who would get the desk near the window and the gossip of your upbringing that followed you around like an ugly second head. Or maybe it the way everyone assumed you’d morph into the collective—a moisture farmer or maybe a mechanic like your aunt. One thing always stayed the same. You never outgrew the snarling beast that festered in your chest, it only grew with you over time.

Call it the age difference or the simple fact you were more feral creature than child, the two people who stuck around for the long haul were the neighbors’ kids. You chased off everyone else—decided that being alone was better than falling in step with mediocracy and someone else’s footsteps. If anyone would leave Tatooine first, it was going to be you.

Then Biggs left.

The Skywalker’s farm burnt down, the entire family too, shortly after Biggs’ departure. Everyone assumed Luke died along with them—you believed it as well. Scoured the farm and the corpses with blurry eyes and the hurt, worse than ripping off fingernails with tweezers, bloomed in the cavity of your heart. The worst part of it all was no one cared. No one gave a shit about the culprits or impeding war that was always glossed over on the local radio—they were all fine with sitting and becoming complacent.

A year passed—and the night of your sixteenth birthday you jumped ship the second the opportunity presented itself. Living in a space port had it’s perks—someone was always going somewhere. You snuck on board of a clunky freighter headed towards Takodana and that was it. Fueled by spite and the need to be part of something bigger.

The rest happened in a blur. You joined the Alliance—you found Biggs and Luke, alive and well, only to be ripped apart by different destinies another time over. You became a pilot—Red Leader in fact, and damn good at it. Helped blow up the Death Star (the second one that is) and that was that.

No one tells you that returning home is the scariest part of it all. But—it’s Tatooine for Kriff’s sake. Hardly anything had been touched, the people all the same and uninterested in the outside world. A relieved hug from Peli had been expected—no anger at your unapproved departure—just a resentful frown at the stitched up laceration over your brow and part of your cheek. She didn’t yell about how worried sick she’d been or the lame and infrequent, encrypted holovids you sent to assure that you were still alive and not blown to bits. You told her you didn’t expect to stay long…funny how it’s been five years since then.

Look at you know, you think with a bemused scoff. Washed out and living in your aunts hangar in the prime of your youth. Guess your glory days had come to a lazy, halting stop.

The life of a mechanic in Mos Eisley is never overwhelmingly busy—a day or two off every now and then if you so choose. Only thing you frequently find yourself doing is participating in a long standing rivalry between you, a broom, and and the congregation of overly curious Jawas. One night—one kriffing night you left a rusty speeder and a couple power converters out and now they think it’s easy pickings—

Whatever.

As long as they don’t start physically manifesting inside the spaceport it’s fine. Totally cool.

Besides swatting the little creatures away with your trusty broom each morning to clear a path, there’s not much to do on Tatooine—not unless you fancy throwing in on a Sabaac tourney or brushing elbows with none too desirable folk. You stick to the landing dock and work. Busy hands keep the mind occupied after all.

But it’s Tatooine—

Dust storms that’ll scrape up the insides of you nostrils and make your nose bleed or leave you blind, Imperial sympathizers, smugglers, you name it. You never make a habit of familiarizing yourself with whoever lands in your hangers—bad for business and honestly? You’d rather not get kidnapped and sold off to the Spice mines on Kessel for opening your big fat mouth.

So, naturally your only option for a cheap drink and the affirmation that, yes, you can in fact still leave Tatooine whenever you’d like, is to go off-world.

Bakura is a hop away—far enough you never run into anyone twice and close enough that the charter fare is dirt cheap. It’s always the same cantina, same back left corner that provides an excellent view of the exit and the neighboring lavatories that boasts amusing in-house drunken brawls. What’s better than this? Guys being dudes—petty squabbles over fragile masculinity and an urge to prove something dumb.

Tonight is slow—regulars night you suppose. Or is it a weekday? Maker you don’t even know what day it is.

Sighing, your eyes lazily crawl over the drab decor in the cantina, sipping on a neon blue drink that tastes like those little blue candies. Y’know—the ones that grandmas always have stashed away in delicate glass bowls and insist you take a handful even though the candies are the same age, if not older than grandma.

You pinch the little black straw between your fingertips and take another sip. Too sweet for your liking, but a damn good chaser for the Corellian fire whiskeys you’ve amassed. In fact, just as you’re putting the rim of the shot glass to your lips, the liquor already bright and hot against your bottom lip—you see him.

There, in the opposing corner of the dingy cantina, you spot the familiar sheen of tempered beskar. Neon lights from the nearby exit reflect off his cuirass, hyperspace blue that switches to fuchsia pink then back again like a dizzying light show. His helmet is tilted in the direction of the bar, analyzing the couple lingering near the last two stools. You know the little lime green Twi’lek—not by name—but because she’s always somehow wrist deep in her target’s pocket while they all but drool over the deep cut of her cleavage. None the wiser as they’re robbed blind. The poor bastard currently playing into her finely spun web is no different.

Good for her—

You flick your eyes back over to the Mandalorian and force down a surprised cough as the full weight of his attention settles on you. The likelihood of him being here on matters concerning you are high, but Stars, you weren’t expecting him. How’d he even get inside without you noticing anyway?

The guy is a walking armory donning beskar that sparkles brighter than kriffing diamonds and worth more than than the entirety of Tatooine you’d bet—he’s not an easy thing to miss. Mando is broad—even more so with the added bulk of armor, and in theory that much metal should make some sort of sound.

You scratch your brow with your thumb and sigh. Fuck. You must be loosing your edge or you’re drunker than you thought.

Well, no use just sitting here and having an awkward staring contest you certainly won’t win—might as well invite him over. You raise your hand in a begrudging wave and pull your face into a mask of an indifference. Mando places his hands on the table and pushes off to stand, tattered cloak scraping along the sticky floor as he covers the short distance between you.

Gesturing to the open seat on your right, Mando takes up the offer and sits with a muted grunt—guess that armor is heavy.

“Funny seeing you here,” you sigh, kicking back a shot of another fire whiskey. The glass clinks against the sticky table and joins the growing array of crystalline tumblers. One of those nights where the pain of the past stings worse than alcohol splashed into an open wound. “Did Peli send you? I left a note, y’know.”

“I’m not here for you,” he assures, a smooth rasp even with the static distortion of the vocoder. He turns his head and sweeps the room with poised nonchalance—your heart jumps as the darkened visor returns to you with a weight heavier than the catch and pull of a black hole. “You got a habit of running off?”

Your bottom lip tastes bitter as your tongue passes over it. “Depends on who you ask.”

“Hm.” Mando’s pensive hum tapers off into stagnant silence.

This is why, you think with a miserable frown, you always drink on your own. Too many awkward pauses like this and the embarrassment of being tipsy in front of a sober person—you’re off your guard. Plus—you’re not even sure why he’s here—

You clear your throat and beckon over the bartender with a wave of your hand—Ekah is working tonight. A Mirialan around your age—skin the color of fresh honey and pale green eyes to compliment. Ekah taps two fingers to his temple in acknowledgment and finishes scrubbing down a tumbler with a rag that’s seen better days. He steps around the bar and wanders to your table, his right brow quirking in curiosity at the sight of the Mandalorian.

“Finally making friends, Skitter?” The hexagonal tattoos inked into the sharp slopes of his cheeks crinkle as he smiles. “And here I was, thinking I was special.”

“Fuck off, Ekah.“ You scowl. “Neither of you are my friend.”

Ekah gasps and places a hand over his heart in mock offense. “So cruel for such a sweet face.”

Your eyes narrow. “Ekah—“

He sighs, roll his eyes and waves his hand in a shooing motion. “Alright, alright—what is it you want?”

“Closing tab—“ you spare a glance at Mando. He cocks his head to the side. “—uh, unless—do you want…anything?”

Stars that was awkward.

Mando lifts his palm off the table and shakes his head in a no. You figured, because of the helmet and all…Worth a shot.

“Great—“ You nod, shifting onto your weight to fish out the credits in your pocket as Ekah announces your total.

Yet before you even have the physical money in your hand, Mando reaches into his supply bag and pulls out the full amount, plus a hefty tip. “I’ve got it.”

Mando hands it over much too quickly for you to protest and Ekah, opportunistic as a bartender is, collects his credits and shoves them into his pocket, never to be seen again.

“Cheers, metal man,” he grins. He spares Mando a salacious wink and spins on his heel, a couple midnight black strands of his hair falling out of place as he hurries back to the bar. “See ya ‘round, Skitter.”

Your brows furrow as you puff out your lower lip, head swiveling to glare at Mando. “Why’d you do that? I can pay for myself.”

Mando has the audacity to shrug. “Wanted to. We’re friends aren’t we?”

He knows damn well where he stands. You clench your jaw and jerk your eyes back to the table. It never sits right with you when someone offers to pay—feels like a slimy rock in the pit of your stomach. On Tatooine you learn to fend for yourself at an early age—leaning on the help of others tended to land you in more trouble than you could shake off. Worst case you ended up at Jabba’s Palace as a nice little side dish for the local rancor, best case you payoff the favor working at a moisture farm for a couple days.

Simply put—no one does a favor simply for free.

Anyone who offers is cause for suspect.

But then again—Peli trusts him…

You exhale loudly, irritated by the sudden bout of silence, and shift to move from you chair, but he stops you with a question.

“Why do you call yourself Skitter?” He says it softly, not meant to offend or demand your compliance. Whatever he picks apart, he does it with precise and patient skill—simultaneously seeking insight on who you are while granting that thin veil of anonymity. Simply wedging his foot into an already cracked door.

Your eyes slip from the harsh lines of Mando’s helmet to the splotchy grease stains covering your knuckles. No matter how much you scrub or pick at them, the dirty smudges never seem to disappear—permanently ingrained into your skin like a gods awful tattoo. Doesn’t stop you from roughly rubbing the pad of your thumb over your index finger in hopes that it might just work this time. You sigh and curl your fingers into fists—no use.

Lying to him crosses your mind—spin some absolute bantha shit story about how you won the Boonta Eve Classic and how you earned the name. Or maybe you could tell him you’re a part of a highly covert crime ring and speaking your name aloud will assure you a one way ticket to the grave within the hour. You’re not sure how well that one will fly, but hey—you’ve convinced a couple of morons here and there.

However—Mando is no moron.

He wouldn’t pry the truth out of you like a crooked incisor with rusty pliers—no. This is a game of trust. By extension on Peli’s behalf you’re reliable—one of the good guys that offers safe heaven for himself and the little green terror each time he lands that literal pile of scrap metal in hangar four—always hangar number four.

It still doesn’t negate the fact that Mando knows jack shit about you. Just a grouchy mechanic with bloody knuckles and a mouth sharper than a bowl of tacks. This is him offering an olive branch of his personal trust. By choosing to lie you would be severing the rare reveal of a kind heart with a vibroblade dipped in venom. You don’t know what he thinks he’ll find or what’s to gain from you revealing a bare thread of yourself but—

Whether it’s the blend of spiced rum and fire whiskey that helps loosen your tongue into speaking, or just the simple fact that you actually kinda…enjoy Mando’s company—you tell him.

“Peli—“ You begin, your lips quirking at Mando’s unsurprised huff upon hearing your aunt’s name. “I was, like, a little kid when I went to live with her—four or five maybe?”

You spare a quick glance at Mando. His vambraces chink against the edge of his cuirass as he leans back in his seat. He laces his fingers together and rests his hands just above where his codpiece should be; and as you draw a breath he tilts his head ever so slightly to the right, exposing more of the metallic earpiece to better hear you.

He’s being polite—

You blink and drop your eyes back down to the empty glass you fiddle with. You never dwell or find it in your to care about what others think of you—too much energy wasted on perceptions that you’ll never be privy to. Say what you mean and repercussions be damned. So why is it that your heart begins to flutter like a distressed creature in the clumsy palms of a curious toddler?

A wildfire blush races up your neck and burns hotter than a miniature sun in your cheeks. You swallow and reach up to toy with the loose baby hairs that curl next to your ear. “Y-you ever, um, see a sand skitter before?”

Mando shakes his head.

“They kinda look like slugs,” you say, separating your forefinger and thumb to show Mando a guesstimate of their size. “Fast little fuckers though—they like to hang out around Jabba’s Palace. B-but anyway—“

You clear your throat and continue. “Peli always said I looked like them back then—squishy and small. It didn’t help that I ran around around like a wild waste creature either—got into more trouble than you can even imagine.”

Mando’s amused huff crackles out of the vocoder. “I think I can.”

Another blush heats your cheeks. It’s the damn alcohol—it must be. You should tell him to fuck off—take his metal, bucket-head looking ass straight back to Tatooine and leave you alone. What makes him any different from all the other people you’ve batted away? You don’t know—you don’t know—

Instead of all the things you should say, you wrench off another branch of yourself and gladly put it into his outstretched palm.

“I..uh—I don’t think I’ve used my name—my actual name in years,” you confess quietly. The admittance is a strange one—makes the back of your throat tighten while plucking at tender heartstrings you didn’t know existed. “Even in the Rebellion I was just…Skitter.”

In the Rebellion everyone has a number, a nickname, a call-sign—no one cared who you were because when they risked doing so they opened themselves up to pain. It’s easier to be nameless—keeps you focused on the task at hand.

But it’s over now—it’s done.

He lets the silence settle and you know what he’s going to ask. You see it in the way his armored shoulders raise to take a breath and the crackling curiosity that practically sparks off the metal. Nonetheless, it’s still like getting shot pointblank in the chest the second he asks.

“Will you tell me?”

Such a simple question shouldn’t scare you. Pure and simple fear that better belongs on a feral fyrnock backed into a corner with only it’s sharp teeth to protect itself. Joining the Rebellion should have scared you—hoisting yourself into that worn cockpit every day with the promise of death and gut wrenching adrenaline should have terrified you. The crash on Endor that left a scar over your left brow and broke seven ribs is far more daunting than someone asking you for your name.

“I’m willing to trade.”

You’re clever enough to realize that this is his way of assuring you that trust is a two way street. He knows the importance of a name better than anyone else—how these sorts of things aren’t meant to be traded—but both of you are making exceptions tonight, even if it’s dangerous.

You’re both playing with matchsticks around a barrel of coaxium, one slip of a finger and you’d both go up into volatile flames that will rattle the very seams of the galaxy. Mando is showing you how willing he is to offer a piece of himself at your feet—so long as you do the same.

You sigh and close your eyes. “O-ok…yeah—yeah.”

As you lean to the side he folds at the waist to meet you. You take another inhale—the last breath before plunging into an ice cold sea—and maybe…maybe it’s not as scary as you once thought.

The chapped swell of your lips brush along the frigid beskar as the syllables of your name bubble past your teeth. It tastes foreign and odd in your mouth, like cotton or the creaky hinges on a rotting window pane.

You like it better when he says it.

The slow drawl of your name repeated back to you is the first breath of spring in the unending winter within your chest. There’s always been a slowness, a stillness in the delicate redwood needles of your bones that glitter with a thick layer of frost. No clever fox or brightly plumed bird resides here—no whispering, pushing wind that dances with the slow creak of ancient tree trunks. Here there’s only overgrown, dark rooted trees and bone white snow—something mistaken for being alive.

Skitter is the name of a girl who drowns in the acrid smoke that bellows from her lungs and disastrous flames that spill from the gaps in her ribcage. It outmatches nebular implosions, leaving behind entrails of embers that burst and flake off from her skin like brittle wood thrown into a funeral pyre. Even the sharp curve of a rabid smile shows something of that all-consuming hunger—something never meant to survive for long. No life has ever made its way into her bones, but the flames that transform blood into ash and anger shine in her eyes.

Your name—the one that sun speckled light touches and spreads inside of your lungs, urging Mando to whisper in quiet tones meant only for your ears. It promises that this is only the beginning—that there is gentle starlight instead of war smoke and here there is something beautiful waiting for you. Someday the heavy snow that buries your body under its weight will melt and give way to the delicate bloom of ferns and creeping lichen. Hope crackles in your blistered palms, transforming into the wings of a sparrow and the very same warmth that you dream of holding.

Goosebumps rush down your spine and every inch of skin as Mando repeats your name a third time—speaking it as if it’s a prayer to some long lost deity wearing a circlet of stars and a mouth made of rose petals. But it’s only you. You who sits in the back corner of a shitty cantina, dressed in neon light while you and a Mandalorian whisper secrets that are long since forgotten to the world into each other’s ears.

But the slow grace of become gentle is a long one, and there’s much to learn. “You call me that in public and I’ll strap your tongue to a belt sander and set it on high.”

Mando chuckles at your empty threat and leans more of the broadness of his shoulders into your space. “My turn.”

The icy cold beskar touches parts of your ear and jaw, his even breathing amplified by the static crackle of vocoder. This close, you can feel the helmet buzz over your skin.

“Din.”

It suits him—sweet and simple.

And like he knows you’re itching to shy away from the chilling unfamiliarity of bearing your heart, Din leans closer. You’re not trapped, but he’s forcing your hand to either flee like you’ve always done or confront him.

You stay.

He moves his hand glacially slow so as not to startle you, granting you an opportunity to slip free, but you hold steady. The padded leather covering his thumb touches the side of your chin, and out of habit you flinch. The weight of his thumb immediately retracts, but with a mumbled apology and a weak smile of encouragement, he returns.

Mando—Din—cradles your chin between his forefinger and thumb and traces a light back and forth pattern, the worn leather soft against your skin. Desire bubbles in your chest like heartburn, and all you know right in that second is you need more of him—hungry for any scrap he offers. You lift your hand and curl your fingers over the top of his knuckles and with a little tug, you coax Din’s open palm over your cheek.

Staring into that endless black visor, your eyes flutter shut as you lean into his hand. Vulnerability tastes strange on the tongue—still have to wrestle back the urge to snap and chase him away. You’d be content staying like this all night but…

Tonight is not the night for it apparently—

Fuck—

All those drinks hit you with a gut wrenching wave of dizziness worse than clipping a short corner in the Diablo Cut—same kinda feeling you get after pigging out on starcherry pies and then taking a high-stakes joyride on your dad’s spiffed out speeder.

You squeeze your eyes until you see little bursts of light and suck in a deep breath, beating back the nausea with sheer willpower and the very present dread of puking all over Mando’s chest plate. What a fucking spectacle that would be.

You cringe and slump from his palm and into the dark fabric of his cowl, the sharp smell of ozone and something woodsy a pleasant surprise to your senses. Maker—you could stay here all night, breathing him in. You’re lucky he’s wearing his helmet—you fucking stink.You’ve been marinating in the acrid stench of cheap spirits and cigarette smoke for hours and you know it’ll take days to scrub it off your skin and clothes like shitty perfume or spilled jet fuel.

“Are you taking a nap?” Mando accuses—the lip of his helmet knocking against your ear as he tries to confirm his suspicion.

“No,” you grumble, “‘m smelling you.”

“What?” Din’s shoulder jump with a unbelieving snort.

You huff and bury your nose deeper into the swath of fabric. “You smell good. Like—like one of those…those candles.”

You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh. “I think it’s time to go home.”

“So you are here for me,” you scoff, raising your head to shoot him a weak glare. “How’d Peli convince you?”

“Offered to take it out of your pay.”

“Damn, that shit sucks.” You retort, lifting yourself from the stiff beskar to rub at your tired eyes. “Lemme—lemme guess—“ you hiccup and point an accusing finger. “That piece of junk ship got fuckin’ trashed and—and you expect me to fix it.”

Din cocks his head to the side, shrugs and moves out of his seat, offering you a hand. You shoo it away with a feeble glare and help yourself up, albeit a bit wobbly.

“You have talented hands.” He purrs next to your ear as you attempt to stomp past him. “I’m sure you can manage.”

“Yeah—“ You sniff, each step a blurry stumble towards the exit. “You bet I fucking do.”

His soft laugh whispers behind you—

You hate how much you like it.

Din ushers you onto the very ship you vowed never to take a ride in, solely due to the fact that this thing has been trashed more times than you can count. You cringe just thinking about the innards of the Crest you so begrudgingly fixed—probably all fried to hell and busted up again—

Surprisingly, the ship flies fine. Suspiciously smooth sailing, enough that you even manage to doze off in your chair. Until you’re so rudely awakened.

It’s a little tickle on the side of your temple—like a stray hair pushed out of place by a breeze. Half lucid, you grumble and furrow your brows at the sensation, hoping it’ll piss off and leave you be—

The bluntness of calloused fingertips caress over the ridge of your brow, then sweep to the shell of your ear, thumbing at a lock of hair in muted wonder. The same kind of fascination you’d see on someone who’s never felt the texture of another’s hair because of the heavy gloves they wear like a second skin. You crack an eye open, confirming the culprit just as his bare hand dances over your cheek and skins along your jaw.

Din’s hand freezes, hovering in midair the moment your sleepy eyes catch over his visor. You roll your lip between your teeth, attempting to solely focus on his helmet instead of the brown, sun-kissed hand inches from your face. You’re not sure what’s considered rude or blasphemous in Mando culture, but airing on the side of caution with things like this is best.

“You snore.”

You blink. “What?”

“I said you snore in your sleep.”

Din spins on his heel faster than you can process and exits the cockpit. Huh.

Alrighty then.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stand and follow after him. You squint as the loading ramp is lowered, the change in lighting creating a dull ache behind your eyes. Mando hovers at the end of it, patiently waiting for your sleepy self to join him. He’s docked just on the outskirts of town you note—he’s not staying for long. You were just a detour.

You sigh, face souring as the first rays of sunlight whisper across the glittery yellow smudge of the horizon. Sand scrapes your cheeks and tickles the inside of your nostrils as a gust of torrid air sweeps down from the nearby bluffs, promising another scorching day that’ll make the skin on your nose peel and flake off. Absolutely putrid. “I fucking hate this town.”

Mando makes no comment on his end, just rests his palm over your lower back and guides you forward. This shouldn’t be miserable—

He isn’t marching you off to your death or anything—just an end of a chapter you didn’t intend on closing so soon.

Isn’t it funny when you’ve got an entire speech’s worth to say and yet all of it decides to stay stuck on the roof of your mouth? But that’s the problem—you’d have no idea what to say—just an endless turmoil of emotions you aren’t able to pin down and decipher. You’re not even sure if you want to anyway—

All too soon you’re reaching the blast doors that lead into the space port. Din stays outside when you offer to go get his kid from Peli’s care. He’s bundled up in a spare blanket, tucked against Peli’s side—both asleep. Without waking your aunt, you slide him into your arms and make your way back to Mando. The baby whines and cracks his large eyes open.

“Hello, Creature,” you greet, sweeping a thumb over his large ear. “Dad’s here to pick you up.”

His eyes slide back shut, nuzzling deeper into the swaths of blanket as you hand him back to Din. The Mandalorian happily accepts the little creature and tucks him against his side. Cute.

“How long are you staying?” You’re cracking open another door for him, letting the soft glow of an imaginary future spill past your fingertips even though you know it’s far fetched. He shuts it with a gentle sigh and a weak shake of the head.

“We’re leaving today. It’s not safe for us here.”

Your brows furrow. “You’re being followed?”

The way his shoulders stiffen tell you that it’s a long story. That it runs deeper than just a mere skirmish and bad blood. You don’t like his answer when he tells you the short version of things. Don’t like the way your whole body seizes and doused in a vat of ice water.

“That’s…no. That’s not—the Empire was destroyed.” Your breaths turn sharp like frayed lungs hacked at the stem and the cold dread of a returned horror. That part of you, the one that fought tooth and nail for the galaxy perished in the flames of war alongside every friend and ally you’ve lost. To say that something you played a part in ripping to shreds for good, is back—it’s digging up ghosts and dusty skeletons you’ve buried long ago. “Din—the Empire is gone."

“Not all of it. They’re after the kid.” The baby, now awake, squeaks and looks up at Din, his little fingers wrapping around his thumb. “If I stayed any longer I’ll be putting you both at risk.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and study the tips of your boots. “You’ll be gone for awhile then.”

You lift your head and study the sharp lines of his helmet and the dark strip of visor. His silence carves out the fragile hope cradled in your chest with a rusty knife—throws it at your feet with bloody uncertainty. He chooses silence over hollow promises—could be years or three weeks the next time you see him. Or never.

“Take care, Skitter.”

“Yeah…se ya around, Mando.”

You watch him leave, the beskar glittering in the early morning sun until he disappears from view.

You should’ve asked him to take you with.

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you

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sunshinemoonlightandstarbright · 1 year

Text

The Mirror of Desire

focus on the marauders

approx. 1100 words

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

“Oi, you two. Shut it, else Filch will hear.”

A mumbled reply of “Sorry, Prongs” and “Yeah yeah whatever” float from beneath the shimmering fabric of the invisibility cloak.

“Seriously lads, sometimes it’s like you hate each other or something.” Peter joins.

“Nah. Moony and I just like a good argument sometimes,” Sirius grins into the dark,“Isn’t that right Remus?”

Remus hums noncommittally and swats Sirius’ hand when he jabs him in the ribs, teasing.

James pauses and points down the hall, “Alright, I think it’s that way.” He pauses to look down at the map in his hands and leads them further into the pitch black.

"So, what exactly are we looking for?" Remus asks.

"You'll see." James replies mysteriously.

They turn at the end of the corridor and enter a seemingly empty room. At the back stands a tall object covered by a cloth. Once they are all inside and the door is closed, James throws the invisibility cloak off of them and marches straight at the mysterious object. He rips the cloth off with a flourish and gestures dramatically at what is uncovered.

“A mirror?” Pete seems confused.

“Not just any old mirror. The mirror of Erised,” James explains.

“Erised?” Remus questions. “Let me guess, it shows our deepest desires? Someone was being a funny bugger.”

James squints his eyes at Remus, “How did you know?”

“Prongs.. Erised is desire spelt backwards.”

James’ eyes widen behind his glasses and he smacks himself on the forehead. “Merlin, how did I not see that?”

“Not many people are as clever as our Moony. Don’t compare yourself to him James.” Sirius says earnestly and smiles when he sees the flush that has risen to Remus’ face at the compliment.

James clears his throat. “Alright who’s first?”

Pete steps forwards towards the mirror and squeaks at what he sees.

“What do you see Wormy?” Sirius asks.

Pete stares at the scene in the glass, him being lifted up onto the shoulders of his friends and paraded around the common room, everyone chanting his name.

“Oh, I see myself going to collect a trophy. I think it’s the international wizards chess championships.”

“Wicked” Sirius responds.

“I’d say that’s an achievable goal Pete. No one plays chess like you.” James encourages Peter. “Okay it’s my turn now.” James steps in front of the mirror, smiling in anticipation. His smiles fades and he swallows harshly as his deepest desire takes shape. He sees himself crouching down next to a toddler that resembles him almost perfectly; brown skin and unruly black hair coupled with warm brown eyes. Almost perfectly, save for the finer bone structure and delicate features. No, those come from the man standing behind him, hand on his shoulder. Regulus smiles down at their child and squeezes James’ shoulder lovingly. He joins him on the floor and leans in to kiss his jaw. James watches on longingly in a trance. He can almost feels the ghost of a kiss on his skin.

“Hello? Prongs, are you in there?”

James is snapped out of his trance and turns to face Remus. He looks at him kindly and asks what he saw.

James forces a sheepish grin onto his face and lies, “Evans and I have a kid. He’s got my eyes and her hair.”

Sirius groans good-naturedly and shoves James out of the way “Such a family man, you are.” He watches the mirror expectantly and flinches when an image forms. It’s him and his family. Regulus is there, arm around his big brothers shoulders, smiling. Sirius has never seen Regulus this happy. Their parents stand behind them, except something is different. They seem softer. Kind. They don’t look so harsh, as if they would never even consider hurting their children. Like they would do anything to stop that from happening. Tears spring to Sirius’ eyes and he swipes at them angrily. He takes a moment to compose himself and turns to face the group.

“I saw my family. My real family. Effie and Monte, and you Prongs.” Sirius ruffles James’ hair and gestures for Remus to take his place in front of the mirror.

Remus tentatively walks towards the glass and pauses. He watches as a full moon begins to peak out from behind clouds. He braces himself for the transformation but it never comes. He waits, but all he sees is a boy, unencumbered by the harsh realities of the world they live in. His face is free of scars and his eyes are bright.

Remus continues watching himself and says, “I see me. But I’m not a werewolf.” I look happy, he thinks.

Silence follows and Pete breaks it with an idea. “Do you think it would work if we all stood in front of it? Like would it show our collective group desire?” They all pause to think and James shrugs and says, “Well it couldn’t hurt to try.”

They all shuffle in front of the mirror and wait.

“Nothing’s changing,” Pete says.

“Patience, Wormy.” Sirius scolds.

They all stare, entranced, as the image in front of them begins to change. They watch themselves age. They grow taller, their faces mature, and they stand straighter.

“We’re getting old! Look! Sirius, you’re starting to get wrinkles!” Peter starts excitedly.

Normally, Sirius would bite back, but he was too busy watching as his older versions hand drifts closer to Remus’. He flicks his eyes to Remus to see that his gaze is fixated on that same region. Their hands meet in the middle, and young Remus looks up at Sirius to see that he is already watching him. Sirius blushes and looks away, going back to seeing himself age.

Remus stares at their hands joined in the mirror. He knows Sirius sees it too. The way his cheeks turned red when Remus caught him staring confirmed it. Remus’ heart begins beating harder as he flexes his fingers and slowly moves them across the space between him and Sirius.

James and Peter are still engrossed by their ageing selves and don’t notice when Sirius flinches and then slides his fingers between Remus’.

“I can’t believe our deepest desire is just to be old. That’s so boring.” Peter complains.

“Come on Petey, don’t be like that. We’re going to grow old together, isn’t that nice?” James argues.

“Yeah, I guess. But I still wish we saw something that would never happen, like us all being world famous quidditch players on the same team or something. That would be more exciting. Because we already know this is going to happen.”

“Yeah.” Remus says softly.

“I can’t wait to grow old with you,” Sirius speaks to them all, but his eyes are on Remus.

#i hurt myself writing this #just really twisted the dagger #obviously im aware that james and regulus cant have a biological kid but just let me dream #also everyone lying about their desires except for remus #and james saying that the kid had the opposite festures to what harry cannonically does #crying at sirius just wanting a happy family #and peter being embarassed about wanting to be appreciated #my poor babies #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #peter pettigrew #wolfstar #jegulus #marauders #marauders fandom #marauders era #oneshot #that last line is the best thing ive ever written

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