#anyways i probably won’t fully change them (yet) but

[clarissasbakery]

these squilf and leafpool designs came to me in a dream…. what do we think

#how was i so blind before #anyways i probably won’t fully change them (yet) but #we will see #my art #illustration #art #fan art #leafpool #squirrelflight #squilf #warrior cats #erin hunter warriors #warrior cats fanart #warrior cat #wc designs #character design #character redesign

[deathbxnny]

Alright! After debating which characters i want to use for this idea, i chose Lyney! So can i request Lyney x reader where he and reader does a ballroom dance under the moonlight. The Merry Go Round of Life ost is honestly a perfect song for a ballroom dance so i have to request a ballroom dance! Also this ask is kinda similar to your Furina post, but..

Let me explain:

So the reader is Lyney’s crush and Lyney is also the reader’s crush. Their love for each other is mutual but both of them have yet to confess. The reader is wating for Lyney to be the one to confess while Lyney… Lyney plans to never confess to them. Despite really wanting to, he can’t. He won’t because if he does that would mean getting the reader involved in the Fatui which he vehemently does not want to happen. So he trapped the both of them in this dance of Will They or Wont They because while he doesnt want to be actual lovers for their safety, this dance will at least let him believe an illusion that they are one. He knows the reader will get tired of this dance but that’s fine with him. He will enjoy every second of this dance until the reader eventually finds a new dancing partner lover.

But until then, he will let himself believe this illusion as it lets him forget all his problems and be in love for once.

(I should probably mention that i have yet to play Fontaine so idk how accurate Lyney is in this request but even if he does date someone, i still think he wouldnt be too keen on having his S/O involved in his Fatui business. Am i right on that assumption?)

- Flower Anon 🌸

I love your brain, Flower Anon! This is such an interesting idea, but I might change it up a little, so I hope you like it anyways and I thank you for your request!<33

(Part two)

Content: Heavy angst?, Mutual pinning but no confession, hurt/kind of no comfort, ballroom dancing, hints of depression, Lyney is a bit of a liar, sfw Reader has no metioned pronouns!! ((Not fully proofread))

《No happy endings. (Lyney x Gn!Reader)》

In a way, Lyney always knew his love for you would backfire eventually.

Whether it was due to his own actions or his family's "business," he knew this couldn't ever turn out the way he wanted to. That eventually, he'd have to pull away from you for good. But he was selfish for way too long, perhaps even in denial. He ignorantly thought he could manage his many lies with the same ease he balanced his magic tricks on stage. And yet, it all came to a head the day "Father" told them of their important mission.

A mission he knew would end in nothing but heartbreak and loneliness.

He ofcourse tried to prolonge his doom for as long as he could, mainly because he just couldn't let go of you. He didn't want to, and it was so painfully obvious to everyone around him. It didn't help that he knew that you loved him back, too. Neither of you ever dared to confess, however, something he was thankful for until now. It made things a little easier, or at least it did, until you one day visited him at one of his street shows with a letter in hand, inviting him to a grand ball in the theater.

You were glowing under the bright sun, your smile wide enough to make him breathless. Lynette gave him a glance, an unreadable one he still understood anyway. After their last meeting with their "Father", she had bluntly asked him what he was going to do with you now. This wasn't the first time she had asked him this either. But everytime she did, his words would dry out in his mouth and he'd be left there speechless, unable to come up with a solution.

The issue was clear as day, however. It's either he confessed to you or he didn't. For a while, he entertained the idea of doing so, just so he can finally hold you the way he so desperately wanted to. But Lynette wasn't letting him dream anymore. If he confessed, then he'd have to lie to you about everything. And it was inevitable that eventually, one day, you'd find out about their real identities. Would you stay then? Freminet quietly shaking his head at his older brothers question was enough to make him finally wake up to the reality of the situation.

No, ofcourse you wouldn't stay, because he had deceived you for so many years. Perhaps you'd be able to look past the Fatui aspect, but not the lies.

He hadn't been the same since and everyone noticed. Even you, who was so desperate to cheer him up from the unknown issue that was clouding his mind. Always so ready to help him through everything, despite not knowing you were the cause of his plight. And he regrettably loved that about you the most.

"You... want to go to the ball with me? Ah... I-" "-Please? I've been wanting to go with you for a while, and I'm sure it will do us some good to catch a break." You said quickly, afraid of his rejection when you haven't even tasted the beginning of it yet. The blonde man bit his lip, his eyes meeting Lynette's for help, who simply looked away stubbornly. She had warned him of this. At this point, she wondered who's feelings she was really trying to save. Her twin brothers or her dear friends? She didn't know and hoped it would all just come to a quick, painful end.

Lyney sighed softly, unable to ever say no to you in the end, as he forced a smile to grace his lips. "Why ofcourse then! Let's make the night count!" He said in his usual grandiose tone, his heart fluttering as you gave him an excited giggle and hugged him, quickly taking your leave with a gleeful thanks. The twins watched you round a corner, the young man deflating with every step you took.

He pressed a hand against his face the moment you disappeared, his breath a little uneven and shaky. His smile wobbled until it finally dropped entirely. Even smiling had become too exhausting to do. Lynette simply stared before she shook her head and crossed her arms tightly. Someone had to be the responsible one here, and as much as it hurt her... she had to be the one to push him over the edge. "You'll end it after the ball. You have to." She whispered to him, leaning in close enough to notice the teary, near empty gaze glinting in his eyes.

He always loved too hard.

"I... ofcourse I will. You're right." He muttered in a near daze as he gathered up his cards off the floor from a previous performance. He looked so small, all his pride and grandiose having been shattered the moment he realised that his life and free will never belonged to him to begin with.

---

The days flew past him afterwards and by the time the night of the ball arrived, it was like he had woken up from a bad fever dream. He stood in the now crowded theater room, dazed and dressed in a lavish suit he only barely remembered to have put on with his siblings' help. He had attempted to stall having to come here, but his "father's" dark glare from the door way made it clear that she wasn't going to entertain his "distraction" being around him anymore either.

Fountaine's whole existence stood on the line, so how dare he hesitate? How dare he care about being heartbroken, when people are going to die?

His hazy mind nearly didn't recognize your radiating form when you approached him in absolute glee. Your hands took his gloved one's, tightly grasping them, as you spoke of your happiness to be here with him. You had dragged him outside onto one of the massive balconies, the moonlight mirrored in your beautiful eyes, and for a moment, everything around him disappeared. He could hear your words slow down, the panic kicking in full force when he realised what you were attempting to do, his mouth moving faster than his heart could stop it.

"Lyney, what I want to say is that I lov-" "-Let's dance. Let us please dance." He whispered breathlessly, his head spinning as he grasped onto your hip and took your hand into his. He couldn't process the hurt in your eyes, the way you pressed your lips together, tried mentally reasoning with yourself that he hadn't indeed just bluntly rejected you.

But he was quicker, the music filtering outside from the grand ballroom and mingling with the warm night air, as Lyney waltzed with you to it's melody. His mind was racing with so many thoughts and possibilities, his brain and heart tearing at his soul into opposite directions. He was hesitating. Despite knowing exactly what he had to do, the words just couldn't spill out yet. He gave himself time until the end of the song, his face flushing with a misplaced sense of excitement for being so close to you at last.

Yet you knew something was off about him. Perhaps it was the way he danced so clumsily. Perhaps it was the growing anxiety in his eyes that couldn't look into yours, and maybe it was the way his breath was so painfully labored, as though something was weighing down on his heart, suffocating him. Whatever it was, it made you slowly become frustrated.

Years of showing your affection to the magician seemed to have been brushed off and forgotten in that moment. And you weren't foolish enough to believe that he didn't feel the same for you. So what was he waiting for? What was holding him back? You couldn't understand, and so, when he spun you out, his hand only weakly keeping you from getting away from him, you finally uttered the words that burned on your tongue.

"Why are you hesitating?"

He looked at you for the first time since the waltz began, his eyes widening with unshed tears as he gulped, his throat so painfully dry. The melody was about to end, the orchestra leading up to it with suspense, somehow fitting for what he was about to do. He was happy that, despite everything, he was able to delude himself into thinking you two can be one, even for a single night. So perhaps his only regret was to not have been born in the right time and world for you.

"Because I can't love you. Not in this life. But I promise that nothing will stop me in the next."

The music came to an end, the wild and near deafening roar of the crowd in the ballroom filling this sobering silence between you two. It was his best performance, his best final magic trick, in which he'd make his own heart vanish. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your hand, unable to look at your shocked and tear-filled expression.

Lyney had made peace with himself and the situation in that moment, even when you wordlessly pulled away from him and quickly ran past him. He stood under the moonlight, still bowed, his hand reaching for nothing until he summoned his hat from thin air and elegantly put it on his slicked back hair. The blonde turned to look behind him as he did so, only barely seeing you vanish in the thick crowd as you wiped away your tears.

And somehow, he had it in him to smile, not out of amusement of what he had done to you, but rather at the realisation that he truly always did belong to a puppet show in a way.

What a shame that the script had no happy ending from the start.

Alrighttt... I hope this was okay for you, Flower Anon! And sorry for taking so long, exam season is not for the weak...

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin lyney #genshin lyney x reader #lyney x reader #lyney #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

[hitlikehammers]

time for that age old question: is love enough to beat back the apocalypse?

Because Steve's right there to protect everybody like the self-sacrificing asshole he is help Eddie make the music he's not strong enough for yet help them all put Vecna in the ground for good this time, right?(!??!)

or: what's the song for your walkman, baby? does it even matter?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< three: sleep 🌗

🎧 🎹 four: play 🎶 🛡️

To tell the whole truth of it: it comes too quickly—Vecna’s last stand. Of course it does.

But probably, if he’s being fair: they’d never have been really ready. Not for this, and so maybe it’s best that they’re not fully healed, not at full strength when it all comes to a head, not least because that means Vecna and his petal-toothed brigade aren’t at full strength either. And that choice, for their side, is sloppy; the Party stands on the right-side-up against the attack because they have to. Vecna makes his move because—or else, Eddie’s fairly sure—because the sadistic ballsac is losing his fucking mind.

Which is terrifying, sure, but fuck if it doesn’t help their cause.

It’s actually over pretty quick, even compared to Spring Break which, while it felt like a lifetime for how much it changed Eddie’s own, it’s only been those handful of days—but it’s kinda like the grand finale at a fireworks show: everything all at once then, done. In the everything’s though: he might not like it, but Eddie’s not so foolish as to believe he’s not still too tender, still too deep in healing the finer points of being gnawed alive to be anything but a burden in the thick of it. He refuses to be sidelined, though, and he thinks it says a lot for the long-term health of this glorious impossible thing he’s…building? Yeah, he, umm, he, Eddie Munson, is building a real goddamn thing where he doesn’t even just let someone into his heart and treasures them there, no, he’s building a thing where he gives his heart and gets on new and soft and trembling in kind and they both get to work at the treasuring of something more precious than just their own vulnerable insides, but yeah, yeah:

Eddie thinks it bodes really fucking well for the hopes he has that lean hard toward forever, already, in Eddie’s chest at least when Steve looks his way as they’re planning the teams and he locks eyes with Eddie and Eddie doesn’t even get his mouth open to breathe, to plead don’t cut me out, don’t send me to Wayne to be ‘safe’ or ‘out of harm’s way’ or whatever, don’t leave me so fucking far from you my heart hurts just because it’s beating in the middle space unmoored and shaking around all bruised up with it for not knowing and I know I can’t do what everyone else can but it’ll be bad enough not being next to you please don’t push me far enough that I won’t know the moment you’re safe, just—

Steve meets his eyes, and Eddie’s breath catches before his heart trips, and then Steve speaks up—and he doesn’t, not all that often when the nerdiest among them are shoring up the battle plans—but he watches Eddie without blinking when he pipes up:

“Eddie’s on medical and audio, with Erica and Jon.”

And maybe it’s his tone—this almost wholly novel thing in Steve that’s steely and unquestionable but no one pushes, they nod and get back to work, totally seamless and, and…yeah. That’s all Eddie wanted. Best he could hope for. Just outside the gate they go through. Close enough to hold a hand on the way down, and reach for purchase on the journey back.

Steve swallows hard, and nods at Eddie before he looks away and starts gearing up, twirls his fucking nailbat so it catches the sunlight even thought the metal’s mostly rusted, now and just…Eddie hadn’t needed to say a word. And Steve wanted to send him to safety, the way his throat had bobbed made it real clear there was something heavy he’s held back but: he’d said what he said. He’d laid the line in Eddie’s favor. Eddie wants to hold him, wants to pull him close and feel him breathe, and—

Yeah. Eddie kinda feels like the way it goes is a really good sign for their future as a couple. A couple. Them. Together.

With an always on the other side of all of this that could be kinda fucking magnificent, maybe. Given the chance.

Point being: Eddie gets himself set up with at least a full ambulance’s supplies for first aid, definitely not acquired legally, and a stereo set up he really wishes someone had been kind enough to outfit him with in not-the-apocalypse, holy shit is it gorgeous, but since the strength in his hands is still a work-in-progress, he’s gotta be ready to crank up the noise as a distraction from arm’s-length. It’s actually driving him fucking crazy—or, was; it was, pre-active return to the regularly scheduled world ending—the whole not being able to make music, to translate the noise in his head into sounds on the strings but even that, even that’s been tolerable, survivable because of Steve—who he loves, he gets to love Steve Harrington holy fuck—but Steve’s not just there to be everything and more than the air Eddie goddamn breathes, to become the music just by existing, nope, he one ups that shit: he asked Eddie if it’d be enough to learn the chords he needs. So Eddie could match the words with the notes right, so Steve could be a—

“—kinda piss-poor substitute but,” Steve had shrugged for it with a crooked grin; “but even a bad translator gets a message across, and you’d know when it’s wrong so we can figure out how to fix it and—“

And Eddie’d grabbed Steve’s chin and yanked his mouth close to fucking consume that man like a soul goddamn starved.

“I’d be a shit teacher,” Eddie had mouthed against Steve’s lips after they were sucked well-swollen; “if I still can’t lift the fucking neck for more than a minute,” but Steve had heard none of it, just shot right back:

“You don’t think we’ve beat steeper odds than that?”

And in the face of that raised brow, those red lips parted, that pulse in that neck still a little bit visible like a tease: the fuck was Eddie supposed to do but dive back in and love on the man who’d somehow agreed to be his, and to claim Eddie of all people in turn?

Which is a whole other reason why everything’s gonna be fine: Steve’s gonna make music with him. Steve’s gonna be Eddie’s muse and the vessel for what he inspires. It’s gonna be like Greek fucking poetry, except it’s gonna be them.

So Eddie’s all stocked up, s’got everyone’s floaty-bone-breaky songs queued up on blast for immediate deployment as necessary, and Steve’s the last to go through—he always is, in Eddie’s experience, waits for everyone to be safely accounted for before he spares a thought for himself and it might kill Eddie one day but not fucking today, because it’s gonna be fine—

“Eddie.”

It feels a little like history repeating itself, the way Steve huddles him in a little. Henderson’s through, with Lucas and Hopper and the weird stray Russian, but it’s not like history repeating, because Eddie’s got different words to see him off with; so fucking different.

“Last time I didn’t have,” and Steve reaches, cups Eddie’s cheek, drags down to press on his chest as his voice strains hard: “and it almost killed me,” and Steve usually pinches between his eyes to keep his feelings in check but instead of using his free hand to hold back the tears he reaches for Eddie’s and laces their fingers as his voice cracks and he chokes out:

“Please,” and it’s for everything. For all the almosts from last time; for all the possibilities rife this time. For all the hopes Eddie thinks they share beyond how this shakes out.

“Exceptionally underqualified field med,” Eddie breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand so, so hard like a promise, because it is; “exceptionally overqualified DJ,” and Steve chuckles, wet but real and it’s enough, because:

“I got it, Stevie,” Eddie bends his forehead to Steve’s to say better than with words that he’s not in this to be a hero, he’ll be right here the whole time, but that doesn’t mean he…that doesn’t mean he can help but to ask this time:

“Just,” and the breath in him punches out unexpectedly as he damn-near begs:

“Only bring me back the little things, yeah? That I know how to fix?”

And they both hear what’s said underneath it:

Don’t turn around and die down there, and kill me in kind..

And—if anyone’s keeping track—they turn out not to need it but: the way the kiss is a wholeass wartime farewell, man.

And then: Eddie waits, and fucks with the speakers for less than an hour before the earth shakes, and his heart drops, but then he hears it.

The fucking whooping of those shitheads echoing through the cracks.

And then he sees it, runs, grabs the first hand that’s clinging to the rope this time and pulls with strength he doesn’t have, is probably more a hindrance than a help but he steadies them each back on the ground and hugs them so tight, kisses more than one of them on the head or the cheek as he doesn’t pretend not to be sobbing through the laughter because they did it, they fucking did it, somehow it’s over and he loves these people and he’s so fucking happy they’re alive and safe and here and—

And the person he loves more, loves most, brings up the rear, a little bloodied, a little scratched up, dingy with the fucking air down there but smiling and Eddie…

Eddie falls into him so fucking hard they both hit the ground and just, just grab onto one another. Just hold and breathe and catch lips every few seconds like an afterthought because they feel each other’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed tight and it’s, they’re…

Steve’s got four broken fingers across both hands. None in a row. He’s basically giving a Vulcan salute by default for how they’re taped.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much it hurts.

And Eddie’d obviously known—once things start to settle in the days that’ve followed—that teaching Steve guitar with those Spock-y hands was on the back burner, but he does ask Steve to sit, and to rest, and to help hum back the tunes in Eddie’s head while Eddie jots lyrics with a hand that’s still shaky but steadying out more every day, and it’s kind of perfect, and Steve adds some things into the melodies either on purpose or by accident but they’re better for it every time and—

Muse and vessel, man. The light of Eddie’s whole goddamn life.

With fucking Vulcan hands still, though, so: excuse Eddie for being…bewildered when his boyfriend—boyfriend, that’s his boyfriend—but his taped-up-healing-Vulcan-handed boyfriend is propping the front door open and lugging in a long, not-recovery-friendly thing that looks close to dropping on his toes and—

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks with a little more panic in his voice than he’d hoped for as he rushes as best he can to where Steve’s kicking the door shut behind him, fluttering his hands around uselessly as Steve maneuvers past him, leans across for a peck at the corner of Eddie’s mouth and calls—“It’s fine, it weighs, like, nothing”—over his shoulder as he settles the, the thing down on the coffee table in the living room they’ve started actually using for, y’know.

Living.

Eddie follows him in, though, because of course, he’s half-a-dog on that man’s heels, whole-caught-in-the-gravity-of-his-everything: but Eddie follows as Steve tosses himself backward with something in his hand, rolls and rucks up his fucking absurd Hawking Middle tee across the sweet curve of his hips, the way the soft give of skin tempts Eddie to run his tongue over the trail of almost-curls, like baby-curls where they lead under the waist of his jeans: Eddie would happily volunteer to survive on the taste of that musky-delicate space until the end of goddamn time—

But then Steve’s huffing a breathless ha from behind a chair where he’d been stretched to reach and a light catches Eddie’s eye from his periphery where he’d been staring unblinking just at Steve: the big long black thing on the coffee table. It takes a genuine concerted effort not to keep at the Steve-staring—not an uncommon state of Eddie’s existence, in all fairness—and check what’s glowing on the table: something turned on. Was plugged in, right, that’s what had Steve rolling on the floor without Eddie on top of or being deliciously pinned down by him.

The something being the big long black thing that Eddie takes in for the whole of it, now: a keyboard.

“Jon picked it up for me second-hand from the place next to Fox Photo when he drove down for his camera, and Rob vouched that it’s a good brand and like, really good condition,” Steve’s raised up on his knees, now with his hands braces on his thighs as Eddie studies the keys, fingers the ends of a every few of the naturals.

“Rob helped with those, too, so I’d know the right, like, chords,” and yeah: they’re stupa of masking tape stuck to the keys with letters in blue, black, and red pen, alternating so they don’t get mixed up, some with and arrow, Eddie assumes, to indicate a sharp.

“I only remember like half of one song from when my parents thought it would look good to have me take piano lessons,” Steve huffs in whole-ass judgment; “my mom wanted the endorsement of the guy who was stepping down from city council, and his wife taught private lessons, so, y’know,” Steve rolls his eyes; “super convenient leading up to the election.”

“What song?”

Steve blinks, tips his head in askance for what Eddie recognizes very clearly as something closer to a croak than a question, his throat all tight. He tries to cough, to clear it.

“What song do you remember?”

Steve snorts at that, leans back on his palms, and fuck is he beautiful.

“Clair de Lune,” Steve grins crooked; “the one song I was allowed to pick, instead of just being assigned.”

“Why’d you pick it?” Not that Eddie doesn’t like it or anything. It’s more that…he knew Steve could more than just drum fingers on keys, if only just, and that a baby grand used to sit in the corner where there’s a stereo cabinet now, but.

But: see, there’s like a whole half of his heart that’s dedicated to collecting new knowledge about everything Steve: his favorite food when he was 12 versus the now. How his favorite color became his favorite color. The story behind all the polos. The nitty-gritties about why he’s in a big-ass house alone for approximately 360 days a year, and how long it’s been that way. Eddie’s whole heart is basically Steve’s but every day that half overflows a little, and Eddie’s only keeping it relegated to parts filled with Steve-lore so he can feel the collection break containment every other day, this grand and joyous bursting under his ribs as everything spills over again, and again, and again until it’s all just Steve, and his heart has to burst or stretch, or both.

Eddie thinks both will be amazing.

And right now, in the interest of building toward that amazing-both: he wants to know why Debussy.

Steve chuckles to himself—better music than any dead French guy by a country mile—and eyes Eddie almost slyly.

“Do you remember Claire Reynolds?”

Vaguely. Like, very vaguely. He remembers…uneven pigtails. Very actual-cult-like vibes about her family as a vague impression and now that he’s bringing it to mind he feels a new wave of indignation: those Children-of-the-Corn motherfuckers were just fine but Eddie liked a board game and he was probably a murderer.

“When we were in like, first grade,” Steve’s continuing on; “she asked me every, single, day, to come over and see her sheep.” Steve looks up at Eddie and bites his lower lip, lets his gaze dance and lets Eddie fall into it for a few dazed seconds before he spells it out.

“She had these crazy eyes about it, it was kinda unsettling,” Steve nudges, but Eddie’s doesn’t get it until:

“And it’s not like I do now, because obviously I don’t, but I definitely didn’t speak a lick of French when I was eight.”

It takes Eddie a hot second before he snorts hard enough to hurt:

Claire, da Loon.

“I was eight,” Steve protests Eddie’s laughter halfheartedly even as he joins in, reaches to slap at Eddie’s upper arm which honestly: just makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Steve fights through the last of the chuckling as it peters out between them, drags himself to sitting next to the coffee table and taps his hand to the top of the keyboard.

“I know it’s not the same as learning guitar to help, and I can probably only get the top and bottom notes with these,” he lifts his Vulcan-fingers his a shrug; “but I was hoping that’d be better than nothing?”

And, like, how Eddie was talking about his heart having to swell, for all the things he gets to tuck inside of it that come with loving Steve Harrington?

He might crack a rib, just now, because—

“This is for me?”

Steve purses his lips, lifts a brow:

“Well, technically it’s for me,” steve singles his fingers, which looks absurd with the splints; “but yeah. To help you get the songs out. I mean, once these are free again, you can help me with the guitar like we talked about, until you’re—“

And Eddie cannot be blamed, see: he cannot be fucking blamed for tackling Steve to the floor and kissing him hard enough to bruise because…

“You got hurt,” Eddie half-breathes between kisses; “you got hurt and I was so afraid I was gonna lose you,” and Eddie reaches for those taped fingers and kisses them, too: so gentle and Steve’s expression softens so quick:

“I was scared, too,” he whispers between them, cups Eddie’s face with his unloaded hand; “you were as safe as I could make you within the fucking city limits but I was still so goddamn scared.”

Cue more rib-cracking for the heart-swelling, because Jesus fucking Christ.

“And you,” Eddie exhales, slow and shaky; “you’re hurt, but you went and got,” he nods to the keyboard;

“I know it’s not ideal,” Steve’s quick to, to what, apologize? For being insane and perfect and—

“Shut up,” Eddie says, voice low and watery and he’s still kissing at Steve’s fingers, holding his wrist delicate but also like a lifeline.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie maybe kinda moans it because he hates it, as much as he’s so fucking grateful that’s it’s just this, no worse than this; “and you still—”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

And that…that’s one thing Eddie’s learned beyond reproach; that even to his detriment, Steve keeps his goddamn promises.

And he’d promised to help Eddie get his words out, to place the lyrics to the notes and help unclutter his brain so he didn’t lose his mind.

Holy fucking hell.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, needs to find the right words. “You’re alive,” the most important thing. “You are healing,” another most important thing, for Eddie to oversee and make sure of, even as Steve keeps an eye on the last lingering threads of the long haul on Eddie’s road to recovery in kind, his beloved mother hen.

“This is,” and he runs his fingers too light to draw sounds across the keys, hopes he sounds as awed and grateful as he feels; “but you, you’ve gotta test, you have to,” and Eddie shakes his head and lifts his eyes to just fucking ask it:

“Why?”

And Steve: Steve just studies his face for a few seconds, reads what he needs before he smiles kinda exasperated, mostly fond and answers so simply, while also breaking a few more of Eddie’s ribs when he just says:

“Because I love you.”

And Eddie’s heart’s not so overfull yet of all of Steve, it’s not fair that it just bursts right then and there, Eddie propelled into Steve’s arms to kiss him deep this time, like he’s searching out Steve’s soul to taste and maybe he is, save that he needs his heart to not have exploded for feeling if he’s going to keep the memory of it safe in his chest for always, he needs to patch his heart back up first but he’s too distracted, too drowned in the way love actually fucking feels, fucking shifts his cells around and makes a new version of him, lets his heart grow bigger except it went and blasted apart with the unprecedented immensity of loving and—

And then Eddie’s got Steve’s taped up hands on both his cheeks, and he remembers that night, in the shower, where Steve ripped the seams from his shirt so taking it off wouldn’t hurt him; notices how Steve is wearing that same fucking shirt in this very moment, all in one piece, like it never split apart in the first place.

Master seamstress, tried and tested and true; truer than anything.

So Eddie just dives back in and kisses with everything in him, thinks maybe when Steve tastes the pieces of Eddie’s blowout heart under his tongue while Eddie goes diving for the sweet lick of Steve’s soul:

Eddie thinks Steve’s mouth might know how to stitch up torn things, too. Especially the kinds that are ripped at their seams wholly for the sake of loving that fucking hard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #hurt/comfort #whump #fluff #happy ending #angst with a happy ending #soft #pining #slow burn #(ish) #steddie fic #deep devoted caretaker steve #smitten recovering post S4 eddie #sharing a bed #sleeping together #not like THAT #HE'S RECOVERING OKAY #nightmares #though maybe it IS time to address the...crush-confession-dick-grazing-shower-thing #like: just MAYBE #love confessions #domestic fluff #5+1 things #stranger things #gift fic #penny00dreadful

[pixiecaps]

hm okay so these are all federation owned islands. the purgatory one USED to be something known as an egg island. however it has clearly changed. this explains why the federation cucurucho cinematic referred to it as a chill place that would be heaven and paradise.

the watcher refers to them being sent there as “they were so kind to send you this way.” clearly the they is the federation. which insinuates the federation/cucurucho had some established conversation with whoever runs this island to send them here. or at least that the watcher somehow KNEW they were being sent here. but here’s the one important thing the federation knew what they were doing to the islanders because elq knew. he was aware of where he was going when he took qq’s ticket, he knew. so the federation very purposefully sent them to this godawful place while they do “maintenance” to the dark matter.

i also am taking note of the religious imagery. cucurucho calling this new island heaven and then the watcher calling them sinners and saying egg island was to be a cute place that they would have loved and specifically “People LIKE YOU do not deserve a pleasant little break from the stresses of your previous island island. so I’VE taken the liberty of changing this place.” so outright stating it knew they were coming relocated AND THEN purposefully changed the calm nature of what this island was into a hellscape as a form of punishment for the islanders because it HATES them. for whatever reason it seems to have it feels like a very passionate form of hate. it called them VERMIN. it fully leads me to believe the watcher knows a lot of information about the islanders and their pasts. or has been fed some information to believe they deserve this cruelty.

the direct contrast of this island compared to their own really strikes me as interesting because obviously they’re imprisoned on quesadilla island but purgatory truly is PURGATORY. in the lore they’ve never had to worry about dehydration, food rotting, etc. all aspects of their lives that they took blissfully for granted. almost as if the federation WANTED them to realize how good they have it. or seem to have it compared to purgatory. and as a reminder purgatory is a place to cleanse your sins so in a way the federation sending the islanders there is a way for them to get them reformed. show them true punishment for all the rule breaking. and get them to a mental state where they’re more likely to obey when they return. to be happy.

this part of what the watcher said was interesting, “i’m sure you’re already hungering and dehydrating. good. whatever makes it harder for you to live.” so again literally stating the whole point of the trials and tribulations is to make them suffer MORE.

the element of a cursed team is the most interesting because that does directly impact the attempt of working together. someone has to lose. someone will lose. “What team is that? Can you figure that out? No.” this felt interesting to me because with the whole thought of a cursed team it seems like you could figure it out easily. i’d say the majority of the audience already has their guesses. but i was thinking about taking this sentence very LITERALLY. they can’t figure it out. because it’s not decided yet. it’ll be decided at the end. perhaps. maybe. who fucking knows. but obviously the threat of all their lives and the eggs is an interesting aspect because that means if theres one cursed team the other two won’t have that punishment if they lose. whichever of the three teams wins gets a “big prize” but the main focus is on this supposed cursed team. because if THEY lose then the eggs are all dead. the probability is very interesting to me. i really wonder why that team cursed specifically and how its chosen.

anyways that was interesting

#qsmp analysis

[dreamofjoys]

Hi! If the requests are still avable, can I ask for Malleus x f!MC who remain forgotten by the dorm leaders on a road trip, at a gas station on the way to idk amusement park or Disney land or a beach, In which it turns out into a makeout. Idk Something like this: Azul:.... I feel like we forgot something

Kalim: Can I speak now?

Leona: If you gonna ask are we there yet for the HUNDRED TIM-

Kalim: You guys forgot Malleus and MC at the last gas station

All dorm leaders :.....

Meanwhile:~~

Malleus and MC makeout at the back of the gas station

If you want to do it, or you can just ignore it if you don't like it. I thought it would be funny. Btw its my first time I ask you a request, and I really like your posts, all of them! 😍🥰🥺👏🙏

anon-☕

a/n: anon we need more people like you 😍 this is so FUNNY I CANT OWBOWBWOWW I chose disneyland park for the trip. and this is au, malleus and mc has a crush on each other, but has yet to confess until they got dumped alone in the gas station. this got extremely long, smut is at the bottom.

I changed dormleader to housewarden

how the trip to disneyland came about

it was definitely NOT crowley’s idea, there’s no way that bird man will allow a group of students to go on a vacation (he needs y’all to stay nice and quiet in nrc to handle the problems while hes the one sneaking out for vacation)

it was kalim who proposed to hold a vacation trip to disneyland park with just the housewardens, including you; i mean think about it, you are technically a house warden too. except your members is just grim and a few dead people aka ghost

and how could that bird man decline kalim? hes literally the son of THE ASIM family, who has donated tons of money to school

crowley could only seal his lips shut, give a stamp of approval to the vacation trip, that is fully funded by kalim’s family

someone needs to smack crowley on the face lol how could you not sponsor your own students-

anyways, all housewardens (including you and yes malleus) were invited to this trip

how the housewardens prepare themself for the trip

riddle: he reads every single rule that is stated by disneyland park. had them memorised in his brain. definitely ready to collar anyone who breaks any rule (thought im not sure if he is strong enough to collar another housewarden. hes probably the most junior in this trip, even azul has.. some more patience than him i guess). he packs a few essentials like water bottle and wallet.

leona: ok look, he doesn’t want to go at first. disneyland park? he thinks that it’s a children thing. he ain’t gonna be a little cub running around, trying out different type of rides. that’s more like a cheka thing. he ain’t cheka, hes a big and strong man- ends up agreeing to go after being persuaded by kalim many many times. his plan is just to sleep through the car ride, go there and eat some meat, and sleep in the car again until he reaches back to nrc. probably doesn’t really pack anything. would just bring himself there lol

azul: like riddle, he reads every rule there, except he is a little more…. business like. he search up on what’s the trend there in disneyland. how are they fairing in their business? at which season do they earn the most money? definitely research all of that. also for the ticket entrance, is kalim really sponsoring it? will double and triple confirm to make sure that he isn’t getting scammed lol. he definitely packs a camera and a notebook so that he can take pictures of the park, and note down any important information that can help mostro lounge.

kalim: this boy is excited. he was the one planning the trip after all, thinking that it would be a nice vacation after dealing with numerous overblots. will eagerly tell his family about it, which means= his dad hiring a private car for all 8 people, ensuring good security in the park, making sure all rides and food are available. i think he will pack some cameras too, just to take pictures for memories. won’t bring any money, cause all he needa say is “just bill it to the asim family!”

vil: a vacation? he thinks is nice to finally relax from his workload. like riddle and azul, he will do some research beforehand to understand more about disneyland park. what are the things that he should look out for? a must go to place? how are the people like there? if vil lives in modern au, i can promise you that he is the type to get vaccination 2 weeks before his trip just so that he wouldn’t catch any viral infection. he packs everything nicely. sunblock, moisturiser, body mist, wet tissue paper, perfume, you name it. he has everything in that small little bag of his.

idia: instantly rejected the idea. he doesn’t want to hang out with normies. doesn’t want to socialise with anyone. he just wants to stay in his room and play with his game. ortho tried to convince him to go, but idia was too stubborn, viewing the whole trip pointless. it wasn’t until ortho pulled out his trump card, pulling his teary eyes out as he sobbed, saying that he just wants the best for his big brother. idia panics, but his decision is still the same. ortho starts crying and wailing, and that’s when idia gave in, finally saying yes to the trip. he brings his phone only, and a big ass jacket to cover and disguise himself; not like anyone will recognise him anyway.

malleus: when he received the invitation, he was happy, elated, delighted, and whatever words that could describe his mood. he consults lilia on what he should do during the vacation. should he tell them some old stories? play some pranks like how lilia did? lilia laughs and tell malleus to act normal and just enjoy the trip. but most importantly, malleus was looking forward since you were going too! he sees it as a chance to get closer to you, with 6 extra people. also doesn’t pack anything, he can get anything with a snap of his fingers.

during the road trip

a typical problem that happens during the road trip, gas running low in the car

the driver decided to stop at a gas station to refill up the gas

the 8 of you decided to step out of the car, stretch some muscles and breathe in some fresh air

leona was actually grumbling about how they could have used the dark mirror to teleport to disneyland instantly

please tell him that is no fun teleporting when you can just sit back and admire the view

you and malleus decided to go to the convenience store at the gas station to grab some ice cream (a/n: all gas stations in my country has a convenience store; like a 7-11 lmao and then you can pay your bills there too but idk about other countries)

but thennnnn the both of you forgot to inform the rest that you and malleus were queueing up to pay for the ice cream, the driver only paid for the bills for gas, failing to notice you and malleus in the queue

and soooo the rest of the housewardens + driver left the gas station without you and malleus 💀

literally no one noticed until the ride was already 30mins in, halfway reaching disneyland park

kalim during the ride: are we reaching soon?

driver: not yet

leona: *groans, trying to sleep*

azul: *frowning cause he feels like something is missing*

idia: *couldnt care less*

vil: *admiring the scenery, but also feels that something is off*

riddle: *trying to get leona and idia to sit up straight and not slouch*

the first one to break the silence was azul

azul: i feel like we are missing something

kalim: are-

leona: stfu and stop asking if we are reaching soon!

kalim: aren’t we missing out malleus and mc at the gas station?

riddle gasps, leona sighs really loud, azul nervously pushing up his spectacles, vil drops his mirror while idia simply ascended to heaven.

they just left the crown prince of briar valley in the middle of nowhere, with a magic less human. sebek is about to scream at them.

poor driver was sweating profusely, literally drives back to the gas station in full speed as the housewardens beg him to hurry the fuck up. they don’t want to face the consequence of dumping a prince alone. technically not since mc is there.

back at the gas station

“they left without us.” malleus said as you whipped your head towards the area where the rest of the housewardens was supposed to be, except is empty.

“im going to call them!” you took out your phone, scrolling through your contacts and looking for idia’s number. how could they forgot about you and malleus?! you found idia’s number and was about to call him until malleus stopped you from doing so.

“before that, mc, can i tell you something?”

“su-sure?”

“i like you.”

du-DUN DUN the malleus fucking draconia, also known as your crush, has finally confessed! your face heats up at the sudden confession, because damn, it caught you off guard, and you didn’t expect him to reciprocate your feelings.

“i like you too,malleus.” malleus grins, happy that you feel the same way.

“so what do we do now?”

“we can make out.” it was just a joke from malleus, or so you thought.

because moments later, he brought you to the back of the gas station, starts lifting up your skirt and rubs on your cloth cunt. you stifled back a moan, feeling embarrassed and unsure if the both of you should be doing this in public. but malleus assures you that is okay, he wouldn’t let anyone see you like this, is a sight reserve for him only. so when he ask if he could take things further, you nodded your head and said yes.

he pulls your panties aside, pushing a finger in as you moaned, feeling that foreign finger inside you. malleus gets you nice and wet first, making sure that he has stretch you enough with just his finger before unzipping his pants, freeing his cock to insert it into you.

he lifts you up and pressed you against the wall in a mating press position. when he finally bottoms out, he groans at the feeling of your gummy walls spasming around him. everytime you clench on him, he could feel his head getting dizzy, feeling how unbelievably tight and comfy you are.

you covered your mouth, suppressing your moans as malleus thrust into you slowly. the vein that decorates his cock brush onto your walls, stimulating and turning you on more, letting you feel just exactly how big malleus is. with how slow and sensual the thrust is, you were sure that malleus was just trying to mould your pussy into the shape of his cock, making sure that it only accommodates him, making sure that your pussy won’t forget how his cock makes you feel.

“fa-faster..” you begged malleus, and he complies to it, increasing his pace, making sure that his balls slams onto you before pulling out and abruptly pushing himself into you to feel your walls again.

it wasn’t long before you orgasmed, your fluids drenching his cock and pants wet again. malleus only hums, amused that he was able to get such a reaction out from your body. he wonders if he could do it again? sadly, malleus knows that the other housewardens are coming back to get the both of you, so he snap his fingers, drying up the mess that the both of you had made while he dresses you up, making sure that you are comfortable.

“does it hurt?” malleus asked you as you leaned your head against his chest. “a little.” you did felt… pain from the stretch at first but you couldn’t deny that it was amazing.

“im sorry, i will be more gentle next time.” malleus apologised, pressing a kiss on your cheek as you giggled. “does this mean that we are official?” “yeah.” you cheered, peppering kisses over malleus’s face while telling him how much you like him. oh dear, i guess someone is really excited to date THE malleus draconia.

malleus felt really happy. today was a good day, he can feel it. he gets to fuck the love of his life and is invited to a vacation. seriously, nothing can get better than this.

anyway a few minutes later, the housewardens arrived, looking for both you and malleus. the both of you were waiting at the entrance of the gas station patiently, so when you spotted the familiar car, you waved at them.

the car stops in front of you and malleus as the automatic door opens. when you and malleus step inside of the car, leona growls and glares at the both of you.

“seriously? that’s what you have been doing while the rest of us were panicking?”

the rest of the housewardens were confused at leona’s statement. you blushed while malleus only smirks. looks like that’s something that only the 3 of you would know.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #imagines #y/n #diasomnia #vil schoenheit #pomofiere #dreamofjoystwst #dreamofjoysdrabbles #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland riddle #twst azul #twst kalim #scarabia #twst smut #malleus smut #smut #twst malleus draconia #anon ☕️

[artzee-bee]

Practice on me

Fandom: My babysitter's a vampire; Ethan Morgan x reader (platonic)

Summary: "Reader likes Benny the same way that Ethan likes Sarah, so naturally a bond forms between the two, where they vent their frustrations together! But everything changes when one day the reader and Ethan realize that Benny and Sarah both have kissing experience and they don't so they decide to practice with each other first" requesed by @tomesandrosebud

Genre: pure fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: really happy with this one actually. I just hope it doesn't sound too foolish cause I haven't kissed anyone either so I don't really know how to write about it in detail like that

~~~

Getting another can of coke was definitely not your smartest idea. The electric buzz of a sugar rush was now impossible to ignore, but Ethan had been so kind to lay all these snacks out for you which you really appreciated! “It’s just sorta frustrating, you know?” popping another m&m in your mouth “I mean honestly, it’s like none of the stuff I do for him even matters!” “Benny has never been the most…observant person” comes Ethan’s reply. He’s sprawled out across his bed, playing with old chocolate wrappers. “He thinks he can read people, but really he just comes up with his own idea of what’s happening and believes it fully!” You scoff almost instinctively. Yeah, you’ve heard this before! Almost anytime this conversation was to be had, this was one of the conclusions! God you were so tired of hearing it, but you knew it was true! “Honestly Ethan! I could not be more obvious if I wrote him a love poem and serenaded him before school! It’s not like I’m good at hiding my feelings!” “Yeah, you really suck….Ow, damnit Y/N! No need for violence!” “You earned that slap! Honestly I was being very kind to only do so much!” you crawl in the bed, laying an arm’s length away from him. “You are just as obvious about Sarah, by the way! You hypocrite!” Ethan did nothing but smile in response. He knew that all too well! It was something he’d grown so accustomed to, the feeling of being so exposed and yet so ignored when it came to his crush. He tried hiding it, he even tried dropping some hits as per your advice (‘If you’re gonna be obvious at least let it be intentional’) but somehow he remained just as invisible in front of Sarah. He knew you felt the same about Benny too! After so many late night phone calls and the occasional hangout in his room, he felt confident in saying you were both fools in love. All in all he appreciated this extra time he got to spend with you and the chance to vent his feelings away freely, but that doesn’t really lift the weight of unreciprocated love.

“You know she was on a date yesterday?” he hears himself before he processes what he’s saying. No need to specify who ‘she’ is anyways

“Yeah…she texted me and Erica on the groupchat. What, she told you too?” “Rory!” “Ah…that explains it…” A beat passes. You’ve grown accustomed to little silences like this. Sometimes it was best to just feel it out! “Did she say anything about him?” “Very messy eater, but apparently a good kisser. Said there probably won’t be a second date though!” You could practically feel the relief emanating off your friend, despite the somewhat cold tone of voice. “How can you even kiss someone after you see them with food all over their face like that?”

“I don’t know Ethan! This isn’t really my area of expertise! I guess when you’re Sarah, it doesn’t matter! When guys want to kiss you, it doesn’t matter!” your voice cracks ever so slightly with frustration, which peaks Ethan’s interest. What’s got you so worked up suddenly? “Maybe he wasn’t so bad afterall…” “Maybe!” Another silent moment “I’m not a messy eater, am I?” You laugh. After so many years of knowing him, sometimes it was still a mystery the way in which his wheels turned. “I wouldn’t say so.” Your simple answer prompted another comfortable silence. You reach for more candy, as Ethan plays with the strings of his hoodie, looking up at the ceiling.

“What are you thinking about?” “You girls…you talk about guys, right? Like you know when one of you has a crush and…that sort of thing”

“...yeah?” “So, hypothetically, if I were to ask you if you knew how many guys she’s kissed-” “Nah-uh! I’ll stop you right there sir!” “It’s a hypothetical!” “You’re overthinking!” an accusatory finger sits merely inches from his face now but he doesn’t seem bothered, pushing it away lightly. “It’s not that crazy of a question!” “You’re asking me to break the girl-code? You would never tell me how many girls Benny has kissed!” “I would!” he replies in a heartbeat. Now you’re both stuck in this unintentional staring contest, waiting to see who will crack first. It’s not like you believe a word out his mouth, but you still speak “It’s unhealthy! We shouldn’t talk about these kinds of things. It’s none of our business. Why would you even care about it?” “You’re saying you wouldn’t want to know Benny’s number?” he got you there. You just pop another candy in your mouth and he silently watches, deciding he needs to tell the truth “She just…probably has a lot of experience, doesn’t she?” This, for the first time in a long while, catches you off guard. You and Ethan have gone over the topic of your crushes more than you could count but this was a first. You weren’t sure what you could say.

“So does Benny, probably.” well that wasn’t the best thing, but Ethan doesn’t seem to notice

“Well so do you probably so it’s no big deal but I’ve never kissed a girl, Y/N! Never even came close! If I ever tried something with Sarah and it got to that point, I’d be a sure disappointment!” Now this has you turning around in bed to face him. The frustration and hurt in his voice is palpable but the roughness of his tone awakes your own feelings of dread and insecurity “Where did you even get the idea that I have kissing experience?” and E turns to look at you, genuinely confused

“You don’t?” “No! What? E, when have I ever told you about me kissing a guy?!” “I don’t know! I assumed you wouldn’t want to tell me that!” “Why?” “I don’t know Y/n! I was wrong, ok? Gee!” the irritation turns into a bit of an awkward laugh, as he processes where the conversation actually landed, and you laugh too! That’s the best that you’ve got, but it helps! Neither of you are so tense when Ethan speaks again. “So you’ve never kissed anyone either?” and you shake your head in solidarity “Oh…I see. Why not?” “I guess…I just never got the opportunity?” you reply honestly “And then I got a little insecure about it and then I got the hots for Bens and that’s that! Now we’re here!” Ethan chuckles softly at your explanation. “I understand. I’m in the same boat here!” “We’re always on the same boat E! Really, this whole thing is sounding more and more like a joke!” you both share a laugh The idea came to you pretty naturally. At first it made you laugh but after thinking about it a moment longer, you began to consider maybe it wasn’t so bad? Maybe this was actually what you both needed! You feel so comfortable with E, you don’t spare another moment before sharing

“What if we kissed?”

You didn’t think ahead on how to properly phrase it, or how Ethan would react, but you assumed the shell shocked look and the oblivious ‘huh?!’ he gave you were probably appropriate. Ethan sits up in bed, looking down at you as if you had gone mental. You’ve said many out of pocket things across the years but this one got the biggest reaction. It almost makes you laugh. “I mean, to practice!” “Come again?”

Now you sit up as well, trying to drive your point home! “Neither of us have had our first kiss! Most people our age have! So if we try to do it with anyone else, it might be awkward! We can just kiss each other and get it over with!”

“Get it over with?” he seemed to consider, which really just made you push a little harder

“Yeah! I mean we’re friends! We trust each other! It doesn’t have to mean anything and if it turns out awful then at least we know that doesn’t change anything between us!”

Ethan seems to be deep in thought. You understand, of course, how unconventional your proposal is but it was too late now. The offer was on the table! You didn’t exactly regret it but you could feel your nerves twisting and turning in your gut. All the sugar you ingested definitely didn’t help…

“Okay!” You thought you must have misheard him! “I’m sorry?”

“Okay!”

“Okay?”

“...yeah…”

“O-Okay…”

Now this was really awkward! You hadn’t exactly thought he would agree so quickly but then again, Ethan was a calculated person. He must have seen and understood all the benefits, just like you did. Shyly, he turns a little more to the right, facing you completely. He’s looking at his hands for a moment, before shifting forward. You follow his lead, moving the tiniest bit closer to him. Now, with your knees touching, you were starting to be really nervous. “Um…should I…go for it? It’s kinda the man’s job to take the lead, no?” you can tell from his voice that he’s just as nervous as you

“That’s kinda old fashioned!” you try to laugh, hoping to release the tension, which helps the smallest bit, as he chuckles “You can if you want!” “Where do I put my hands?” he’s looking down at his palms as if he’s just stepped in a human body for the first time. You’re not really sure of the answer but you’ve watched a good amount of romance movies! Your hands grab his tenderly, bringing them to your waist. He doesn’t hesitate, or pull away, just latches on with an iron grip, but you don’t comment on it. You try to hook your arms around his neck, but the position feels awkward when you’re both sat on the bed, so you pull away and rest them on your knees. His knees. Nope, yours were better!

Ethan waits patiently for you as you figure out the logistics of all this! He looks transfixed and you knew he was internally freaking out, just like you. Finally, you move a tad bit closer, which gives Ethan the opportunity to lean in, stopping barely centimeters away from your face. You could feel his breathing on your lips. “You’re okay with this?” you ask once again

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just do a small peck at first!” “Okay!”

It happens in a flash. It takes one second for his consent to register and then his lips are on yours for the briefest moment. It felt nice. Well it wasn’t anything scary or intimidating, just a little peck! It was nice and warm and soft. It makes you feel a lot better about what’s going on. You move away just a little bit to examine Ethan’s response and he seems to have relaxed as well. You don’t know what to say, so you just ask

“One more time?”

“Okay.” the tremor in his voice is gone and you lean in to place a quick kiss on his lips again. It’s only a second, but it helps knowing that you did it! That you committed!

“A little longer?” you ask now, and Ethan just nods, taking a quick breath.

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours. Your right hand almost instinctively reaches up, barely grazing his jaw and his fingers dig even more into your sides. Right off the bet, this is a lot worse. Neither of you really know how to move, much less how to read each other's moves, so the kiss is sloppy and messy and all kinds of wrong and ridiculous. You are basically just pushing your faces together! You open your mouth ever so slightly, thinking that might help, and Ethan tries to follow your lead but once again, there’s no coordination. Now you’re even more acutely aware of the awkward position you’re both sitting in and you can’t help but imagine what a ridiculous scene you two make! Ethan smiles against your lips, and you know he’s thinking the same thing. Now you really can’t hold back your laughter, giggling against his lips!

“Stop!” he laughs as well, grabbing the sides of your face, but it definitely doesn’t help, as you burst out with laughter! He laughs too, leaning away and trying to cover his face with his arm

“We’re so awful!”

“That’s why I said we do it now!” Cue more laughter, your tummy honestly hurts at this point and you let yourself fall to the floor, clutching your abdomen.

“Come back here! We can’t just leave it at that!” Ethan reaches to grab the back of your shirt through tears of laughter, trying to yank you back on the bed but it doesn’t work. You won’t move! You can barely breathe! Instead he also crawls to his knees next to you.

“Come on Y/n! Let’s try one more time!” he’s still giggling as he says this, but you run your hands over your face, moving closer to him again. Compared to last time, now you know both of your nerves are completely gone. Looking at Ethan, he seems just as at ease as ever! You guys are best friends after all! And you’re having fun! As you’re kneeling on the floor, you cup his face with your palms, his own hands returning to your waist, now with a much kinder hold. He leans into you and you do as well. The kiss, this time, is a little more promising. You’re still struggling to synchronize, but at least it feels like you’re getting somewhere. It’s kinda nice, you think? It’s nice feeling so close to someone and it’s nice sharing a breath, but then you remember this is Ethan! This is your friend from middle school and the biggest nerd you’ve ever met and God knows you never thought you’d ever kiss him. The reality of it all has you giggling again and Ethan immediately shoves you back.

“Y/nnnnn!! This was your idea!!” but he’s laughing too, red in the face from the lack of oxygen and now you’ve both reached the point where everything is simply too funny! 

“What the hell are we doing?” you manage to say

“It was your idea!”

“It takes two to tango!”

“Y/n, no! Don’t say it like that!” and he’s laughing more, shoving you to the floor again, attempting to tackle you for your filthy mouth and you let him, not finding the strength to fight him off, try as you might! It takes a couple of minutes for both of you to completely calm down, which just leaves you both laying on the floor, catching your breath!

“But all in all” Ethan says “it wasn’t a very bad idea!”

“Wanna do it again?”

“I think I’m good!”

#mbav #mbav x reader #ethan morgan x reader #ethan morgan #ethan morgan imagine #ethan morgan fanfiction #ethan morgan fluff #my babysitters a vampire

[scarlet-traveler]

“Goddamnit, why is it so fucking cold?”

“Because we’re on a mountain at night in October?”

Katsuki shot him a glare. The light from the campfire flickered across his face, making him look scarier, but Eijirou just grinned. “You asked.”

“It was a rhetorical question, you little shit.” The usual bite in his voice was dampened by the shivers that racked his body; his hands would’ve probably been shaking too if they weren’t tucked under his armpits.

It had been about an hour since their kiss on the cliff. The tent had been set up—by both of them, not just Katsuki—and a fire had been started to heat up the food Katsuki had made for them back at the dorms the night before. All the while as they ate and talked, the sun had fully set, the sky continuing to darken until millions of stars could be seen twinkling above their heads. It was way more than Eijirou usually saw in the city, not a single ounce of light pollution reaching them this far out in nature, and it was beautiful.

As the sun disappeared though, so did any heat that had been present during the day, the nice breeze from before now borderline biting as it blew through the trees. It wasn’t bothering Eijirou that much, but it was clearly getting to Katsuki already.

Eijirou scooted the few inches between him and Katsuki; wrapping his arms around his waist, he pulled him into his lap and propped his chin onto Katsuki’s shoulder, completely enveloping his body with his own. “Don’t worry Kat, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t keep you warm?”

“Definitely a shitty one,” Katsuki mumbled. He easily sank into Eijirou’s hold, lacing cold fingers with Eijirou’s warmer ones at his front. “Thanks.”

“‘Course, babe.” Eijirou pressed a kiss to Katsuki’s neck just above the collar of his jacket, and he grinned at the flush that immediately grew on his boyfriend’s face before his gaze went back to the starry sky. “I had fun today.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki asked, his head leaning against Eijirou’s.

“Mmhmm.” He cut his gaze back to Katsuki, his smile softer. “But I would’ve had fun no matter what, as long as it was with you.”

The blond’s face darkened, and he quickly averted his gaze to hide it, pinching the back of Eijirou’s hand in retaliation. “Fuckin’ sap.”

“You love this fucking sap,” Eijirou teased, hugging him tighter.

“I’m starting to fucking regret it.”

“Oh, really? Guess I shouldn’t keep you warm anymore, then.” He started to remove his arms from Katsuki’s waist until the blond grabbed his wrists, yanking his arms even tighter around him, and Eijirou was met with the full force of Katsuki’s glare and blushing face.

“You better not let go of me.”

Eijirou laughed, “I won’t, I won’t.” He fixed his hold around Katsuki just as another cold breeze blew past them, making both boys shudder and their campfire flicker. “M-Maybe we should head inside,” Eijirou suggested around chattering teeth. “It’s already late anyway.”

Katsuki grunted in agreement, though Eijirou could hear the reluctance in it, likely not wanting to leave the heat radiating off of his body just yet. Still, they separated soon after soaking up each other’s warmth for another moment. They worked to quickly clean up their campsite, Katsuki gathering up their empty tupperware bowls while Eijirou extinguished the fire and buried the fire pit, before they retreated into the safety of the tent, the wind fortunately not reaching them there. They changed into their sleep clothes the best they could in the small space before collapsing onto the sleep pad, immediately latching onto each other under the blankets.

Katsuki sighed contentedly as he pressed close to Eijirou, his head tucked under his chin as he wrapped his arms around his torso and tangled their legs together. Eijirou hugged him just as close, burying his face in blond spikes and breathing in the scent of the trees that clung to them. He closed his eyes, happy to spend the rest of the night like this.

But then a minute later his eyes were snapping open, and he pulled back to meet Katsuki’s gaze. “Kats!”

“What?” The lantern they had set up nearby illuminated the grumpy pout on his lips.

“You said we could kiss more later!” Eijirou said with a grin.

Katsuki’s pout morphed into a confused frown. “Yeah…?”

Eijirou’s grin widened. “It’s later now!”

Katsuki gave him a flat look. “You stopped cuddling me for that?”

“Of course!”

“Dumbass.” Katsuki still cupped Eijirou’s face between his hands, his fingers still a little chilled. “If I give you a kiss will you shut up and cuddle me?”

Eijirou rapidly nodded, careful not to dislodge Katsuki’s hands.

He huffed in amusement, but he pulled him closer, slotting their lips together. Eijirou hummed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Katsuki, his fingers clinging to the back of his sleep shirt. Katsuki’s hands slid into his hair in turn, tangling in the strands.

There was definitely more than one kiss. Eijirou couldn’t say how many there were or how long they kissed, his mind fuzzy and unaware of anything outside of Katsuki. The softness of his shirt between his fingers, his body a warm line pressed flush with his own. Hearts on hearts, lips on lips, completely connected, and Eijirou never wanted to part.

They eventually did though, Katsuki’s breath fanning over his face as he peppered kisses on his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead, and the scar over his eyelid before pecking his lips once, twice. “We gotta go to sleep,” he murmured, voice raspy. “Got an early morning tomorrow.”

Eijirou hummed, not bothering to open his eyes, mind and body completely blissed out. His hand slid up to the back of Katsuki’s neck, guiding him back into another kiss, and he was only indulged for a few more seconds before Katsuki was pulling back, escaping his chasing lips. “C’mon Eijirou, we told Aizawa we’d be back in time for curfew tomorrow.”

Eijirou finally opened his eyes and pouted. “Sensei would probably understand if we were a little late.”

Katsuki gave him a pointed look. “I’m not missing class because your sappy ass wants to make out all night.”

“So if we didn’t have to go to class you wouldn’t make out with me all night?”

Katsuki glared at him, but his silence and reddening cheeks were answer enough. Eijirou smirked, and Katsuki glared harder. “Fucker.”

Eijirou laughed, stealing one last kiss before pulling Katsuki into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Night, Kats. Thanks for today.”

Katsuki hummed, and he squirmed an arm out to flick off the lantern before snuggling deeper into Eijirou’s hold. A soft kiss was pressed against the side of his neck, his lips lingering there. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

~

Happy KRBK Day! I hadn't reached my cuddling quota this year so decided to write it here for @krbkevents Day 17: Free Day! Also on AO3, let me know what you think! :D

#mha #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #kiribaku #krbk #mha fanfiction #fanfic #krbk month 2023 #krbk events #free day #cuddling #traveler writes

[poseidonsdaughterthesiren]

The Daughter of Poseidon: Chapter Six

Della has to admit flying on a bronze dragon’s back is a surreal feeling. Up high the air is frigid. But thanks to the heat Festus generates they don’t feel it at all. Talk about seat warmers! 

Leo uses reins to steer Festus through the clouds like a reindeer.  They zip through the clouds with ease the rest of the world below is nothing but a speck. 

“Cool right?” Leo says. A pleased smile coats his features. 

“What if we get spotted?” asks Piper. 

“The mist,” Jason and Della say at the same time. Jason smiles at her. 

“It keeps mortals from seeing magic things,” Della explains, “Only seers will notice anything out of the ordinary.” 

Her mind goes back to the memory of Luke. His poor mother–

“Seers?” asks Leo. 

“Mortals who can see through the mist,”  Jason answers.

Della glances back at him and notices he’s holding a photo of a girl, a girl with dark hair. Is that…Thaila?

Jason glances up at her. He sheepishly puts the photo back in his pocket. 

“We’re making good time probably get there by tonight.” 

“Get where?” Della asks. “I thought you didn’t have a plan.” 

Jason laughs, “We’re going to find the god of the North Wind. And chase some storm spirits.” 

⬳

The silence had begun to drive Della insane. Typically, when she and her friends went on quests they couldn’t shut up. Percy, in particular never shut up on their quests. 

“So,” Piper says. Oh, thank the gods. “Della earlier you said you’re a cursed child…what exactly does that mean?” 

Leo sat up straight at the head of the dragon. “You’re cursed?!?” 

Della laughs dryly. “Sometimes I wonder, but being a cursed child means that you’re an offspring of the Big Three.”

“The Big Three?” Piper asks. “Do you mean, like Zeus, Hades, and–”

“Poseidon, yeah. They made a pack to not have kids. It’s a loose promise. Anyways, all three have broken it in recent years. We’re more forbidden than cursed.” 

“So, are you, your brother, and Jason the only ones?” asks Leo.

“No there’s Nico Di Angelo a son of Hades, and Thalia Grace…she’s a daughter of Zeus but has taken up with the Hunters of Artemis.” 

“So why did make a pact if they break it?” asks Piper.

“We’re considered ‘too powerful’ which is fair Percy can take on a whole army by himself, and I–we don’t fully know what all I can do yet.” Della looks down at her lap. 

She’s always felt second best to Percy, especially after he took on the Curse of Achilles. She doesn’t understand all she can do. The only thing she does know is her fate, her usual nightmare. Meeting a similar end to Thesus. Being betrayed and thrown over a cliff–but instead of into the sea, it’s Asphodel. She’d seen it in person back when she was twelve, on her first quest. 

Della shivers at the thought of the horrid place. 

“Shut up me,” Leo says out of nowhere. 

“What?” Piper asks.

“Nothing,” he says, “Long night. I think I’m hallucinating. It’s cool.” 

Jason, Piper, and Della all share looks of concern. 

“Just joking.” Leo decides to change the subject. “So what’s the plan bro? You said something about catching wind, breaking wind, or something?”

As they fly over New England, Jason lays out the game plan. First, find Boreas and grill him for information–

“His name is Boreas?” Leo has to ask. “What is he the God of Boring?”

Second, Jason continues, they have to find the spirits that attacked them at the Grand Canyon–

“Venti? Do you mean anemoi thuellai?” asks Della. 

“Can we just call them storm spirits?” Leo asks, “Venti makes them sound like evil expresso drinks and the other one sounds harder.” 

And third, Jason finishes, they had to find out who the storm spirits work for, so they could find Hera and free her. 

“So you want to look for Dylan, the nasty storm dude, on purpose?” 

“That’s about it. Well…there might be a wolf involved too. I think she’s friendly…so she probably won’t eat us, unless we show her weakness–”

“I’m sorry…a wolf?” asks Della. She turns around and faces him. 

Jason explains his dream of Lupa the murder-wolf and a burned-out house with stone spires growing out of the swimming pool.

“Uh-huh, but you don’t know where this place is?” asks Leo. 

“Nope.” 

“Lovely…” says Piper.

“Sounds about right for a forbidden child’s quest.” Della turns back towards the others. 

“There are also giants, the prophecy said “The giants’ revenge” Piper reminds them. 

“Hold on,” Leo says, “Giants? As in more than one? Why can’t it be one giant who wants revenge?”

“Too easy,” Della mutters. 

“I don’t think so,” Piper muses, “I remember in some of the old Greek stories, there was something about an army of giants.” 

“But they haven’t been seen for centuries, but then again neither had Kronos.” 

“Great…knowing our luck it will be a whole army,” Leo says. “You learn anything else while doing research for your dad Pipes?”

“Your dad?” Della asks. 

“Umm yeah, he’s an actor, Tristan McLean.” Piper mumbles. 

“What was he in?” asks Della and Jason.

“I’m surprised Della doesn’t know.” 

“Hmmm….oh wait…wait! Yes! He’s the Aphrodite’s cabin top pick this year!” 

Piper sighs. “That’s why he’s on the wall in my cabin.” 

“Yeah, they pick a new “hottie” every year.” 

Piper looks about ready to heave off to the side. 

Leo on the other hand cackles. “That’s the only reason you’ve heard of him?”

“I mean I vaguely remember the movie posters. But Percy, Beth, and I don’t go to movies very often.” 

“You don’t go to movies?” Leo asks.

“Look I don’t go out very much in the mortal world unless I’m thirdwheeling.” 

It was a sad truth, Della didn’t really go out that often. It just wasn’t her style. Of course, she’s been to movies over the past few years but is has always been with Annabeth and Percy. Mostly, because Percy drug her carcass out with them. 

“Thirdwheeling?” The others ask. 

Della sighs. “Not to change the subject, but I’m gonna….giants, we were discussing the giants.” 

“The giants–well there were loads in Greek mythology. But if I’m thinking of the right ones they were bads news. 

“Extremely bad news,”  Della sighs. “They rose after Krono's first downfall–eons ago. They could throw mountains and things of that nature. Like the Titans, they too tried to destroy Olympus. If these are the same giants–”

“Chiron said it was happening again,” Jason says. “The last chapter–that’s what he meant. No wonder he didn’t want us to know all the details.” 

Leo whistles. “So…giants who can throw mountains. A wolf-mother who will eat us if we show weakness. Evil Starbucks drinks. Got it. Maybe not the best time to bring up my psycho babysitter.” 

“You’re joking,” Piper says. 

Leo tells them about Tîa Callida, who was Hera, and how she’d appeared to him at camp. He fills them in on his past. How his mom died. And finally tells them about a woman in earthen robes who seemed to be asleep. 

“That’s disturbing…” says Piper. 

“Bout sums it up. The thing is everyone says not to trust Hera. And the prophecy says we’ll unleash death if we cause her rage. So… I gotta ask…why are we doing this?” 

“Because the gods–she chose us,”  Della sighs, “I will admit you guys have it  a bit rougher than my first quest.” 

“What do you mean?” Jason asks.

“You,” she points at Jason. “Have no memory. But I’m not that worried about your fighting ability. This is definitely not your first quest.” She looks over at Leo and Piper. “You two have absolutely no training. At least Percy and I had two weeks…then again we were twelve…”

“You were twelve?!?!” Piper and Leo say in disbelief. 

“You only had two weeks of training?” asks Jason. 

Della shrugs and smiles a bit. “ Zeus accused me and Percy of stealing his master bolt. Even though we didn’t know we were half-bloods.” 

“Holy–how’re you alive?”

“Luck?” Della laughs. “Anyways the other reason we have to do this is–this quest will kick off something bigger. This is an antecedent.” 

“And helping Hera is the only way to get back my memory. That dark spire in my dream seemed to be feeding off Hera’s energy. If that thing unleashes a king of giants by destroying Hera–”

“Not a good trade-off,” Piper agrees. “At least Hera is on our side.” 

“Mostly–she’s the peacekeeper. The only thing that keeps the gods from annihilating each other,” Della chimes in. 

Jason nods, “Chiron said worse forces are stirring on the day of the solstice, with it being a good time for dark magic, and all–something that could awaken if Hera were sacrificed that day. And a mistress who’s controlling storm spirits, the one who wants to kill all demigods–”

“Might be that weird sleeping dirt lady.” finishes Leo. 

“If she’s asleep that means we have some time,” says Della. 

“Yeah, Dirt Woman fully awake,” Leo says, “not something I want to see.” 

“But who is she?” Jason asks, “And what does she have to do with the giants?”

Good questions, no answers. The wind blew colder the further north they went. 

Della rubs her hands together to keep warm and then rubs at her eyes. 

“Hey,” Jason leans forward, “get some sleep, Ariel. We need our guide.” 

“I’ll take you up on that Hercules. You do the same,” she whispers. 

She closes her eyes and dozes off.

#oc character #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy and annabeth #percyjacksonxsister!reader #jason grace x jackson!reader #fanfic #jason grace x reader

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight 15

Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E (18+)

Chapter warnings/tags: injuries & injury recovery, medical stuff, bacta tanks, angst, negative self-talk/self-image, past emotional & physical abuse, graphic (?) depictions of injuries, scars, cults, supportive din, big emotional steps, also SMUT, clothed sexy times, masturbation, lil bit of dirty talk, thirsting after din (ofc)

Chapter length: 8.2k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info | Full Masterlist

notes: whoooops, sorry for the short delay. life was a Lot this week. hope this chapter makes up for it ;)

and i can still see it all (in my head), back and forth from new york (sneaking in your bed)

“I only ever heard bacta tanks described as feeling like you’re being ‘swallowed alive’ by slime.” 

Doctor Garidan gives a slight wry smile. “Some people definitely feel that way when being submerged in the traditional tank that you enter from the top.” 

“That’s not what Fett has?” 

“No. His is a more comfortable model. You lie down in it, and the liquid fills up when you’re ready, just like a bath, except you’re fully submerged.” 

You chew your bottom lip. Din is sitting in the chair beside you, as always, just quietly holding your hand and letting you talk to Garidan. “So no one has to, like, hoist me out of a huge vat of slime?” 

“No,” he assures you, still smiling. “It can still be unpleasant for some people, though. I can offer you sedatives, if you have anxieties.”

You’re still pretty high on painkillers, but you’re fairly certain that you have anxieties. Don’t you always? 

“I would very much encourage you to consider the bacta as an option. We’ll know more after the dressing changes, but given the extent of the injuries as they were yesterday…” 

You nod, not needing him to elaborate any further. And, yep, there’s the anxiety, swirling around in your stomach and making a painful knot. Which is the last thing you need right now, on top of everything else. 

Gently, Din squeezes your hand. You look up at him, immediately comforted by his very presence. 

“Are you ready for the dressing change?” Garidan asks. 

Nope. You’ll never be ready. “Yes,” you say anyway, closing your eyes. You open them again straight away, though, when you feel Din stand up, hear him move. He’s getting ready to leave. As much as you wish you could tell him that it’s okay to stay, that you’d feel more comfortable if he did, you can’t. It’s silly, really, because you know how he feels about you; that the current mess that is your body won’t send him running for the hills.

But, still. It’s going to take time. And, just like how you want to see his face for the first time in very different circumstances than this, if he’s going to see your body for what it is, in all it’s scarred glory, you don’t want it to be while you’re being poked and prodded at by doctors on this hospital bed beneath harsh lighting. 

You hold his hand, look up at him. “Come back when we’re done?” 

Reaching out his spare hand, he brushes it over the top of your head, just for a second before he pulls away. “Always.” 

And that promise alone is enough to get you through the pain and discomfort that ensues. 

Bacta is looking like an attractive option by the time the doctors have removed your bandages and inspected the wounds and surgery sites. Doctor Garidan informs you that his initial assessment was correct: the chances of your skin healing over on its own are low, unless you use the tank. 

They don’t apply new bandages yet, waiting for your decision. 

By the time Din comes back in, you’re still surrounded by medical assistants, and he can probably barely see you beneath all the devices they’ve got strapped to you. 

“I’m going in,” you tell him. “The bacta.” 

He nods. “I think that’s a good call,” he says, standing above you, his cape hanging down to the floor. He’s got a new flight suit on—you make a mental note to ask him when that happened—and he’s favouring one leg, probably shouldn’t be walking around as much as he is, but you’re hardly surprised. “They gave me some bacta patches,” he explains, noticing that you’re staring at his leg. “Some spray, too.” 

“You don’t wanna dunk in the tank with me, then?” You say with a tired but teasing smile. 

“I don’t think there’d be enough room in there for both of us, Cyar’ika.” 

“Hm, probably not. Not exactly a romantic situation, either, just sitting in a vat of slimy stuff that probably smells really bad.” 

“It does.” 

“Have you been in it before?” 

“Been around it enough to know.” 

You reach out and take his hand. “They’re going to put me on even more drugs,” you tell him. “Feel free to laugh at me when I’m high as a starship.” 

His gloved thumb smoothes over yours. “I will,” he says, so playfully sincerely that it makes you giggle. It hurts, of course, but it’s worth it. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Garidan says, appearing at the foot of the bed in a gap between people. “But we’re ready to take you through.” 

You take a deep breath. The air is cold on your wounds. It stings, and reminds you every fucking second that you’re currently baring your body to literally anyone who comes in here. Including Din, although he’s only looking at your face, and the nurses are providing good cover. 

He squeezes your hand. You squeeze it back. 

“Are you ready?” Garidan asks. 

Staring right into Din’s visor, searching his gaze for strength, you nod.

Inside the tank, you’re so drugged up that all you can think about is how the injuries happened in the first place. You’re in a haze, somewhere in a fog where the memory keeps repeating over and over and over. Then the dream you’d had during surgery comes back to you: your family standing over you, your arms bleeding, leaking shards of glass, Din backing away in disgust. It mixes with what actually happened, with the window that broke beneath your weight, the pieces that stuck into your already-existing scars.

You only start to come back to reality once you’re back in your bed.

The droids have dried you off, but you can still smell the bacta on your skin; still taste it in your nose. It’s not pleasant, but it’s also not the worst sensation you’ve felt in the last few days.

And, kriff, you feel better.

So much fucking better.

Doctor Garidan looks pleased. He tells you that you were in there for six hours, and that the results are extremely promising. The skin has already started to regenerate, the slight damage to your shoulder bone has gone, and the flesh that was shredded deeply by the debris has already started healing. He tells you that you can have another session in the tank if you want to, but that it’s not necessary now; it’s given your body enough of a boost to heal by itself.

“It could mean that recovery takes longer if you don’t go in again,” he says, “but you will recover. I can tell you that now.” 

And, to be honest, you don’t want to see those dreams again. 

So you opt for the long road. At least now, though, you can breathe without it feeling like your entire body is on fire. 

Once you’re all bandaged up and settled on your side again, Din comes in, and brings Grogu with him. He’s overjoyed to see you, screeching in glee and practically falling from Din’s arms so he can get down to the bed, curling up beside you on the small mattress. 

“Hey, kiddo,” you laugh tiredly, head still a little fuzzy as the meds wear off. “How’s it going?” He looks up at you, looks deeply into your eyes, tilts his head. He’s asking you if you’re alright. “I’m good, kid. I promise. They’ve been taking real good care of me.” 

He reaches out a little clawed hand and places it over your bandages. You feel it in an instant, the strange pull that you’d felt all that time ago when he’d drawn poison from your wound, the ease of pain that comes from his powers. Your heart warms at the sight of him, closing his eyes and putting all his concentration into healing you. 

You also know, though, what it does to him when he uses all his strength like this.

Gently, you take hold of his arm, and pull his hand away. His eyes open, ears tilting downward. “Thank you, kid, but you don’t have to. Save your energy, okay? I promise I’m alright.” 

He gazes up at you for another long moment, blinking slowly. If you had the Force, you’d tell him, somehow, that everything is okay. That you’re alright. You’d push whatever comfort he manages to push to you through a single touch right back to him, reassure him. 

Instead, you just lean in, rest your forehead against his. 

He’s happy with that. He relaxes, letting his arm drop, and snuggles into your chest. 

Smiling, you look up to find Din sitting by your bed again, just watching you. “Hey,” you say, quiet. 

“Hi,” he says. “How do you feel?” 

You sigh. “A lot better. That bacta stuff is miracle slime, huh?” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

“Do I stink of it now?” 

The kid makes a noise like he’s saying Yes. You laugh, giving his head a rub. 

“The helmet filters out the smell,” Din answers, the curve of a smirk in his voice. 

“Ah, it has its uses.” 

After a moment of quiet, Din reaches out and strokes his hand down your cheek. You smile up at him, feeling warmth and softness spread in your chest, around your heart, clenching it. You tilt your head, kiss his palm. “You’re doing good, you know that, right?” he says quietly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You went in that tank, you’re…always fighting to survive.” 

You take his hand, thread your fingers together. He’s looking down at you, somehow so intense even through the visor. It’s always been like that. He’s always been able to capture the intensity and intimacy of a shared look, even through beskar. You wonder if it feels like that for other people when he looks at them. Or if it’s just you. “Garidan says I can head up to our own quarters in a couple of days,” you tell him. “But I’ll need to be on bedrest for a while.” 

Din nods. “Whatever you need.” 

“I…is it safe for us to stay here?” You ask, a hint of anxiety creeping in around the  warmth. Then, as the feeling grows, “How did they find us?” 

He sighs softly, sitting back in his chair. His hand is still in yours, arm extended across the gap between him and the bed. “I heard from Peli, just after the attack. There was a tracker hidden on the ship. It must have shown our location as soon as we dropped out of hyperspace. Apparently some people in the town were…members of your…of the…” 

“The cult,” you provide bitterly.

He nods once, like he still doesn’t want to say it. “They held Peli up.” 

“What?” You almost sit up at the shock of it, dread hitting your stomach. “Is she alright?” 

“She’s alright. A little shook up, but she said it’s nothing she hasn’t dealt with before.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “She’s dealt with crazy cult members before?” 

“She’s seen a lot,” he says, wry.

“Kriff. Did she tell them where we were?” 

“She didn’t know, so no. They asked around, though, and put together our location from different witnesses.” 

A sigh comes through your nose. That familiar feeling of guilt twists inside you. “I’m sorry,” you find yourself saying. 

Din sighs, too. Like he’s really tired of hearing that. (You’re tired of feeling it.) “It’s not your fault.” 

You just shake your head, too tired to argue. Come to think of it, you’re really fucking tired. It hits you suddenly, unexpected, though not out of nowhere. It’s been a long fucking day. You look up at Din, feel his hand in yours, and you’re suddenly overcome with the need for him. For him to kiss you, to hold you, to touch you. It feels like it’s been weeks since you last felt his skin, and you know how ridiculous it is; when you first met, you never even imagined you’d get to feel his hands, let alone the rest of him. Let alone him touching you. 

But now that you’ve had a taste of it, you can’t get enough.

And you’re still just a little high on painkillers, so of course, the realisation that he can’t hold you right now has you crying. Logically. Totally reasonably. 

“Hey,” Din says, leaning forward in his seat. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

You shake your head. It’s ridiculous. “Nothing,” you say, even though it feels like everything is wrong because he’s too far away and you’re holding the kid but you want to hold both of them, want to know that they’re both here and safe and not going anywhere—

“Are you in pain?”

“No, I—yes,” you say, “but it’s not…that’s not…” you cut yourself off with a heavy sigh, impatient at yourself. “I’m just really tired.”

His fingertips brush down your cheek, wiping away the tears. “Get some sleep, Mesh’la,” he says softly. He starts to reach for the kid, to take him away. 

“He can stay,” you say before he’s gone. Grogu looks up at you with an appreciative coo. “You wanna stay, kid?” 

In answer, he snuggles back down and closes his eyes. 

Din chuckles. It’s so beautiful. You want to hear it in the dark again, where there’s nothing separating his voice from your ears. “Alright. You two get some sleep.”

“You can go and rest,” you tell him, even though the idea of Din leaving is literally making you cry again—“You’ve been here since it happened.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, so decisive and certain. It reminds you of those early days in the cave, when he refused to leave you alone and injured. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

And you just can’t. He’s so…he’s so…

“Sleep,” he tells you softly, just as the word perfect comes to your mind. It doesn’t even come close to what he is. To how he makes you feel. 

You nod, and reach for his hand again. You tuck it up against Grogu’s back, and close your eyes. 

-

By the time the doctors clear you to leave the medbay, you’re actually desperate to see somewhere other than this fucking room. 

It’s not like Tatooine is a delightful place to be. Even though this town is relatively nice, and Boba’s home is certainly the height of luxury, being constantly surrounded by all this sand and heat and dryness is not your idea of a good time. 

But, kriff, anywhere is better than the medbay. You’d sit out, bare-assed on the sand right now if you had to, just to get a change of scene.

Thankfully, though, you have your suite. 

It’s not quite like coming home, like settling into the familiarity of the ship. But it’s good enough.

You can only just walk. Din helps you through to the bedroom, lays you down on the bed. You can lie on your back for short periods of time now, the bandages providing enough padding for it to not start hurting until fifteen minutes later. Though short-lived, it’s always a welcome reprieve from constantly being on your side. 

Despite the relief at being somewhere new, being in a real bed that Din can actually be near you in, your mind is still occupied by one thing, and one thing only. 

Them. 

They’re not going to give up. Just because their first attempt at an ambush failed, doesn’t mean they won’t send someone else, follow you to the next place. Your mind has had a lot of time in the last few days to overthink, to imagine all the ways that they might try to get to you. You’re safe here, behind Boba Fett’s walls and his army. Security has been tripled. You know that they can’t get in while you’re here. 

But you can’t be here as a burden forever. It’s not where you’re supposed to be. And you’d never ask Din and Grogu to stay, but leaving with them seems just as dangerous, too.

“What’s on your mind?” Din asks, breaking you from your thoughts as he comes into the bedroom. He’s already taking off his gloves, having just put the kid to bed. 

You’re distracted for a moment by the sight of his skin, the soft tan of his fingers. “Nothing,” you lie.

He glances at you. “The truth?” He requests. 

You sigh. “I’m just…thinking.” 

“About what?” 

“What happens next.”

“Hm,” he hums, thoughtful, stripping off each plate of armour carefully and placing them on the drawers that line the wall opposite the bed. You’re watching him, admiring the way he does this, how it’s always the same practiced routine every time. “What do you want to happen next?” 

And if that isn’t a question and a half. 

Heavily, you swallow, not sure what to answer. In an ideal world, you know exactly what you want. You want Din. You want the kid. You want to live on that little ship and go wherever the wind takes you; or you’d settle on a planet somewhere in the middle of nowhere and never see another soul again, as long as it meant the three of you would be together. Safe. (Hell, you’d settle here, if that’s where Din wanted to stay.)

But this isn’t an ideal world. You’re still being hunted. You always will be. 

And maybe Din doesn’t even want all of that. Maybe he doesn’t want you like you want him. 

“Cyare,” Din’s voice is soft. The new nickname draws your attention, your eyes falling on him again. He’s just got his flight suit and helmet on now. The shape of his body is a lot. It feels like it’s been forever since you last felt him, held him. 

You reach out your hands, splaying them. “Come here,” you say, making grabbing motions with your fingers. 

He does. He steps over, comes to your side of the bed, then sits beside you on the edge of it, just next to your thighs. Your hands are on him in a second, one grabbing his arm, the other trying to pull him closer. At first, he looks like he’s going to go with it; like he’ll lean in close and let you press your forehead to his helmet, run your hands over his arms and shoulders. 

But then, he takes a gentle hold of both of your wrists, slowly draws your hands away. 

You frown. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” he replies. He stares at you, more intense than usual. It’s like he’s hesitating. “I…” 

Concerned now, you push yourself up as best you can, sitting up beside him so your head is almost at his height. You press a hand to the cheek of his helmet. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” his hand absently strokes at your cheek. “Nothing’s wrong, I promise.” 

“Then, what is it?” 

He pauses. Takes a breath, then swallows so hard that you hear it. Anxiety is twisting in your stomach, jumping at the excuse to flare up again. When Din speaks, though, his voice is just a whisper, and what he says breaks you from any anxiety spiral that was starting to come on, “I want to take it off.”

You freeze. 

Your breath catches. You hold it.

“You…” you stammer, lost for words all of a sudden. “You want to…take it off? Your helmet?” Your thumb smoothes over the sharp point of the helmet over his cheekbone. 

He nods once, holding your wrists. 

“Are—are you sure? You know you don’t have to, right? I’d never ask you to do that. It’s part of your Creed, part of who you are…” 

He shakes his head, cutting you off. “I was ready to take it off in the medbay,” he says. His voice is husky, thick with emotion. 

You can’t believe it. You don’t know if you want to. This isn’t something you ever thought would happen, it’s not something you ever expected from him, from this—

“If you don’t want me to,” he says, sounding insecure now, the first time you’ve ever heard that from him, “I won’t.” 

“No, it’s not that,” you shake your head vehemently, because, kriffing hells. As if. “No, Din, I…I just don’t want you to feel like you have to. I’m happy with how things are now, you don’t…I’d never want you to change for me…” 

He’s still looking at you. It feels different, now that the idea of his eyes actually meeting yours in the light is on the table. “I know,” he says softly, his thumb smoothing over the bare skin of your wrist. “I know, Cyar’ika.” 

You run your hand over his shoulder, gazing into his visor. “Then why?” You ask lightly. “Why now? Why…why me?” 

His grip tightens on your wrist, taking hold of it properly in his bare fingers. He’s quiet for a long moment. You wonder what’s going through his mind, whether he’s changing it, whether he’s struggling to come up with words to express what he’s feeling. He’s never seemed to do that before, but you understand. You struggle with that every time you look at him. 

“Since the day I met the kid,” he says eventually, so quiet, “things have been changing. I’ve changed. I’m not the same man I was before all of this happened.” 

You nod, content to listen. Wanting to hear everything he has to tell you about himself, his soul. 

“Things were already changing,” he says, “And then I met you.”

Heavily, you swallow down a lump of nerves. Your heart leaps in your chest. Everything changed for me, too.

He smoothes his hand over your forearm, your palm against his helmet. “You and the kid are my life now,” he says softly. “I want to see you, and I want you to see me.” 

The warmth in your chest is so strong it almost hurts. You’re not sure if it’s hit you yet, the fact that he’s saying this. Your eyes sting with tears, but you hold them back, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by making this such a huge deal.

It is a huge deal, though.

He’s looking at you, so sincere and intense even though you can’t see him, his hand running over your skin so comfortingly, like the reassurance is for both of you. And, Maker, do you want to see him. You’ve always wanted to. But despite that, you never expected him, and certainly never planned on asking him, to remove his helmet in the light. Even removing it in the dark was something you never thought you’d get.

“Din,” you say gently, ignoring your reflection in his helmet, just staring right into his visor, “if this is something you want to do, then I’m all for it. But I need you to know that you don’t have to.” 

“I know,” he says. “I want to. Kriff, Cyar’ika, I want to.” 

“Are you sure about this?” 

“I’m sure. I don’t know when I’ll do it again, but…” 

You shake your head. “I’m not asking you to make me promises,” you whisper. 

He takes a deep breath. His hand moves up your arm, comes to take a gentle hold of your hand on his helmet. He lifts it away, squeezing your fingers before moving down to his lap, letting your palm settle against the fabric on his thigh. Then, his hands are on his helmet. Another deep breath draws in through it, then out. You realise as you wait with bated breath that your back is actually killing you, and you can only really see the side of his face from here. 

“Wait,” you say softly, and he stops, looks at you. “Can I…I’m not comfortable like this, can I…?” You shuffle forward, gesture vaguely to his lap.

He relaxes like he’d been hoping you’d ask. One of his hands taps his leg, his other taking a gentle hold of your waist where he knows there are no wounds. He helps you out of bed, and soon you’re settled in his lap—your favourite place in the entire Galaxy—and instead of bracing your feet on the floor, you wrap your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles on the mattress behind him. Your hips are flush together, his face just inches from yours. “This okay?” You ask quietly, stroking his helmet like it’s second nature. 

He nods, looking up at you, a hand still on your waist. “It’s perfect,” he tells you. 

So you smile, and you wait. 

You’d wait forever. 

His hands move again, back to his helmet. The soft hiss that follows as it releases from his head makes you want to close your eyes, already so used to doing that. But you resist, keeping them open, not daring to look away from him for even a second, barely even blinking. 

From the second you see just his chin as his helmet lifts, you’re already falling apart at the seams. 

Kriff.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he lowers his helmet to the bed, brings his hands back to your waist. Then he’s there. 

Din. Right here in front of you, beneath you, his face a collage of emotions, of a life, of stories. 

His eyes. They’re brown, deep and delicious, with wrinkles around the corners and beneath them, just little lines in his skin that you want to trace with your fingers, make up a story for each one. His skin is golden, fucking glowing, despite the fact it never sees the sun. His eyelashes are dark and long, like they’re painted there. 

Your hands are exploring him like you’re in the dark. Your eyes guide them, and they follow each part of him that you can see. The hair on his jaw, his chin, above his lip. His hair, short but wavy, cut shorter at the sides but getting a little long. You’ve felt it so many times, run your hands through it and clutched it like it’s a lifeline. 

He’s looking up at you, and he looks hesitant. Nervous. There’s a wrinkle in his forehead, deeper than the ones that surround it. You run your finger through it, smoothing it out.

His breath brushes against your lips. Warm, sweet. Him. Your eyes come to his lips at the feeling, and, fuck. You’ve been kissing those lips all this time, and you knew how perfect they felt, but you could never have imagined they’d look just as wonderful. Your thumb catches his bottom lip, pulling it down slightly as it slips down to his chin, brushes through the sparse hair. 

He looks nervous still. He’s watching your face, trying to gage your reaction. 

Your reaction is that you don’t think you’re ever going to be able to look away. You’re never going to be able to take your hands off him, to stop looking at his skin, finding new wrinkles and scars and parts of his face that you want to kiss and stroke and commit to memory. 

He’s so kriffing beautiful. Hot as all hell, the most handsome fucking man you’ve ever had the privilege to see, but above all else, there is beauty in every inch of him. His eyes hold a lifetime, memories, his soul. The look on his face is so easy to read, and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to having to hide it. 

There are tears in your eyes. Your chest feels tight, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of this moment, of the trust in his face, the apprehension. Like he’s worried you’d think he was anything other than…

“Mesh’la,” you find yourself saying, breathing it out. 

His eyebrow twitches up. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts underneath you, keeping his eyes—his fucking eyes!—locked on you. His gaze still feels the same as always, and that amazes you. That all this time, you’ve been able to see him, feel him, even with the beskar separating you. 

Now, you see all of him. Not literally. But it feels like you do.

“Kriff,” you curse, laughing just a little through the thick lump of tears in your throat. You want to kiss him, but the idea of looking away, of closing your eyes, is not an option right now. “Din, it’s you.” 

He swallows, and you see it in his throat. Fuck. You want to catch the drop of his Adam’s apple in your mouth. You want to watch it forever. “It’s me, Cyar’ika.” 

And, fuck.

This feels like the final piece of the puzzle. Hearing his voice, unmodulated, was already enough to send you over the edge that he created the day he walked into your life. But to hear it and see it, the movement of his lips, while his breath brushes against your face…

“You’re perfect,” you whisper. Your hands find the back of his head, forearms resting on his shoulders. Your eyes are twinkling, glistening with tears. So are his. Like he’s a mirror. Like he feels exactly the same about this moment as you do; and that is a fucking miracle. “Kriff, Din, you’re…” you can’t help it. Your forehead falls into his. Because he’s here. All of him is right fucking here, the heat of his face, the softness of his cheeks. You can open your eyes. You can close them. He’s letting you see him, hold him, letting you into parts of him that he’s never let anyone else before—

You push yourself closer to him, though it’s not really possible. Suddenly out of breath, you tangle your hands in his hair, cross your legs tighter around his hips. 

His tongue darts out, wets his lips. “Sweetheart,” he says softly, desperately.

“I need you,” you find yourself breathing, whining against his lips. You’re getting greedy now, and you know it. You’ve got his face right here in front of you, his body below you, and yet all you want is more. All of him. Always. “I need you, Din. Please? Can I?” 

“You can always have me,” he promises, just an inch from your lips, “but I don’t want to hurt you. You need to rest.” 

You whine. Despite the irresistible throbbing between your legs, he’s right. Because your wounds are throbbing, too. This is the longest you’ve sat up in days. “You show me your face, and then expect me to not want you to take me right here, right now?” 

It’s his turn to whine, and it’s absolutely gorgeous, just like the rest of him. “Mesh’la…” 

You shake your head. “I get to call you that, now. That’s your nickname.” 

His lips turn up at the corners; you feel it against your own. 

You pull back in an instant, desperate to see him smile. It’s only small, but kriffing hell, it’s so fond, a warmth in his deep brown eyes that you’ve never seen on anyone before. His face is so expressive, even with such a small smile just about tugging at his lips; you can see his joy, his nerves; you can see how he feels about you. 

You don’t know what he looks like when he looks up at the night sky, at a beautiful view, at a glowing sunset. You’ve never seen the look in his eyes when something beautiful, something he adores, is in front of him. So, really, you shouldn’t be able to recognise it now.

And yet, you do.

And that is a fucking lot.

“No one’s ever—” you find yourself saying, and it’s too late to turn back now—“looked at me like this.” 

“Like what?” He lifts his hand and strokes it over your cheekbone. 

You shake your head. You can’t put it into words; you didn’t even mean to say it aloud in the first place. Instead of answering, you bring your hand out of his hair so you can stroke it down his face, down his jaw. You watch as your fingers catch in his facial hair. 

“No one has looked at me like this before, either,” Din confesses. He’s looking right into your eyes. You could drown in this. In this shared gaze. 

You manage a wry smile, and tease softly, “I mean, you’re a pretty intimidating Mandalorian when you want to be; I think people try to avoid looking at you.” 

He smiles, too, laughs, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepen into beautiful smile lines. Your heart clenches, realising that he must smile more than you realise. It’s soft, tentative, and beautiful. He licks his lips again, and it’s only because of the way he takes a hesitant breath that you know he’s not doing it just to make you want him even more. “When I had to take it off in front of the Imps,” he says huskily, “it was…torture. And I knew that after I took it off, I should never have been allowed to put it back on. I don’t know why I was surprised when they told me I wasn’t Mandalorian anymore; I already knew it.” 

“Din…” you stroke the back of his head. 

He shakes his head, softly cutting you off. He tilts and kisses the inside of your arm, keeping his eyes on yours, “It felt like torture. And it was, really. But this…with you, Cyar’ika, I…” 

Your breath hitches, and you hold it there. 

“This feels…right,” he admits. Then, on a shaky breath, “Kriff, baby, it feels so fucking right.” 

And, well, if you weren’t already desperate for him before, you absolutely are now. Baby. 

Tears are trying their absolute hardest to squeeze past your defences as everything just overwhelms you at once. There are three words on the edge of your tongue, three that you’ve never said to anyone before, that you’ve never felt for anyone before.

“Are you okay?” He asks, a soft frown creasing his forehead. 

Your fingertips rush to it right away, smoothing out the lines. Just because you can. You find yourself laughing, albeit a little weakly. “Am I okay? Kriff, Din, I’ve never been fucking better.” 

He laughs. It can’t possibly get any better than that.

You stroke your hands over his cheeks, splaying your fingers out. For the first time, he closes his eyes, lets himself relax into your touch. His lashes are like pen strokes over his under-eyes. You lean in and press a kiss to each of his eyelids. “This means so much to me,” you whisper against the bridge of his nose. 

He nods. His hands are back on your waist. You know that if he could, he’d have them all over you; if you weren’t aching in a not-so-fun way across your entire back and arm. “You mean so much to me,” he says. Then, not giving you a chance to fumble for an answer that could possibly sum anything up, he tilts his head and captures your lips with his. 

You all but whimper against his mouth. Your legs tighten around him again, pushing your hips together. There’s the slight twitch of his cock between your legs, perking up with a little interest at the friction. And, realistically, you know you can’t have sex right now. Even this is hurting you a little. But it’s still such a good feeling that you can’t help but slide along the length of him that you can feel through his suit.

“Mm, shit, Mesh’la,” he groans, breaking away, “you can’t do that.” 

“Sorry,” you giggle. Then, because you can, you pull away and look at him again. “How do you feel?” 

He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved. His eyes are so sincere as they look up into yours. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of looking at him like this. “I feel good,” he smiles a little. 

You smile, too. There are no words, so you kiss him again, just once. 

“Are you in pain?” He asks, stroking his thumb over your chin. 

“Yeah,” you can’t help but admit. “But it’s okay. We can stay like this for a while.” Honestly, as much as you won’t pressure him to keep his helmet off, you don’t want to move from this spot. You don’t want to let go of the sight of him just yet. 

Where his other hand still sits on your waist, his thumb smoothes over the fabric of your shirt. “We should get you comfortable,” he protests gently. 

“I want to stay like this,” you hold tighter to him on instinct, “just for a little longer.” 

He searches your eyes, his own darting back and forth between them. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, taking you by surprise.

He has to be doing it on purpose. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted him this badly, ever had such a rush of arousal go through you so fast. “Din,” you grind lightly down on him, “please. I need you. I need you to—kriff, please, Din…” 

“Alright,” he says soothingly, “it’s alright. What do you need, sweetheart?” 

“Need you. Touch me, please, fuck me, I—”

“I won’t hurt you. You need to rest.” 

You shake your head, still grinding your hips down in long circles against his, and honestly, he has the restraint of a fucking saint, because you are already falling apart on top of him and all you have is the vaguest feeling of pressure between several layers of clothes—

“Please,” you let your head fall down into his neck, the warmth of him pressing against your face. “Din, please. Whatever you can give me, I’ll take it. I just—need to feel you.” 

He sighs softly. “Cyar’ika,” he breathes, “you’re killing me.” 

You laugh, glad he’s finally showing it. “Yeah, the feeling’s mutual, Mando.” 

“I can’t…sweetheart, if I fuck you right now, I just can’t…I’ll worry too much about hurting you…” 

“Your hands,” you tell him, beg him, “your mouth. Anything. Please. If you say no, I’ll stop asking, I just—please.” 

He’s never turned you down. Not when it really counted. 

And, it seems, he’s not about to start now. His hand comes to the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in your hair, and he kisses you hard and urgent, mouth open, tongue already finding its way to yours—

He pulls away too quickly though, and says against your lips, “I don’t want to hurt you, and I can’t feel it if I am. So touch yourself for me, Mesh’la,” he whispers, breath hot in your mouth, “and let me hold you.” 

“Kriff,” you curse without thinking, a hard pulse of arousal shooting through you. Maybe if you weren’t so embarrassingly desperate you’d protest, tell him that you need his hands on you, his fingers inside you; but he’s holding you so carefully and yet intensely, one hand on the back of your neck, the other finding its way to your thigh, holding you down against him, and you’re so fucking turned on that your own hands will do. 

Keeping one in his hair, you move your other down to between your legs, pushing back the waistband of the not-so-sexy hospital pants they gave you. They’re comfortable and stretchy but just in the way right now, so you push them down as best you can, and a sigh escapes your lips at the welcome pressure on your clit.

You start to work in circles around it, and it’s been a while since you touched yourself, and you’ve certainly never done it like this before—

Din underneath you, so hot and warm and there, his face right there for you to look at and his breath on your face. It feels so different to be intimate in the light. You’re even more exposed like this, even though you’re not naked. 

Your fingers dip down to your entrance, gather wetness before moving back to your clit. Circling your hips down against your own pleasure, the back of your hand brushes against the bulge of Din’s cock through the several layers of fabric that separate you, and you don’t know how he’s holding it together because fuck, you are absolutely not. 

His lips would usually be on your neck right now; especially when your head tips back in pleasure, your other hand moving to squeeze one of your tits through your clothes. You’re stretched out on top of him, back arching as far as it can without it hurting as you coax pleasure from yourself and from his hand in your hair, the way he’s grabbing a fistful of it and tugging lightly, his thumb squeezing the inside of your thigh, so close to your heat—

When you look down, you realise why his lips aren’t on you. 

He’s just staring up at you, his pupils blown so wide you can barely see his irises. His mouth is open slightly and his breath is delicious as it pants against your mouth. You can see his body automatically rocking up into your grinding, and then you feel it, the tighter squeeze on your thigh as his hand moves dangerously close to yours where it rubs at your clit. You gasp, and hold his eyes, revelling in the ecstasy upon his gorgeous face, the way he looks like he’s about to come just from the sight of you.

You’ve never seen his face before when you do this—but he’s never seen yours, either. And he’s making the most of every second. 

“Kriffing hells,” you curse. Your pussy is clenching around nothing, and you want something—him, you want him—inside of you so badly that it makes you ache. You know you can’t, the pain of your injuries already starting to get a bit much, rising with every curl of your hips. You’ve got to come soon or you’re going to have to stop. 

“Fuck,” Din curses, then he dives in like he can’t help it, captures your lips in his. “You look so fucking good like this, Mesh’la. You look this good when it’s me inside you?” 

“Better,” you breathe out, your eyelids fluttering closed as he moves the hand on the back of your head to your breast, replacing your hand’s place there so you can hold the nape of his neck again. “Want you inside me, Din. Baby, I need you so bad, I wish I could—”

“I know,” he reassures you, squeezing your nipple. “I know, sweetheart, me too. But this is enough; kriff, you’re so perfect. I know you need me. I need you, too.” 

You feel open above him, totally exposed to him despite the fact that only your face is showing, the expanse of your neck. It’s never been like this, you can feel his eyes burning into you, you’re too exposed…

“Please,” Din says suddenly, his voice so strained that it brings your eyes back to him, “don’t cover your face.” 

You hadn’t even realised that one of your hands was over your eyes and forehead. You drop it onto his shoulder, forcing yourself to look down at him. “It’s just—” your finger on your clit stutters as a particularly strong wave of tightness starts to coil in your stomach at the mere sight of him, all wet-lipped and wide-eyed, grinding up into you—“I’ve never been seen like this.” 

He nods like he understands. And you know he does. “You’re perfect,” he promises you, squeezing your tit again for good measure, like he’s making a point. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Look at you, sweetheart, you’re so perfect, fucking yourself on me like this—”

“Din…” 

“I know. I wish I could fuck you, too. Come on, Cyar’ika, come for me. Let me see that pretty face. Please.” 

All you can do is rub your clit, grind down against him as best you can. He can barely touch you; not running his hands over you like he usually does, and you can’t get anything inside you despite the fact that you want it more than anything. But somehow all of that is making this hotter, feeling your need burning brighter than ever, knowing how much you need him and that if he could he’d give you exactly what you want. What you crave. And you’re just so weak for him that even the thought of having him inside you is enough. 

With just a little too much pressure on your clit, knowing that you’ve got to come soon or it’s going to be too much, that’s what does it. 

Your high tumbles over you from the top down, clenches in your pussy around nothing, and it’s the desperation inside you to have him in there that keeps you going, keeps you up at that high for as long as possible before you’re dropping—

A gasping moan escapes your lips, and you just about hear one escape his too as he holds you through it, whispers words of praise right to your face as you ride out the waves of pleasure. 

“Kriff, baby, Mesh’la…you’re so perfect, I can’t…fuck…” 

You nod, because it’s all you can do as the aftershocks start to set in. You’re holding the back of his head, grasping his hair so tight like it’s a lifeline. His hand on your breast moves down, skirts over your stomach then moves down to your thigh. His other is still in your hair, not grasping tightly anymore, just gently smoothing his fingers through your locks. 

“Kriff,” you curse, finding your eyes closed and making an effort to open them. It’s worth it. Because he’s just there, looking up at you, all of him. His eyes, so full of adoration. His lips, his perfect lips; you lean in and kiss them, just once, just because you can. “Din…” you feel empty but complete. Your back is hurting, along with your arm. The doctor was very specific about No physical activity. But, you’re only human. And Din took his helmet off. What were you supposed to do?

Gently, one of his thumbs rubs over your cheekbone. “You okay?” 

You nod, then shake your head. “That was perfect, but now I hurt.” 

His forehead wrinkles just a little. You think he might look a bit guilty, and your suspicions are confirmed when he says, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what? I fucked myself.” 

He chuckles a little. “I encouraged it.” 

“Only after I begged for it.” 

He shrugs a shoulder, and one side of his lips quirks up into a smirk. “I didn’t mind that part.” 

You laugh, too, and shake your head. Your hand sits on his cheek, and the other is still in your panties, feeling the pulsing of your clit and pussy beneath your fingertips. 

Lightly, he taps at your hip. “You should get comfortable now,” he says softly, tilting his head so he can kiss the inside of your wrist. “You need your meds, too. Let me get them for you?” 

“Alright. I just—” You lick your lips, nervous. Glance between both of his eyes. “I don’t want you to let me go,” you confess, quiet. 

His entire body softens along with his expression. So gently, and so chaste, he leans in and kisses you once. “Never,” he swears. “I’ll come right back. Do you need to use the ’fresher?” He asks, and you nod in response. “I’ll get you some water, too.” He starts to shift like he’s going to get up, moving to help you get off him. 

You stop him, legs briefly tightening around his hips. His eyes find yours with a curious frown. You bite your bottom lip, hesitate, then bring your hand out from your pants, your fingertips soaked in your slick. He glances down at your hand, and his eyebrow twitches up a little as he looks back at you. Then, you put your fingers in front of his mouth, and raise your own eyebrow in offering. 

He keeps his eyes on yours. Locked there, like he knows it’ll drive you crazy to be looking right into his eyes as he leans forward, closes his lips around your fingers, licks your wetness right off them—

A moan is coming from your throat right when his eyes flutter closed like he can’t help it. It’s a shame to not be looking into them anymore, but you can’t help the smile that comes onto your lips, seeing the ecstasy on his face. 

You pull your fingers out with a pop. His tongue chases them to the edge of his lips. 

“Cyar’ika,” he breathes out, opening his eyes again, “are you trying to kill me?” 

“Never,” you smile, then taste your fingers yourself, and your grin only widens when the look on his face goes from lustful to downright filthy. 

“That’s not fair,” he says darkly, watching as your fingers pull out from your mouth so slowly, now wet with your spit, your eyes on his face. “You know I can’t fuck you right now. You’re teasing me.” 

Proud, you nod. He shakes his head in disbelief, then dives in and kisses you again.

He sighs as he pulls away. Presses his forehead to yours. “I’m going to get your meds,” he tells you softly. “Do you need help to the ’fresher?” 

And, after that against-the-doctor’s-orders escapade, the answer is very much yes. 

It was worth it.

notes: cannot pOSSIBLY thank y'all enough for your comments on the last chapter (and the entire fic ofc). i've had a really tough week and it's been a little source of joy to hear your thoughts/get your messages!! hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much, i'm loving writing and posting this fic so much ❤️

taglist:

@toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @whenpugzfly @elsasshole @moony-toasts @julesjewelss36 @jbcalway @mxlsmith @indec1sive @lordhavemurthy @booktvmoviefangirl @brokenghostgirl1 @competitivedust

@lostinsideourminds @gloryekaterina @uncle-eggy @astronymity @leithatnight @domaniquessidehoe @dancealongthelightofday-blog @loveslide @peqchsoup @jaguarthecat @starrynightsforever @djarinxore @rexamongthestars @babygirlrex0504 @dindjarindude @prentissluvr @hotchie360

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #din djarin imagine #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian imagine

[letters-from-dekarios]

(Jasper is a snarky drow wild-magic sorcerer/multiclassed rogue. He was pretty careless about his magic until meeting Gale, and his solutions to things still mostly ends up being ‘is it worth lockpicking, or should we just explode it and run?’ He’s closed-off and snippy with people he doesn’t know, but longs for connection at heart. It just… takes a while to get there. He’s quite awkward when he’s actually being open with people. When the two of them are alone, it’s one of the few times Jasper actually is fully himself.

Jasper is illiterate; never learned to read, but ‘begrudgingly’ lets Gale teach him slowly after the events of the game. Still not great, but getting there. While they do live together, Jasper still takes trips to the Underdark every now and again. This letter was written during one of his times there.)

Gale, hello.

(The handwriting drastically changes. While the above line is practically intended into the paper, the rest is written in neat cursive.)

The rest of this letter is being transcribed by Astarion because I don’t feel like sending you something that could be mistaken for a toddler’s journal. Then again, that’s what your handwriting can look like sometimes if you’re tired enough, so maybe you’d find it readable anyway.

What do people even write in letters, anyway? Hello, dearest Gale of Waterdeep, how farest thou in my absence? Psh, he’d laugh at that. He’s cute when he- wait, don’t write that down- hey, give me the-

(There’s some illegible scribbling after that.)

Anyway, Gale. How are your bookshelves? They’re probably dusty. You should dust them.

Did you eat food today? It’s dinnertime. It won’t be when you get this, though, I guess. Hm.

Ok, seriously, what am I supposed to say? Astarion note: He rambled for about five minutes about the uselessness of letters and small talk, darling, I’m not writing all of this down. He misses you, you’re both pathetically in love, it’s absolutely sickening, get a room.

Oh, right. Some of the mushroom people myconids gave me some stuff to bring back to you. I didn’t really stay long enough to figure out exactly what it all is since the whole mind speaking thing makes me nauseous, but there’s some amulet and a couple scrolls.

I also have not blown anything up yet. On purpose. Two explosive surges happened. Whether that’s good or bad is up for debate. There aren’t any of the explodey mushrooms around where I’m staying.

Pet Tara for me.

And if you look like you’ve pulled even one all-nighter when I get back, I’m dragging you to bed. Put your books down and go to sleep, wizard.

~ Jasper

(The name is signed in the same poor handwriting as the greeting)

P.S. Hello. Astarion again, absolute pleasure. Next time, send a scribe with him if you want to be penpals, or I’m going to start charging.

Sweet Jasper,

And Astarion, by default.

No matter the transcriber, you know I adore hearing from you. I’d spend countless nights decoding your handwriting if it meant our communication stayed strong during your nights away. And, for the record, I’m glad you think I’m cute when I laugh. You’re rather adorable when you laugh, too.

I have cleaned the tower in your absence, but it’s quickly returned to dust-filled madness since beginning a new project of mine. No matter, though, it’ll be spotless by the time you return. You’ll be happy to know I’m eating just fine, and Tara can vouch for me on such. She’d have a field day if I didn’t stop and have a meal now and then, no matter how deep I was into a tome.

Thank the Myconids for me. Their scrolls have proved to be rather helpful lately. It’s always a joy to receive new items from them. And, I am glad to hear you’ve not yet blown anything, or anyone for that matter, up! I would hate to have another incident occur and use all of our resurrection spells again. Those are pricey and hard to come by nowadays. Stay strong, darling, I know how much you desire to set fire to things.

I cannot guarantee the state of myself when you return. I’m awfully invested in my current tomes and you know how much I hate losing my place. But I will try, dear.

Enough about me. How are you? I hope your time in the Underdark is serving you well. Have you found anything of interest? I’ll be more than delighted to hear all about your adventure when you return home. The nights grow cold without you by my side, love. But I know how much your journey means to you.

I hope you’re eating well, also. Sleeping just as much, too. Send word when you aim to return home, I’ll have everything ready for you.

Be safe, my love. I hope to hear from you again, soon.

With all my love,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

Astarion, I thank you for your hard work with Jasper. You know the depths of my coin pouch. Name your price, though not too substantial- I’m not made of money, after all. But, I’d much rather you than a stranger scribe for him.

text reads: gale dekarios

#baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #for you #for you page #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 #bg3 gale #gale fanfic #answered asks #ask response #asks open #anon answered #send anons #writing #letters #gale #baldurs gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldur’s gate fanfiction

[darlingmissmoth]

Hi, my name is Moth and, uh, with “encouragement” from @babacontainsmultitudes (aka: “you should do it” and I went “yeah okay”) I have decided to do… A little (not a little) rambling about the kiddads (mostly Twin Focused, but still) cause I have many thoughts and feelings, most of which I tend to keep hidden but I have a blog and I’m making that everyone’s issue.

This probably won’t be totally coherent because my thoughts like to jump from point to point erratically so I’ll try to organize to the best of my ability? But there’s a good chance I’ll be all over the place! And it’s probably going to be… Very Fucking Long as a warning lmao

Anyway, uh, stuff under the read more :)

I’ve seen a lot of wild takes about the kiddads and their actions, and the general view on Sparrow is… Very Negative, from what I’ve gathered. I’ve seen a lot more positive as of late, but I still see a lot of hate. Which I get! If you do a skim of all he’s done, it isn’t a great picture. Telling your kid you aren’t proud of them, training your kids from a young age to kill things, his anger and upset, it isn’t good.

Then, of course, there’s Lark who tends to excuse Sparrow’s actions or try to smooth them over, it appears he’s the main one who did Hero’s training, and his anger is rough as well.

Then we have Grant and Nicky, one of whom is Overbearing, the other Distant.

All in all, the kiddads are, well… Not Great Parents to put it lightly.

But I think a lot of people tend to view all their actions through the lives of their own lives or what is “rational”, totally forgetting that the circumstances around the teen’s raising, around the kiddad’s lives, are not rational.

At the age of 11, all of them got kidnapped by their grandparents! And sold into slavery! They weren’t sure if they’d see their parents again! And while most of them took it in pretty good stride, they were 11 and most likely didn’t see the inherent danger of the situations they were in until they all got spirited away to Castle Ravenloft, where they had to deal with their grandparents and, no doubt, the abuse they dealt.

Both Nicky and Lark went through Real Life Or Death Experiences (not to say the other kids didn’t, but they were the only ones we see in S1 who got anywhere near actually dying) - and of them, Lark was the only one who felt death. It may have been a fake body, but that doesn’t change the fact that he actually felt himself die.

Grant had to kill something in such a horrible and gruesome way that we actively saw the way it changed his life. He got fucked up from it! Really badly. Mans is numb and struggling to feel anything which, of course, leads to a lot of self hate and self destructive habits.

And then, after all of this, Lark was manipulated by one of their abusers to stab his father and release The Doodler, which he didn’t fully understand the consequences of because, again, he’s 11. He was A CHILD.

Now he’s saddled with the knowledge he ended the world. He doomed his family, his friends, all because of an impulsive decision that he was manipulated into doing, yet he isn’t aware it was manipulation. He thinks it was just… Him. He chose to do it.

And now he, and all his friends, are wandering around trying to figure out how to stop this World Ending Creature that used to live in his family’s blood and it all seems terribly hopeless. But they keep trying. Because what else can you do? What is your other option? And he’s given a prophecy that says that his (or his twin’s) first born is the Only Thing that can stop said World Ending Creature. At the age of, like, 15.

Sparrow, who feels just as guilty for it, takes this onto his shoulders because he probably doesn’t want that tacked onto his brother’s conscious as well. Raising a kid just to be a tool because it’s either that or they continue to let this creature that he and his twin unleashed.

What were their other options? What other choices did they have? Let the world - the worlds - continue to die? They had to do something, and the only thing that would have worked - apparently - is to have this kid.

Meanwhile, Grant gets a kid and they’re in the fucking apocalypse, so of course he’s going to shelter his kid. He remembers what happened to him when he was put under extreme stress and in a life or death situation and he doesn’t want that for his baby. He loves Lincoln so much, loves his husband so much. Was it right to totally isolate him? No! Probably not! But he was terrified of the world, and he had every right to be.

A lot of people judge the kiddads under the lenses of our current world, but they need to remember that isn’t the setting. That isn’t their world. Maybe when they were children, but not now. Not when we see the teens.

Their world is a dying one, it’s scary, it’s dangerous. They did the best with the trauma they were saddled with, in a world that they were the cause of and could die in every single day. Do you think you could do better? Truly?

They did the best in the situations they were in, and for Grant, maybe he shouldn’t have had a kid. But he did! His husband wanted one and they were given one and they were small and innocent and sweet and Grant was smitten instantly. And people seem to forget he was a good dad! Lincoln turned out good! He’s smart and kind and gentle. He loved his dads so fucking much and didn’t realize anything was wrong until he was shoved into a position he shouldn’t have been in.

Grant raised him well. He raised him with love and adoration and did his best.

Sparrow and Lark did, too. They love their kids! No one can deny that! Sparrow and Lark love their kids. But it’s a dangerous world, and they knew at least one of their kids is the only hope humanity has. They had to make sure she could defend herself, she could take it down when the time came.

People also point at the homecoming scene for Sparrow and Lark and I agree that it wasn’t good. They fucked up. But it’s also made so, so clear that Sparrow loves Normal deeply. He adores his son. But it’s also canon that Normal reminds Sparrow of his younger self, who Sparrow is not proud of, and he desperately wanted better for his son. And Normal, had Sparrow and Lark not manifested, would have never known his dad wasn’t proud of him.

Which means Sparrow never let that show! Sometimes parents aren’t proud of their kid’s decisions, that’s just the long and short of it. And that should be okay. It should be okay to not agree with something your child does. But the important thing is that you don’t show it. And Sparrow NEVER DID. He NEVER ONCE showed Normal that he wasn’t proud. He showed love first and foremost always.

Which is why it came as a shock when he revealed otherwise. So he was doing good! He was a good parent!

Did they fumble? Yes. I’m not saying that any of them are totally blameless. They messed up a lot. They should have made better decisions. But they were also horribly traumatized, lost their innocence of childhood at the age of 11, and had to grow up in a doomed world with guilt on their shoulders and the fate of the world in their hands.

All of this to say that they are complex. They are human. At the core of this sillyfunny podcast, that is something that remains consistent. These aren’t characters on a traditional Hero’s Journey. They are regular people thrust into impossible situations that have to figure out how to cope with it on their feet. They’re flawed, they make bad decisions, and that is the point. They aren’t meant to be perfect or always know what to do. All of them are shades of gray. None of them are truly evil or truly good because no person is.

They’ll fuck up. They’ll make bad decisions spurred on by guilty consciouses or emotions. Some decisions won’t be rational because humans aren’t. We are made up of emotion and memory and personal values, and we make our decisions based around those things.

They aren’t perfect. They aren’t meant to be. They are complex and they are beautiful for that.

I’m sure there’s more I could say, but this is long enough as is, uh. If you want to hear more I guess either dm me or shoot me an ask about specific characters idk

Thanks for reading

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #I'm not gonna tag individual characters #moth speaks #moth writes #Here u go fandom #Long rambling thoughts from a woman with too much time on her hands lmao

[jaggededges123]

i’ve only very minimally shaped this up for tumblr (replaced the names properly because there aren’t small character limits, capitalized sentences, etc), but it’s mostly just as is from twitter, so please don’t mind any minor errors. i hope you enjoy it! the whole ficlet is under the cut so it’s easy to skip if it’s not your bag <3

(oh, and i’ll probably shape this up even more and throw it on ao3 at some point but uh, who knows when that will be? not me!!)

niecest (though it can be read as nie bros, soulmates can be platonic!), soulmates, angst + canon major character death, hurt no comfort

AU where you see in black in white if 1) you’ve never met your soulmate or 2) your soulmate is dead, but if you know your soulmate and they’re alive, then you see in color.

Anyway, Nie Huaisang who’s never seen in black and white, and Nie Mingjue who suddenly got color vision in his parents’ bedroom when he was six years old, promptly freaked out at the change, and all of the adults in the room told him to keep it under wraps but also to always make sure to take the best care of his new didi he could manage.

As time goes on, the Nie brothers live freely in a colorful world that most of their peers can’t fully see yet, but then Nie-zongzhu dies and Nie Mingjue has to take over. He remembers what his parents told him but… sometimes there are compromises that have to be made. Nie Mingjue is the leader of the whole sect now, and he’s responsible for all of them, not just Nie Huaisang. They drift apart… and for a while, Nie Mingjue is content to just let his didi do whatever he wants, painting and birds and fans. frivolous things.

But… taking care of people doesn’t just mean letting them do whatever they want all the time, and Nie Mingjue can use his connections to the Lan sect heir to secure Nie Huaisang a spot at the Cloud Recesses to be tutored by Lan Qiren. So off Nie Huaisang goes.

And the thing is, when you try to do something to help someone, and they don’t take it seriously, it can be really frustrating. Even more so if it’s your soulmate and you really, really feel like they should be able to understand you on a fundamental level.

So… Nie Mingjue doesn’t take it very well when Nie Huaisang fails, is what I’m saying. Their relationship gets strained, even if Nie Mingjue is still trying to be a good brother, sect leader, soulmate. He’s just got way too much on his plate, and he doesn’t know which parts are most important.

And maybe because Nie Huaisang was born into it and has never known anything else, he takes for granted what they’re supposed to have. Maybe he doesn’t even know who his soulmate is.

Has anyone even given Nie Huaisang a lecture on this that he would understand, already seeing in color?

The war happens, and Nie Mingjue takes great comfort in his crystal clear color vision the entire time. He made a good choice, sending Nie Huaisang away from danger.

Nie Huaisang’s not good enough with a saber to be of use where Nie Mingjue is, anyway.

Anyway, after the war… it’s not the same all over again. Nie Mingjue is angrier, again, and he can feel himself dying even though he doesn’t want to believe it. It’s really only a matter of time before he qi deviates so badly that he’s gone permanently.

And of course he’s worried—soon he won’t be around to protect Nie Huaisang, at all.

Their relationship gets worse—in a fit of rage, desperation, and fear, Nie Mingjue burns all of the trinkets he’d encouraged earlier in life. Those things won’t help Nie Huaisang now. They won’t protect him from anyone who might harm him.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t speak to him, for nearly two months.

It breaks Nie Mingjue’s heart.

And then, the last thing he ever sees is Nie Huaisang’s injured arm, fear and horror on his face, calling out to Nie Mingjue that it’s okay, that Nie Huaisang’s there, and behind him the man Nie Mingjue had taken under his wing and now feared what he might do to his soulmate, his family, left behind without Nie Mingjue’s protection.

The moment Nie Mingjue slumps in Nie Huaisang’s arms is the first time he’s ever seen in black and white. He never really knew what it meant, that people who met their soulmate saw things differently.

He does now, because he’s lost his.

#niecest #or nie bros it's up to you but i'm not tagging that one lest i attract people i don't want to #mdzs/cql #i'm doing very minimal tagging but please do feel free to reblog and inflict the pain on others if you so wish <3 #cw mcd

[asterz-playz-official]

So at the office, while he was away, Michael was basically considered to be a Threat™️ because everyone had wound up seeing or hearing about what had happened to Leitner. Elias being like “oh he just needs some time to work himself out” but in a weirdly sinister way does not help his case.

Jon eventually gets into his own bit of trouble because of the possibility that he could have been an accomplice, has to run away like he did in the original series.

Actually, Michael’s not fully considered a threat by anyone… not anyone who actually knows him, at least.

Melanie’s opinion? Yeah, he was a little weird when she gave her statement to him. Probably evil.

Tim? He’s not responding to anyone’s questions at the moment, and you can kindly fuck off. (Michael saved Sasha’s life with the worms, but he’s not gonna tell the police that he thinks Jon maybe did it instead with some weird mind controlling powers or something. They’ll think that it’s bullshit.)

Sasha’s… conflicted. He has been acting weird recently, but she’s not sure he’s actually evil, she’s actually pretty sure he’s just… stressed. People can change, though, so… she doesn’t really know what to think.

Jon’s. Um. Not there, but he’s SUPER sure the guy’s gone crazy and is killing people for sport.

Martin………………………………………………………….

“It’s… complicated? Probably.”

[CONTINUED BELOW oh you BET there’s more ehehehe]

Nikola, though… oh boy.

Two potential candidates. One of them’s rumored to not really know much of anything, and the other knows plenty. But while both have gotten strong, one of them’s going to be stronger.

Kicker’s that the potentially-stronger one probably won’t actually fit properly because he’s too tall. And he’s all twisted, so that won’t do at all.

So instead, she’s been talking to Jon about the gorilla skin, like in the original series.

Being a super creepy motherfucker and all that.

Y’know.

Anyway, Michael did not get anywhere near death, so Oliver didn’t have to go in and help out or anything, but… Elias has realized that michael keeps getting himself into situations where he nearly gets killed, and does not seem to handle them too well, so he’s experimenting and seeing if he can have Jon be a “backup archivist”, which i’m sure Nikola’s absolutely delighted by…

Still… Michael does get visited by some of the stranger’s gang eventually.

Just “checking in on our dear old archivist!”

(Michael does not feel comforted.)

(He is also not particularly thrilled.)

(Especially when she casually mentions not being able to use his skin in particular, because it “just wouldn’t fit right………….! You understand… don’t you, archivist?”)

He tries to burn her with the spiderweb lighter.

No wonder Jude Perry liked him a lot- (he’s actually now tried to set two things on fire because they were bothering him- but I haven’t posted the part where he yeets a lighter at the other thing yet lol-you’ll see)

Obviously, it’s ineffective… but it lights up her face for a moment before miraculously snapping shut upon hitting the floor.

Or… where her face should be.

Michael screams, his friend finally gets the lights working, and Nikola is gone.

…Fun!

OH HEY WAIT WHAT

OKAY SO

If Michael gets this tape! (Which he definitely would, cause he would have completely missed everything.)

Obviously with a few edits!! But!!!!!!! That shit would just.

Like a goddamn jagged-edged sword getting shoved STRAIGHT through his torso, GOD that stupid bit of commentary would hurt so BAD-

Jesus, Elias, stop trying to make your archivist feel like a disposable paper bag that somehow managed to make it out of the landfill, the hell are you doing, man????

Michael’d probably just try and mirror-jump to Jude Perry or something and be like “hey, my boss is a sick bastard and I hate him, want to help?”

Not sure if I’m /j or /srs, but Martin might be on board lol

Michael’s having more and more trouble with the whole… mirror-hallway trap thing. Although, like with canon, he probably ends up figuring out a way to drag out the whole process of victims slowly kinda going nuts so that he doesn’t actually have to kill anyone, he can just… “bother someone” in order to keep things going.

Which actually winds up working better than the “drive em mad and then whoop there they go” method.

He doesn’t like how it feels, cause it’s basically making a bunch of people go through what Ryan went through, but he tries diffusing the messing-with across more than one victim in order to make it not be as horrible for each of them.

Oh, and on top of that, he still has to get statements.

Does Jon send him the statements he gets (and his own notes on them) after he’s done with them, so that they’re both on the same page with things? (And does it work..?)

And if so, does he get to hear the “dust to dust” one, finally?

*Sound of Michael nearly popping a stress ball open with one hand*

(>:(((( Bruh Gertrude what the fuck)

AND HEARING HIS OWN VOICE ON THE TAPE…

Just rewinding and playing it over and over again. Just to hear it.

It hurts to know that his voice doesn’t quite sound the same.

He’s lost the stutter that he hated so much. He almost misses it.

Might actually mumble the words a little, in a half-hopeful attempt at getting his voice to sound like it did back then again. It works, for a moment or two, and in that little sliver of time, he feels like… himself again. Like Michael.

But he can’t hold it for long.

Still… it was there.

He was… there, somewhere. He wasn’t completely gone… so maybe there was still hope.

(HhhgfhhHhhHHHHHH I wanna hug him so badddddddddddddd aaaaaaaaaa 🫠)

Anyway, so Jon gets taken by Orsinov-

And the only reason Michael doesn’t pick up every time Elias tries to call him to tell him to get Jon is cause he’s got Elias’s number registered in his phone as “old sod” and just sits there pressing “decline” every time the phone starts ringing with that name.

It’s very fun to do.

However, eventually Martin’s the one who calls him, sounding a little bit panicked, and explains what’s going on, and Michael feels like an asshole, rushes out the door- (“hello good morning I’ve got to go get Jonathan out of situations he keeps getting in don’t kill me don’t get killed please don’t leave things on voicemail if they’re important, lesson learned, ohgosh bye-”)

So the Michael appears! No doom threat, just Michael apologizing for being “so incredibly late” and being like “oh good lord these are creepy oh sh- you’ve got a gag on- I’m very sorry-”

And he notices that Jon’s…. Looking at him, like… he wants to ask something, but doesn’t know if he should.

Michael… forces a smile, getting the feeling — based on the last tape he’d gotten from jon — that he knows what he wants to ask about. “Can we… t…t-“ oh, of course- and just at the moment he’d rather it not be an issue, here it was, again, in the way of him getting his words across. “It- I- We don’t- there isn’t much… much time to share… stories.”

“She won’t be back for-“

“I just don’t want to.”

He didn’t mean it to come out sounding so snappy, and winced a little at his own voice. “She…she’s just… a bit of a hard subject, as of right now…”

Jon looks a little bit… desperate, though, and it occurs to him that he most likely hasn’t been able to get any new statements in days.

If he were to go through the mirrors… he might not be able to keep himself together in there. Or he might get lost, or…

“Ask me.”

Jon blinks, looking a bit confused. “Didn’t you say you-“

“Yes, I know. It doesn’t feel good, but if you don’t-“ he takes a deep breath, and sighs heavily. “Please. Just… this once. And it’s all… good.”

…”What was she like?”

Oh, that question hurts.

A string of expressions pass across his face as he tries to think of the words for the things Jon wants to pull out of him. Needs him to let out.

“…different… she- she told me a lie.

I thought I knew… why she was who she was. Why I was… her… assistant.

I- but i didn’t. Really. She was cold… and… I just fell for it.

He takes another deep breath and sighs, but… no, it… isn’t done, is it.

It all spills out, like blood gushing from a deep, arterial wound.

He tries to twist it, to lessen the tearing sensation that the eye gives as it drags the information out of him, but it just… happens. The words aren’t quite his to control.

The Sannikov trip is the most painful to feel.

Once, it might have been a tale told in horror, of the near-death experience of his mentor, the old woman who fell over the side of a ship in the middle of a storm. About how he almost went insane, but that could have been a dream, and she had been saved, and then they had gone home again.

He told Jon all of this story, the statement riddled with sarcasm and frustration, and hurt.

And then he told… a different story.

The one he’d had in that vision, or dream, or nightmare- whatever it had been.

He told the eye what it already knew, and — in a way — begged it to answer him, instead. Tell him if he had just been… a pebble to be kicked into a trap so that it could be made safe to pass through.

He explained his fear that Gertrude had, in fact, killed one of her old assistants, a woman named Emma Harvey. She’d burned her alive.

And then he recounted his terror upon waking up in the office that one horrible night, when the doors had not been the right doors, and had nearly taken him and swallowed him and taken him apart.

How the fire had roared around him.

The rest of the story, Jon already knew, and so his talking should have ended there.

But he mentioned something he didn’t want to.

About how much Jon had reminded him of her, when they’d first met.

And with this revelation, the story ended.

At once, Michael slid to the floor, his whole body drained of energy, fighting to keep itself together.

It was not a moment too soon.

A door had opened behind him. A horribly familiar one, and as it loomed over Jon’s bound form and Michael’s barely stable one, a voice floated through the room, coming from the figure standing at its threshold.

“That was a very, very stupid thing to do, archivist.”

#the magnus archives #tma #michael shelley #michael tma #tma au #tma unwinding au #unwinding au #Jonathan sims #Jon tma #the distortion #the distortion tma #nikola orsinov #Nikola tma #the stranger tma #tw Uh violence #tma fic #draft #random rambles!!!!!! #it’s so hard to get character ‘voices’ right aaaaaa #if I can’t hear them reading it in my head #then it’s WRONG /lh /goofy #Michael’s stuff is ESPEXIALLY difficult cause we barely have any dialogue from him as a normal guy

[jenyifer]

Dangerous romance 7/10 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Lists I’d Put It In: So much potential, Sports, Slice of Life

Review: There is a lot of things I like about dangerous romance but the cons makes it so that I’d likely not watch it again.

Pros the actors main and side were fan fucking tastic. Perth can be so intimidating bratty sexy and on the other hand just a sweet little puppy. I love how funny he made Kang just adding flare. Chimon baby of OffGun of course I watched this show mainly for him. Sailom is basically a hop skip and jump away from Wave from the gifted Sassy Smart Secertly extremely caring and gushy. I’m hoping Chimon’s roles always involve sass it’s his signature. GIVE PAPANG AND PEPPER A BIGGER BL ROLE AND VIEWJUNE ALL OF MY MONEY. MarcPawin really surprised me as well I wasn’t expecting much because I just watched my gear your gown. The grandma was precious. Euro and JJ were great comic relief I wish there had been more of them. I wish there was more I made a post before this 12th ep saying how I’d fix the series in detail. So I’m gonna boil it down here. The ships should have been more interlocked with eachother. The editing made the show boring. Why did we have so many flashbacks and lingering shots. I love a pretty scene but they took so long and we needed extra interlocking scenes for all the ships. Ugh I can see how this show would have been great with just a few changes which makes it so frustrating. Anyways more about the ships after the break

First Perth and Chimon are not at fault for this I’m talking about editing and story. I adore KangSailom they had good potential but it felt like it got every trope imaginable enemies to lovers, poor boy rich boy, long standing unexplainable secret crush from childhood, tutor student, redemption arc, misunderstanding. AND YET IT FELT WEAK BECAUSE OF THE EDITING AND LACK OF OTHER CHARACTERS INTERACTION UNTIL THE VERY END.

Meanwhile audiences kept getting tiny precious glimpses of WONDERFUL side ships.

GuyNawa Idiot Sport boy for Idiot Sport boy with injury, enemies to lovers (really fully enemies), long standing crush was so incredibly beautiful and effective. I probably won’t have liked their plot too if it had been drawn out because I would have been missing the other side characters but what we got for them was perfect I’d rewatch their scenes again. I was much more impressed by MarcPawin this time I hope they get another series their kiss was thru the roof. They give me strong Sports Anime vibes made me miss Haikyuu.

Saifah and Name had the most potential to be a 10/10 ship. Papang and Pepper definitely need their flowers because the show didn’t give them a lot to work with. Their characters and storylines should have been worked in from the beginning. I wanted to want to cry for Saifah when he was taken away. I wanted to want Name to stay safe as he tried to protect Sailom and Saifah. But I felt like it was so rushed. We barely got to see what these characters had. But everything we did was leaning towards greatness a big brother who has done wrong in the past to get by trying to do ANYTHING for his brother even tho he’s in over his head and a bit of an idiot and mafia guy who sees his highschool friend again falls in love but is offered shit choices all around to his enviable conclusion and redemption. If only we had gotten them sooner and worked into Sailom’s plot more. I’m telling you it would have been stunning. I can see the vision.

I really love Pimfah. She is… a great female character. I talked about it already but great lesbian energy. I wish I had more. I wish Pimfah could have been worked more smoothly into Kang’s storyline after he decided to go after Sailom. The student teacher was precious. She is going to make a great teacher. I wish we got a spin off of what happens in London. But sadly the ship just didn’t have enough screen time.

I might rewatch the GuyNawa scenes again but the rest is probably a skip.

Bonus: Strangest kiss in the bathroom award goes to….

#dangerous romane the series #dangerous romance #drts #kanghansailom #perthchimon #guynawa #marcpawin #pimfah x napdao #viewjune #saifahname #papang phromphiriya #pepper phanuroj #Thai bl #bl review #Jenny’s watching #perth tanapon #chimon wachirawit #marc pahun #pawin thanik #view benyapa #june wanwimol

[auroragehenna]

No matter how much you squirm you won‘t get out ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Correction

prev

TW/CW: Electrocution, implied mind reading, punishment, threats, a tad of fantasy racism Word count: 1'589

Harmonia was awakened by a sharp tug of the chain connected to her collar. She choked, coughed, and blinked against the sharp light. Fuck she hated that thing. Out of shock, she had opened her eyes way too fast and now they were filled with needles. What was wrong with her?? Was she losing her nature? Her eyes should be used to much more brightness. Please no-

“Good morning, doll.”

Harmonia groaned as she pushed herself up. Only to be pushed down to the floor again by a foot pushing down hard on her back.

“You always make such brute sounds, I can’t have that from my doll, do you understand?”, Electra drawled.

Harmonia pressed her lips together, filling them with oxygen to prevent any sounds from slipping out. She squeezed her eyes shut in pain as the charred feathers touched each other and sent waves of pain into her brain. When she had finally made it into a sitting position she looked up at Electra who was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed already. Always making sure she could tower over her. She would love to get up on her feet but that would only result in Electra forcefully bringing her down again, probably on her knees, painfully. And she didn’t want to cause herself more pain than necessary. “Good morning, Ma’am.”

“Did you have a good sleep?”

“Better than I imagined, sleeping next to a monster. Urgh, I guess my body wanted me to have enough strength for today.”

Electra chuckled. She stood up from the bed, crouched down and unlocked the collar around her angel’s throat. Then she straightened up and gestured for her doll to do the same.

Shakily Harmonia came to her feet and while doing so, the demoness-Electra put a hand under her jaw and lifted it until she straightened up and they were holding eye contact.

“You think I’m a monster, Harmonia?”

Harmonia hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out the best strategy. Her inner alarm was going crazy but she just couldn’t put her finger on why.

“Come on, I give you permission, to be honest, you didn’t have a problem speaking your mind before.”

Okay, doesn’t matter anyway, it’s already too late. “Yes. I think you’re a monster.”

“Well that’s funny.”-Suddenly Electra’s grip turned more forceful, and Harmonia could feel her jaw starting to hurt-“When you didn’t even see the worst of me yet.”-The room seemed to get darker and the temperature seemed to drop with every passing moment. Chills were running down Harmonia’s body-“You think what you experienced so far was monstrous? You poor, naïve, dumb, child. Trust me on this, you don’t want to see me become the monster you say I am. Now ask me to give you breakfast. Ask me nicely or receive your punishment starved.”

Harmonia was still only looking at her, she wished she knew what to do right now, anything, but there was nothing in her mind. As much as she hated it, this time she had to admit she was…outmatched. For now. Yeah. “If-if you would be so gracious, Ma’am, might I have breakfast, please?”

“You may. Otherwise, you simply don’t last long enough.” Electra let go of her angel’s jaw and ordered her to follow as she made her way to the eating room. Once there they ate. Electra noticed that her angel barely managed to keep the food down even with her stomach grumbling through the room. She sighed. “If you puke on the table you’re gonna clean it.”

“Understood, Ma’am.”

“Listen, doll, it won’t do you any good to panic over it now. I am going to punish you for misbehaving either way, try to not make it harder for yourself than it needs to be.”

Harmonia gulps, looks down again, takes a deep breath, looks back up and nods. “I will do my best, Ma’am.”

“Good, because that’s what I expect from my dolls.”

Of course. Of course only the best is good enough. Nothing has changed since I left home. Don’t think of that now. Another thought bawled(?) for her attention. Harmonia suppressed a shiver. She could only hope that Electra wouldn’t decide to permanently injure her. Or take her wings. The angel paled even more at that thought. Suddenly she couldn’t stand living  in her own head anymore and she finished her breakfast as quickly as possible.

“Suddenly so enthusiastic.”, Electra grinned.

Harmonia dared to not answer to that and blessedly Electra let it slide.

After they were both done, and Harmonia felt like the demoness took eons to eat, they both stood up. Electra ordered her angel to follow and they went back to her bedroom. There the demoness stood in the middle of the room, facing Harmonia and the crackling fireplace. “You disappointed me, doll.”

It shouldn’t sting. It really shouldn’t. But it did.

“You can’t expect me to just let that slide, can you, doll? When you decided to betray me.”

Yeah definetly, how could I after you tortured me so nicely.

“Tell me, doll, what was going on inside your head during all that?

“What do you mean? I wanted to get out of here. You’re keeping me against my will.”

“Did you never think about anybody else? Or were you just hurting and decided that make sure you hurt me as well? And everybody else, by putting me in a bad mood?”

Harmonia just stared at the demoness.

“But that as it may, I’m sure you will learn to be less selfish.” Electra stepped closer to Harmonia. “Now tell me you’re sorry for trying to escape. And that you won’t do it again.”

Harmonia pressed her lips together. Then she spoke in a trembling voice. “ I am sorry for trying to escape. I won’t do it again, Ma’am.”

Electra sighed. That was a lie, doll.”

Before Harmonia could react a shock, strong enough to knock out a horse drove through her entire body. Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the ground.

Electra stepped behind her and ran her finger through the angel’s thick wavy (rose) hair. Then she gripped and pulled her doll’s head up by it.

Harmonia grunted in pain as she was pulled upwards by her hair. Now she was on her knees with her head held up.

“So, another time. Tell me you’re sorry for trying to escape. And that you won’t do it again.”

“Harmonia grits her teeth. “I won’t try to escape again, I’m sorry.” Another shock travelled through her body. And Harmonia could only try not to scream. Her body had started twitching and her scalp hurt already from the strain of the pulling.

“And now the honest version, doll?”, Electra demanded.

“G-go t-to h-hell.” Harmonia stuttered.

“There you go, doll.”

After that sentence Harmonia couldn’t hear or feel anything besides the pain inglufing every fibre of her body. She didn’t know for how long Electra let the voltage run through her, she just wanted it to stop. Somebody was screaming, maybe her?

Electra let the lightning run out. Her angel was twitching violently but she didn’t let go of her. “Are you now ready to embrace the truth?”, she asked a bit too cheerful.

Harmonia could barely talk. Only incoherent stutters came out as she tried to answer the demoness.

“Tsk tsk tsk, we can’t have that can we.” She freed one of her hands from her doll’s hair and touched her forehead.

Instantly Harmonia stopped twitching so violently. Now only some involuntary flinches and pain remained.

“Now, shall we try this again? Tell me what I want to hear!”

“I’m sorry that I tried to-to escape! I won’t try it again.”

“Hmmm, why do I not believe you…” -Harmonia tensed up again, closing her eyes in anticipation of the next wave of torture.- “Oh right, because I can see that you’re lying! Hopefully you’ll be wiser next time.”

“No-no-wait!-Argh!”, Harmonia yelled as the next shock waves ran through her.

“I won’t wait, and you can’t beg your way out of this. What were you doing when I caught you?”

Through the flaring pain Harmonia pressed out: “Trying to escape.”

“Are you sorry about your mistake?”

“N-No.”

“What were you trying to do when I caught you?”

“Trying to escape!”

“Are you sorry about your mistake?”

“I’m sorry you caught me!”

“That’s not what I asked, Harmonia! What were you doing when I caught you?”

“I tried to escape!”, Harmonia basically sobbed by now(?).

“Are you sorry for your mistake?”

“I am! I’m sorry I tried to escape!” Harmonia screamed. Tears running over her cheeks.

“Will you do it again?”, Electra pressed mercilessly.

“No. No I won’t escape again!”

Electra waited a few moments before she raised her voice again. “So you tried to escape? And you’re sorry? And you won’t do it again?”

“Yes! Yes, Ma’am, all of that!”

Electra looked down on her angel, withdrew her electricity and let go of her hair.

Harmonia dropped to the ground and could only think of the burning pain her body was drenched in. Somewhere far away she registered that somebody was moving her. Then she was laying on something soft, legs maybe? And somebody, a woman was talking. She tried to focus and understand the words. Finally she could make out a few pieces. none of this…have happened if…just behaved…Wouldn’t need to…instead be nice…like this. Then she could feel how hands stroked through her hair, gently, massaging the scalp. And that was the last thing she felt.

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @imnotamurdereripromise

#jayna's writing #“No matter how much you squirm you won‘t get out” #Harmonia #Electra #whump #whump writing #whump blog #whumpee #creative writing #coping #re-education #conditioning #conditioned whumpee #mind conditioning #electrocution whump #electrocution #posessive whumper #delusional whumper #defiant whumpee #scared whumpee #brainwashing #mind magic #mind reading

[sirendeepity]

[ Nessian Week, day 7: Free Day ]

A/N: Did this one-shot sit half done in my drafts for, like, months? Yes. Did I also wait another month specifically for this day to come before publishing it? Also yes. Is there also a second version where everything takes a Feyre-like dramatic twist, but this time the C-section happens because Gwyn and Emerie don't take no shit from anybody? Who knows 👀

Some domestic fluff and a bit of random angst thrown in there, because where would be the fun otherwise? Hope you enjoy <3

@nessianweekk

W/C: 2.9k

T/W: --

Nesta had made a lot of plans throughout her life.

When she was little, she had planned—well, her mother had done all the planning, but that’s just a tiny detail—to marry a wealthy man and elevate her family’s social position, confident that that would, finally, make her mother proud. Little did Nesta know that just a few years later she would find herself without both money and mother. That led to her second plan: Tomas Mandray. The bastard. She was fully aware of what was going on inside his household—what was probably going to happen to her, too—but if marrying the boy meant one mouth less for her sister to feed, then so be it. Trading one misery for another wouldn’t have changed much for Nesta, anyway.

Her third and biggest plan almost worked—and thank the Mother it actually didn’t. Still, Nesta wouldn’t change anything about it. The war against Hybern forced her to open her eyes and come to terms with her feeling for a certain cocky male. Nesta couldn’t ignore them anymore, not when the risk of losing him at any moment had dug its claws so deep into her heart she was afraid she’ll never be free from the bone-shattering grip. Decades had passed since then, yet Nesta still woke up in the middle of the night, cold sweat drenching her nightclothes and the cruel hands of terror pinning her body to the mattress. Her eyes were open but the memory hadn’t stopped—the voices overlapping in her head. One was made of warmth and comfort, hot breath against her neck and a heavy arm pulling her closer and closer; the other was pain and sputtered blood, pleading her to go, run, save herself. She couldn’t, so she stayed. It had offered her a promise, one that Nesta found herself almost relieved to hear, knowing it would be fulfilled soon. She closed her eyes, now as she did back then, waiting for the fatal blow. It never came.

To her mate’s more than probable disappointment, being stuck in Illyria was not one of those plans. Not by a long shot. She’d grown to enjoy the place—the mountains and its inhabitants—but the breathtaking landscape was not the reason why she’d come here in the first place. She just needed to have a nice chat with a group of elderly Illyrian females and then they could fly back to Velaris. That was until Cassian vanished somewhere with Balthazar, never to be seen again.

“It won’t take much, he said,” mimicked Nesta, throwing yet another pillow on the sofa. “Just wait for me at the house if you finish first, he said. Forty godsdamned minutes ago.”

She punched and squished her tiny nestle of pillows and blankets until she felt comfortable enough against it, then reached for the book she left on the coffee table. A book that had vanished just like her mate, apparently.

Because you did leave it there, right? She questioned herself, digging through her memory and finding nothing of use. She wasn’t surprised, her brain has stopped working properly 7 months ago, give or take. Nesta leaned forward as much as she could without tripping over to see if it may have fallen on the floor, then swept her eyes around the room, hoping for a little yellow square to catch her eyes. And it did catch her eyes, on the kitchen table. Nesta cursed inwardly, rolling her eyes as she readjusted herself and looked down at her own sprawled body. The next time someone told her what a wonderful, beautiful thing being pregnant was, she’d choose violence.

“There goes my comfy spot,” Nesta muttered under her breath as she gripped any available surface to push herself and her 41 weeks rounder-than-ever belly up the sofa, trying her very best not to pull any muscles in the process.

She was halfway back to the living room when the front door opened, showing a 6’4 feet tall male standing in her doorway, wet as a puppy, drip-dropping on the floor.

“Hi, Nes,” he said, and she felt the sudden urge to punch him. Or kiss him. Or maybe both. “It’s storming outside, so we’ll have to wait until it’s over before I can fly us back to Velaris,” Cassian went on, kicking his muddy boots aside and taking off as many clothes as he could before stepping into the house itself. He let his gaze run over her, from the hand pinned on her back to give her belly additional support, to the black, oversized shirt she had on—clearly not one of hers because Gods forbid she could find at least one that fit her new demanding body—, to the yellow tome tucked under an arm. He even had the audacity to smirk at her I’ll cut your balls off and use them as earrings look—one of the newest addition to her collection—before saying, “Nice outfit.”

Nesta only inclined her head, contemplating how much time it would take her to wabble her way to him. Too much, she realized. It would be faster if she threw the book from where she was standing. Cassian sighed, clearing the space between them with a few strides. “How is the love of my life?”

“Yet to be decided,” Nesta replied, tilting her head up so she wouldn’t answer his chest.

“I was talking to the baby.”

Cassian sank to his knees in front of her, flashing her a lazy grin as he gently stroked her thighs before raising the hem of the shirt. Her pale skin, still a little shiny from the lavender oil she applied earlier, courtesy of Emerie’s exceptional taste, was a stark contrast to the deeply tanned pair of huge hands now covering the curve of her belly almost entirely. This time Nesta did smack him on the head with the book, earning herself a rumbled laugh and a pinched ass.

“You don’t really hate me right now, do you?” He asked between a kiss and the next, his damp hair leaving a wet trail on her stretched skin.

She didn’t answer, her heart too weak to form a coherent sentence, and when he stopped his greetings to the baby and looked up at her, she looked away a beat too late, feeling his lips curve into a smile.

“Come on, Nes. I’m sorry I haven’t predicted the rain. I told you summer storms in Illyria come when you’re least expecting them.”

He had told her that, many times, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be pissed about it anyway. The baby was a week late and they took a great risk by flying all the way there to meet the elders, and the last thing she wanted was to give birth in these conditions, without her family to hold her together while she regretted all her life choices. Nesta pushed the book against Cassian’s forehead, putting some space between her belly and his face, and spun on her heels, heading for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Cassian called after her.

“To draw you a bath before you catch a cold.”

“I’ll catch it anyway if I have to wait for you to climb up the stairs,” he said, moving behind her.

Nesta turned with her finger already pointed toward its target when Cassian lifted her up.

“Gods, you stink.”

“You’re welcome.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nesta was leaning against the bathroom doorframe, admiring her oh-so-gorgeous mate stripping naked in front of her. She was so glad at least one of them got to keep the muscles, and that the one was him. She dipped her eyes as soon as Cassian turned his back to her. How long would it take her to get back up if she knelt and took a bite of that incredible ass—

“Do you plan on taking that shirt off or do I have to do it for you?”

“If I get into that bath none of us will get out anytime soon,” Nesta replied, not meeting his eyes once even as he faced her again. Did she make a mistake or were there two more muscles on his torso?

He took a few steps in her direction, forcing her to raise her gaze. “Good,” he said, pressing his lips against the pointy shell of her ear, “because we have a lot of time on our hands before the storm ends.”

Said hands were now resting on either side of her belly, roaming south toward the rim of the shirt. Nesta closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, reveling in the constant warmth of Cassian’s body against her own, the roughness of his palms.

Right there and then, she decided she would give up and give in, lifting her arms so Cassian could peel the shirt right off of her, and bared her neck to him.

Right there and then, their baby decided not to be as enthusiastic about what was going to happen as they were, and started kicking. Hard. Nesta hissed in pain, gripping Cassian’s shoulders for support. Cassian, coming back to his senses, stroked Nesta’s back and placed his other hand on the belly-turned-punching bag, taking care of both the mother and the daughter at once.

“I can’t believe she’s not even out and she already has a favorite,” said Nesta through clenched teeth. Cassian laughed lightly, leading Nesta toward the still fuming bathtub, filled with bubbles almost to the brim. It took them a few tries to climb in and find the right position, but not much after they were both comfortably laying back-to-chest, hands rubbing soft skin.

“She’s taking her sweet time,” Cassian said after a couple of minutes of silence, “yet we’re still stuck.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don’t have a name. What do we call her?”

Nesta, who was tracing soapy lines on the back of his hand and down his forearm, following scars and veins, stopped short in her tracks. “We’ll find something, eventually.”

He kissed her bare shoulder, muffling his chuckles against her skin, “I can’t wait for her to be here.”

With that, Nesta’s thoughts took off. “Yeah, me too.”

“Not so much enthusiasm, it’s only our firstborn child.” Cassian’s chest shook against her back as the tip of his nose stroked her fluttering pulse. His hand stilled, leaving her belly skin tingling, and Nesta shut her eyes closed, waiting. He knew something was wrong.

“What is it, Nes,” he said ever so gently, his mouth now brushing her ear.

“It’s nothing, really.” She knew she was being paranoid, and most—if not all—future mothers felt the same way she did, at some point or another, but that knowledge didn’t stop her troubles to pool at the base of her spine, crawling up her back.

“Whatever is going on in your head, I want to know. I don’t care if you think it’s stupid or pointless. I want to know, all of it.” His tone didn’t falter once, didn’t even turn angrier, demanding. “Please.”

Nesta exhaled slowly, tipping her head back to rest it on Cassian’s shoulder.

Cassian had never marched into her head and heart, taking control of her life. He’d waited patiently to be granted access, slipping past all her defenses almost unnoticed and taking root in the darkest part of her. Not pushing, not pulling: just waiting—for her to open up, for the light to find its way in, for the cracks to stitch back together, the scars to heal. The qualities she needed and loved most, all inside one huge bat. Patience, loyalty, unconditional love.

“What if I can’t do this?” Nesta stumbled on the words stuck in her throat, choking her. Tears swelled her eyes as she struggled to blurt out the rest, no matter how many times she tried to swallow down the lump. “What if I can’t be a good mother?”

She took it all back: the damn had broken, there was no stopping her now.

“It’s not like I ever had these great parental figures to look up to, and we all know I took after my mother more than I should have,” a laugh escaped her lips, tasting sour. For all her life, Nesta has feared the day she would truly become her mother’s daughter. It was her mother’s face she saw when she looked in the mirror; her mother’s voice she heard when she snapped and spit venom at anyone who got too close; her mother’s creature she became when her mind wandered a little too far back, whenever she read other people’s body language as easily as she would a book, and asked herself how easy would it be to take and take and take and leave only ashes in her way. Sometimes Nesta became her, so much so that she felt sick to her stomach. All these years, all this pain and anger and regret, and she still couldn’t let her go. “I don’t want to be like her, I don’t want our baby to—”

“Hey, stop. Stop.” Cassian’s hands tightened around her, anchoring her as she found her way through her too-loud thoughts, every word more grounding than the one before. “You’re not like your mother.”

A hand flew to her face, mixing salt and soap. “How would you know? You haven’t even met her.” Thankfully.

“You’re not your mother and you’ll never be because you care.” The words caught Nesta so off guard that, for a moment, everything went quiet. Nothing but the sound of water dripping and heart beating filled the room. “You care so much about this baby, Nesta. You’ve cared about her from the moment we’ve learned about her existence. When she wasn’t even a she yet.”

Two fingers pinched her chin, forcing her head to the side. Beautiful hazel eyes were waiting for her own, burning and melting all at once. She’s never been able to hide from his gaze, never been able to cover the ugliest truths from him. Nesta kinda hated how she loved it. It made everything much easier to overcome: knowing you won’t ever have to search for words you couldn’t find to explain what you couldn’t name. He’d always seen it—seen her.

Cassian’s voice soothed her nerves like a balm. “You already love her more than your mother ever did. I know that for a fact because I’ve been by your side every step of the way—and this isn’t just about the pregnancy.”

Nesta couldn’t help the little laugh that bubbled up, thinking back to how it started: the pain, the House, the Valkyries.

Look, how far you’ve come.

Nesta learned to live with this presence in her life. The timeless voice of the Mother making its way through her mind, the faint touch of her embrace, the feeble whisper of a presence following her every move.

She turned her head, catching the first rays of the sun shyly cutting through the curtain of clouds. Nesta couldn’t tell when it stopped raining. She was now able to go home, just as she’d wanted to. She should feel relieved, and yet she wasn’t—not completely, at least, because going home meant popping the bubble, and this bubble wasn’t that bad, after all. So Nesta kept quiet, reveling in Cassian’s hands roaming all over her body, Cassian’s lips tasting her skin, Cassian’s scent filling her lungs, Cassian’s love tending her frail and wounded heart. Anything, if done by Cassian, tended to have a whole different outcome. Content with just his reassuring presence, Nesta glanced out the window once again, mesmerized by how the light played with the mist rising from the forest blanketing a nearby mountain, curling around trees like it got stuck in their branches.

“Our kids will never know a day without their parents’ love growing up,” she said, breaking the silence.

Cassian agreed without missing a beat. “There will always be light. Only light.”

“Nora,” Nesta said, tasting the sound on her tongue.

“What?”

A small smile played on Nesta’s lips as she repeated, “Nora. Light. That should be the name for the baby.”

“Since when did you know Illyrian?” He sounded more surprised than upset, given his many attempts at teaching her the dialect.

“I do live with two outgrown bats, you know,” she shrugged it off, feigning indifference. Her heart, on the other hand, was in need of praise—it started in the bedroom, but it took control of every aspect of her life. Just a few words from Cassian, and she felt weak in the knees but beaming with pride at the same time.

The rumble of his deep laugh rolled straight to the tip of her toes. “So Emerie has nothing to do with it?”

“Who knows.”

She had struggled so much during their lessons that they became very few and far in between, with Cassian having to prioritize his actual duties as General Commander rather than a “personal hobby”, leading to the meetings stopping altogether. But it was his mother tongue and the Illyrians, no matter how Illyrian they might be, were still his people. For centuries he’d been the only one fighting for the cause, and for even more centuries he will keep fighting no matter the odds.

Cassian had been the only one left standing one too many times—his beliefs hard to kill, his hope harder still. Nesta thought he might like some company.

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