#but she has no patience and leaves him stuck in the air

[rinboking]

I needed more Lili and Raz hanging out so I did it myself

+ Raz being a little shit

#You can't tell me Raz wouldn't do these things #the way he is he could do worse #getting this out of the way #Lizzie having to take care of Raz #but she has no patience and leaves him stuck in the air #psychonauts #psychonauts fanart #psychonauts razputin #razputin aquato #lili zanotto #psychonauts lili #lizzie natividad #Psychonauts lizzie

[melzula]

I JUMPED WHEN I SAW REQUESTS OPEN

zuko unintentionally saying something he doesn’t mean to reader (ex. ur clingy/annoying) and makes the reader like kinda distant cus they don’t wanna be annoying or clingy yk? then he comforts them and says sorry and it’s very much a angst to fluff moment!

a/n: i love this trope

summary: your sudden disappearance makes zuko reevaluate his behavior

The apartment is empty when Zuko returns from the tea shop. His bones ache from standing all day and his mood is sour from having to serve customers, but it doesn’t distract him from the fact that something is missing. The place feels dull and lacks its normal warmth, and the change unnerves him.

“It seems y/n has not yet returned home,” Iroh observes as he flicks on the lamps to rid the room of darkness.

“Where did she go?” Zuko murmurs, doing his best to mask his anxiety over your absence. It’s not like you to stay out late, especially considering your apartment isn’t exactly in one of the safer rings of Ba Sing Se, and it worries him.

“I’m not sure. She seemed to be in a hurry when she left this morning,” the older man recounts as he scans the room to look for any trace of her left behind. “She didn’t even have her morning tea!”

“She could be in danger. I’m going to search for her.”

“Would you like me to come with you?”

“No, one of us should stay here in case she comes back,” Zuko states before making his way out the door. “I don’t want her to come home to any empty apartment.”

“Be sure to watch your temper if you do find her, nephew. Y/n is struggling to adjust to this new life just as you are, and it is important you are patient with her.”

The Prince says nothing in response to his Uncle’s words, but he immediately feels the guilt and shame that they bring him. His warning serves as a reminder for his recent behavior, and Zuko is then able to figure out why you were nowhere to be found.

You’d been eating breakfast together that morning before he had to leave for work, and despite his irritable mood you seemed to be eager to start the day.

“I was thinking of visiting the market place to buy fresh groceries for dinner tonight. Maybe I could stop by the tea shop and bring lunch for you and your Uncle,” you suggested with a pleasant smile.

“Sure,” Zuko had grumbled in response before forcing another spoonful of bland porridge down his throat.

“And after dinner we can visit the fountain,” you had said with an excited smile. “I’d love to take a walk through the city and get some fresh air. We hardly ever leave the apartment.”

“This city is nothing but dirt. There’s nothing to see out there.”

“Oh,” you had murmured, your features deflating slightly at his negative comments. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe we can just stay in and play a game of pai sho instead. I’m not exactly sure how to play, but I bet you could teach me! It could be fun!”

“Don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself speak?!” Zuko had finally snapped harshly, his patience finally having been worn thin by your ceaseless suggestions. He didn’t want to take a stroll or play pai sho or have any sort of fun, and he didn’t understand why you couldn’t get that. “This isn’t some little vacation. I failed to capture the Avatar and now we’re stuck here, do you understand? Go play pai sho with someone else.”

The room had grown deathly silent after Zuko’s outburst, and he was too annoyed to notice the way you kept your gaze glued firmly to the table to avoid him see the welling tears in your eyes. Without another word, you quietly excused yourself from the table and made your way out the door without an explanation or a goodbye. Zuko hadn’t seen you since.

“I’m such a jerk,” he curses himself as he roams the streets in search of you. You’re not in the market place and you’re not by the fountain, so where could you be? He’s beginning to worry, his mind conjuring up multiple scenarios where you’re in trouble and he can’t help you. It’s pure torture.

A familiar laugh floats through the air, and Zuko feels the hairs on his neck stand up at the soothing melody. He’s quick to follow the sound, and as he shoves his way through the crowded streets he finds himself coming to a stop at a small noodle shop. The shop is practically tucked into a corner and isn’t much to look at, but the inside is full of life as patrons eat and converse and enjoy the camaraderie. At the heart of the restaurant sits a table full of people focused on the game of pai sho before them, and at the center of the table you sit with a large grin and a white lotus tile in your hand.

“I can’t believe I won!” You exclaim with an excited clap of your hands before looking to the older woman sitting next to you. “Thank you so much for teaching me how to play. This is the most fun I’ve had in months!”

“Y/n?” Zuko calls, garnering the attention of you and your new friends at the table. The airy laughter and pleasantries die down at the sight of him and the room is suddenly filled with tension.

“Oh, hello, Lee,” you greet dully, your cheerful demeanor immediately disappearing when you make eye contact with the boy.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home?”

“You said to go play pai sho with someone else, so that’s what I’m doing,” you state bluntly, and Zuko looks away guiltily after hearing his own words repeated back to him.

“Can you please just come home? You shouldn’t be out on the streets this late, it’s dangerous.”

“Why do you care?” You retort harshly. “I’m having fun here. These people actually want my company.”

“Y/n,” Zuko says with an irritated sigh, doing his best to remain patient. “Please. If not for me then for Uncle. He’s just as worried for your safety as I am.”

You hesitate at his words, but after a moment of contemplating you finally excuse yourself from the table. You bid your new friends goodbye and promise to return for another game sometime before following Zuko out of the restaurant and beginning your walk back home.

“The moon is out tonight,” he notes quietly in an attempt to make small talk, but you don’t reply. You keep your gaze forward and maintain a respectable distance from him as you walk. “Maybe I was wrong about this place.”

“Congratulations for figuring that out,” you retort sarcastically with a roll of your eyes. Having finally had enough, Zuko grabs your wrist to stop you in your tracks and force you to look at him.

“Y/n, please talk to me,” he begs earnestly. “I feel horrible for what I’ve done.”

“Good, you should feel bad!” You exclaim angrily, harshly yanking your hand away from him. “You’ve been nothing but a jerk since we got to Ba Sing Se, and now that I’m finally giving you the space that you wanted you come and ruin my fun!”

“I don’t want space from you,” he insists desperately. “I was being an idiot! Y/n, I didn’t mean any of what I said. I was just feeling irritable and I took it out on you, but that isn’t fair of me.”

“I’m not going to be your punching bag for the rest of my life, Zuko,” you relent quietly, blinking back the tears that begin to form. “All I want is to start over, but you’re making it so difficult. Why did we even come here?”

“We came here because I realized you deserved better than to constantly live your life on the run,” he admits softly, carefully taking your hands in his own. “I know I’ve failed to make you happy or treat you the way you deserve, but you have to know that I care for you. The best part of my day is coming home to you after work, and I never want you to feel like a burden because you aren’t.”

“Thank you for saying that,” you sniffle with a meek smile, and when he pulls you into his arms for a hug you don’t protest. “I know this has been hard for you, but you have to understand that all I want is to support you and make the change as easy as possible for you.”

“I know, and I’ll forever be grateful for everything you do,” Zuko says before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Now let’s get home before Uncle begins to worry.”

You say nothing more as he puts a protective arm around you and guides you through the streets of Ba Sing Se. The move has been tough, but he swears then that he’s going to do his best to improve his attitude and give you the support you need.

He has a lot of making up to do.

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @lora21 @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

#melzula writes #request #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #atla #atla x reader #atla imagine #avatar the last airbender

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Cherry Pie. aka - Cherry, Part Three.

There are certain things in life that can’t be denied. You’re starting to think maybe you and Steve are one of them.

pairing - bestfriend!steve harrington x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing.

word count - 2.6k

authors note - part three has arrived!! thanks for your patience, angels. thank you for all your continued enthusiasm and support for this series. I love them and I love you <3 as always, please reblog if you enjoyed!! it’s the only way to circulate my fics <3

masterlist. inbox. series masterlist.

“The prettiest girl in the world just walked in.”

“Your mom?”

“Funny, Harrington. Try again.”

“My Cherry?”

Robin smiles knowingly, nodding her head. Not only did Steve automatically associate you with the phrase prettiest girl in the world, but he called you his. Some days, she wished she could slap him square across the face in hopes of waking him up to what everyone else could see so clearly.

“Hi, you two. Working hard, or hardly working?”

You giggle, and the sound bounces off the metal shelves of the Family Video Store. Steve’s mesmerised, stood unmoving with a beaming grin on his face.

“I’m the first, Steve’s the second.”

The boy kicks his coworker in the shin, laughing when she pinches the bare skin of his arm in retaliation.

“Not true.”

Steve takes you in for a second, stuck still in his place. You’re wearing his favourite sundress, all patterned and pretty in front of him. Your lips are glossy and skin glowy, sneakers on your feet a perfect white. The perfect picture of a summer day.

“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, breaking him out of his haze. He snaps back to reality and throws an arm around your shoulders, kissing your temple sweetly.

“I was nearby anyway, thought I’d come in and see if you were busy. And I had to remind Steve to pick a movie for tonight.”

“We’re not watching a romcom.”

“We’re watching a romcom,” you say at the same time as Steve while Robin laughs.

“I better grab the new stock from the back. See you later,” she says, winking at the boy who still has you pulled tight into his side.

He rests his chin on the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your cherry conditioner and vanilla body wash. If Steve gets to heaven, he’s convinced this is what it’ll smell like.

“I finish here at 6, so I can come and get you, or you can wait for me at my place? Your choice, Cherry Baby.”

“I’ll wait for you. I was thinking I’d make us some dinner anyway, ready for when you get home.”

Home. Steve’s brain short circuits, a vision of a domestic life with a white picket fence flashing across his mind. He cups your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Sounds perfect,” he whispers.

You’re a little confused by all this sudden affection, but the last thing you’ll ever do is complain. If he wants to kiss you until you’re dizzy in the middle of this Family Video Store, then so be it.

“I should leave you to get on with stuff.”

“You could stay all day, if you wanted. We could make you wear the uniform and everything - no one would suspect a thing.”

You laugh, nudging his foot with yours.

“As tempting as that is, I have a little more shopping to do. And I have to get ingredients for later.”

You pick up your bag, swinging it over your shoulder as you look at him.

“See you later, Stevie.”

“See you later, Cherry Pie.”

You’re halfway out the door when he calls your name, head whipping around to face him.

“You’re so pretty. You know that, right?”

You look at your shoes, suddenly bashful at his boldness.

“You too, Stevie. Prettiest boy I know.”

You both go about the rest of your days floating on air, high on the giddy sweetness of it all.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Steve almost passes out when he unlocks his front door.

There’s candles lit and music playing softly, the kitchen alive with movement. Something smells delicious, and he can hear you humming along to a song he thinks he recognises as you chop and stir. He can picture it perfectly before he even enters the room, but the sight still knocks him off balance when he finally gets a good look at you.

“Honey, I’m home!”

You spin from your place at the stove to grin at him, petticoat trimmed apron tied around your waist to protect your dress.

“Darling! I’ve been waiting all day for you!”

You curtsy in mock greeting, which makes Steve laugh much harder than it should. He strides over and gathers you in his arms, squeezing you a little tighter than necessary.

“Steven, I saw you a few hours ago. You’re acting like you’ve just returned from war.”

“Forgive me for missing you,” he mumbles into your hair.

You sink into his embrace anyway, tangling your fingers into the back of his shirt and inhaling the familiar scent of it.

“Something smells really good.”

“It’s my famous cherry pie,” you grin, pulling back to look up at him. “Made it just for you.”

“You’re an angel,” he exclaims, spinning you around on the tiled floors. “An angel sent just for me.”

You try to ignore the way heat rises across your chest, his compliments warming your skin.

“Let me take it out of the oven, and then we’ll eat. You must be starving.”

He laughs, because you know for a fact he’s always hungry. You know everything about him. It should scare him, spook him, make him nervous. Instead he hums with the excitement of it, body alive with the anticipation of it all.

Steve changes out of his work clothes as you plate up dinner. He comes back downstairs to see you sat at the table waiting for him, all patient and pretty. He wonders momentarily what he’s done so right in life to be rewarded so greatly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“So you totally brought me a romcom, right?”

Steve wants to deny it, wants to tell you that actually he stood his ground and stuck to his word. Instead, he says,

“Of course I did.”

And you laugh, all silvery and melodic, because you knew he’d cave. He can’t say no to you, even if he wanted to. You don’t use it to your advantage as often as you should. Steve wishes you did a little more.

“I’ll make popcorn if you get the video set up.”

Snacks made and movie ready, you settle in next to Steve on the couch. The two of you always follow the same routine - you sit separately, a fair distance between you, watching the movie with your hands to yourself. Then, slowly, you migrate towards each other, until you’re pressed together without an inch of space to be found.

The same thing happens tonight.

You end up being spooned by Steve, both of you laying across the couch cushions. Your back is pressed to his front, legs tangled together, his arm keeping you bracketed in to him. He’s hooked his chin over your shoulder to watch the TV, pressing kisses into the skin of your neck absentmindedly every now and again.

The film Steve picked is one you’ve seen before, but you’re not about to tell him that. Instead, your eyes slowly slip closed, the steady rhythm of the boys breathing lulling you into a sleepy haze. He traces patterns over the exposed skin of your stomach with his fingertips, chuckling slightly when you flinch as he brushes a ticklish spot.

Your hips roll back into his as you try to adjust your position, and Steve’s breath hitches in his throat. He inhales deeply, waiting for you to settle back down.

You don’t. You keep wriggling, clearly uncomfortable as you sink further into the couch cushions. Steve tries to help you, strong arm pulling you up and into him. You jut your hips once more, and he can’t help the small groan that leaves his lips.

Your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the flashing lights of the TV illuminating the room. The movie is still playing, but you know it’s almost finished. Steve’s arm is tight around your waist, his breathing heavy against your shoulder. You shift your hips to alleviate the pressure on your tangled legs when Steve sucks in a harsh breath, startling you.

He’s warm behind you. So warm. His chest is moving ragged, panting against your bare skin. His fingers grip your thigh tightly for a second, before letting it go and soothing over it.

Oh. Oh.

You’re wide awake, suddenly. Liquid heat spikes its way up your spine, all prickly and electric. You’re not sure what your next move is, but lust is clouding all five of your senses.

“Steve.”

“Cherry.”

“Steve.”

You try to say his name more firmly, but it just comes out as a whine. The sound shoots straight to Steve’s core, his hips bucking into your ass involuntarily.

“You okay?” he mumbles into your ear, grip on your thigh tightening. His fingertips dig into your skin, and you pray you’ll still be able to feel it tomorrow.

“Yeah,” you breathe, but it’s a lie. You’re not okay. You’re on fire, every nerve ending in your body alight with molten heat. You think you might be shaking with it, hoping Steve doesn’t notice.

His hand smooths up from your thigh to just under your breast, resting gently on your ribs. Your heart is fluttering like a hummingbirds wings, frantic and delicate. He can feel it through his fingertips.

“I love you, Cherry Baby.”

You lose your breath momentarily, reminding yourself how to inhale. He always does this, always catches you off guard by telling you he loves you in the moments you expect it the least. It always means more, in times like these. He could have said anything to you just then, but he chose I love you. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry or neither or both.

“I love you too,” you choke out. “So much.”

You grind your hips back into his, grinning when he groans all low and buttery. His hand glides up to cup your chest, squeezing gently as you arch into him.

“What do you want?” he asks slowly. “Tell me what you want, babe. I’ll give you anything. Need to hear you say it. Wanna hear you say the words.”

You let him ramble for a minute, trying to put your thoughts in order. You try as hard as you can, but all you can say is,

“You.”

Steve buries his nose into your hair, pressing a kiss into the space behind your ear gently.

“You’re killing me, baby.”

“Want you so badly, Steve. Please.”

The hand that’s on your chest dances down to your stomach, slipping underneath your sleep shorts. He traces his fingers over your underwear, moaning when he feels them completely soaked through.

“Shit.”

“Stevie.”

He strokes you gently, hips rutting into your back when yours jolt into his hand. Eventually, he pulls your underwear to the side, running his fingers through your wet heat before slipping two inside.

You keen instantly, back arching into him. His lips find home in the juncture between your neck and your shoulder, teeth biting down occasionally to try and stifle his desire. You move your hips in tandem with his rhythm, grinding down to try and find the right spot.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s it. Atta girl. Ride my fingers, sweetheart. Take what you need.”

His voice is like melted honey, all golden and warm. It’s making your bones turn to liquid, sinking further into the hold he still has on you with his other arm. Every inch of you is plastered to every inch of him, not a millimetre of space between you. You’ve never been so connected, both physically and emotionally. It’s like the tectonic plates are shifting, the very foundations of your lives changing right in front of your eyes.

Your chest is heaving, panting like you’ve just ran a marathon. All you can focus on is the white heat building in the pit of your stomach, volcanic and bright. When Steve crooks his fingers, you cry out, tumbling over the edge into a blind freefall with no parachute.

“That’s it, baby. Good girl.”

“You’re so good f’me. Doin’ so well.”

“Ride it out, pretty girl. Fuck.”

“Make a mess, there we go. Just like that.”

You’re not even registering his words, but you know that he’s praising you. He always is. He thinks you’re an angel, sent down from heaven to teach him what love is.

Steve ruts his hips into your back, groaning as he finishes. He can’t even find it in him to be embarrassed. The feeling of you writhing in his hold as you tightened around him was his undoing, whether he wanted it to be or not. He doesn’t mind.

You go boneless, head dropping back into his shoulder. He presses kisses onto your temple, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. You sigh in contentment, and Steve wishes he could bottle up the sound and take it like a shot of espresso every morning.

“You okay?”

You nod and then giggle, dopamine rushing through your blood. You’re almost lightheaded with it, floating on cloud nine.

“Steve?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

You turn in his hold to finally face him, taking in the sight of his flushed cheeks and messy hair. You rest your sweaty forehead against his, panting into his mouth.

“Want it to be you.”

He pulls away slightly to get a good look at your face, eyes a little wide with shock.

“You mean…”

“Yeah. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but if you do, I guess I, um… there’s no one I trust more than you.”

“You know you can only lose your virginity once, baby.”

“I know. Which is exactly why it should be you.”

He grins at you, all giddy and love drunk, bumping your nose with his.

“You’re sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

Steve leans in to press his lips to yours, all slow and tender, kissing you as if you have all the time in the world.

Perhaps you do.

“Not tonight, obviously,” you murmur, chuckling under your breath. “Don’t think you could handle that.”

He scoffs, pulling back from you in disbelief.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just came in your pants and I didn’t even touch you. Who even knows if we’ll make it to actual sex.”

Steve pinches your sides, wrapping his arms around you so you can’t escape. You laugh, trying to squirm out of his hold without luck.

“You’re gonna be eating your words, Cherry Baby.”

You shake your head, blinding smile still etched on your face.

“You know what I am gonna eat? My cherry pie. I’m starving.”

Steve groans at the thought of the dessert sitting on the counter in the kitchen. No one does a cherry pie quite like you.

“Hell yeah. Let’s do it. There’s ice cream in the freezer, too. That vanilla bean one you like.”

You peck his lips before standing up on shaky legs, wincing as you do it.

“You good?”

“I’m gonna need a new shirt. This one’s sticky.”

You look at him with a raised eyebrow and he can’t hold in his laughter, the sound of it booming around the quiet room.

“Shut the fuck up,” he jokes as he throws you over his shoulder. Despite your protests, he carries you up the stairs, smacking your ass a few times on the way for good measure.

When he puts you down, he cradles your face gently, looking into your eyes with sincerity.

“It’s me and you forever. You know that right?”

You know what he’s trying to say. I love you. You’re it for me. There never has been and never will be anyone else.

But neither of you are quite ready for those words. So instead, you say,

“I know. I’ve always known.”

And that’s enough, for now.

@psychicnerdcat @allcheesemelts @valerievortex @swiftsgirlfriend @steviespookie @betweenstarsandsatellites @mrsjoequinn @internallysalad @saucypeanuttt @empathyroad @niceskyler @spookysins @theoraekenslover @7minutes-tomidnight @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @livsters @diffrent-spokes @regular-joe-shmoe @ihatepeanutss

for some reason I didn't tag some people from part one in part two... no idea why. sorry!

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x bestfriend!reader #bestfriend!steve harrington #bestfriend!steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x bestfriend reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fluff

[chaosandmarigolds]

(slowly sets random sting ray plushie I got for my birthday down) Brain-rot. so I present Dad!Simon and Ollie at the aquarium

Simon! Who was currently two weeks deep into babysitting oliver and it being the middle of summer almost everywhere and everything had been exhausted

"Library time with Miss Rue?"

Ollie frowns from his ice cream,- which you would murder simon for if you found out which is why they were both sworn to secrecy, "MIss Rue is jus reeed-ing Peter Bunny again. No want."

"No want." Simon echoed slowly, leaning against the kitchen counter as he tried to think.

"Big mall?" "No..."

"The zipline park?" (A normal park with a little kid zipline)

"No."

"The animals?"

"Nope. Momma said we stinky after animal."

Simon nods again, the local farmer's markets would normally have a little petting zoo- so that had also become a staple. "She did- rightoo laddie. Okay...okay, let Mister Riley think for a minute."

Ollie nods to his babysitters words and takes another hefty bite of the ice cream, "We could....we could see fish? We see fish."

"Fish?"

"We go fish, in-in big pool."

Simon who spent ten finding which aquarium within a fifty mile radius had the best reviews because if he is...might as well make it memorable

Simon who made sure Ollie wore is water proof shoes because...well he just knew the kid was going to jump into the little kiddie water pad the aquarium had

Simon who packed a towel and change of clothes for that exact reason too

Simon who so has baby shark stuck in his head

Simon who once the tickets are purchased is already trying to trick the tyke down, basically playing marco polo

Simon who held up Ollie without a second thought to see the Jelly fish, telling him how he was once stung while he was down in Japan, smiling to the childs laughter

Simon who spends the extra fifteen dollars so Ollie could feed the stingrays, keeping an arm looped around him to keep him stable

Simon who of course notices the looks he's getting from the group of moms, he ignores them though

Simon who tried to politely turn down the one who came up to him, nice woman, seemed kind- yet...she wasn't...you

Simon who had to get more firm and did lie when she wouldn't get the message-

"Listen lady- I could kill ya without even blinking 'n you are really testin my patience so ho' bout you leave me 'n my son alone before i get annoyed?" Just how he assumed it would've gone down the woman became flustered and excused herself, meanwhile, Ollie was still being held in the air to look at the catfish.

Ollie looks to Simon as he then lets out a sigh and adjusts his grip on the boy, "Ister Riley?"

"Yeah, lad?"

"Mommy said killing people isn't nice."

Simon clears this throat, "Mum is real smart like that."

Simon who gets Ollie a plushie and teehsirt

Simon who feels really proud of himself when Ollie is fast asleep for the entire car ride home

(annnnyway thats it<333 any feedback and all that jazz means the world to me!!)

#simon riley imagine #simon riley fanfic #cod x you #simon riley x reader #cod fluff #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #coco's chaos <3 #mw2 ghost #ghost mw2 #dad!ghost #dad simon riley #dad!simon riley #xfem!reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #coco’s pre k universe! <3

[jksprincess10]

Fix it part II

Summary: Din Djarin promised to break more things to bring them to you. After many moons, he comes back - with another woman, and Grogu. You're furious with him, but your patience is eventually rewarded. (3700 words)

CW: two idiots in love, Din is a dumbass, Bo Ka-Tan is kind of mean, fast paced romance, angst, fluff, reader has a nickname related to her work (fix), jealousy, canon divergent, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m), come eating, tummy bulge I guess, fingering, pet names in mando'a, praise kink, squirting, marriage.

Catch up on part 1 here.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

“I will keep breaking things and bringing them to you.”

That’s what he said. Many moons ago. You kept hoping, counting the days since he last came. You knew he was gone to get his redemption. Maybe he had run into some trouble… Or maybe he had found another woman, more worthy of being his wife, elsewhere.

So, you occupied your days. You fixed an old ship that a past costumer left as payment, hoping to make it fly some day. Hoping to go through the galaxy to find Din Djarin. Maybe hope was futile. And maybe you were a hopeless romantic. But you thought he truly liked you.

You were stuck in your daydreaming when the bell announced someone coming into your workshop. You had expanded it since the last time, business was booming, and you could now park a full ship in it. You came out from under the ship you were fixing up, your exposed skin dirtied by grease and various substances. You wiped your soiled hands on your apron, leaving a trace of grease on it, before looking up to see who had come by. There was a woman with short red hair and a square jaw. She wore Mandalorian armor.

The woman gave you a disgusted look and you were going to greet her rudely when you heard the familiar heavy steps of your Mandalorian. Your chest tightened. Was this his new woman?

“Fix, I hope we’re not bothering you.” He said as he looked around. “I see you extended your workshop. It’s nice.”

There was a third person, little steps behind him, and you looked down to see Grogu. You gave him a smile and approached Mando, totally ignoring the woman with him.

“Always have time for my favorite client.” You looked up at him, clearly remembering the pretty brown eyes and the beautiful face under the helmet.

The red-headed woman sighed loudly. “If you’re done flirting, I need you to fix my jetpack. Can you do it?”

“Of course, she can.” Cut Din. “You can, right?” He added quietly.

“I’m rebuilding this whole ship, so I don’t think a jetpack is a tall order for me.” You took the object from the woman’s hands, a bit roughly. “Do you have anything to pay, ma’am?” You asked through gritted teeth.

She handed you a small bag of credits, that you grabbed.

“This will do. Now, I don’t really like having strangers around when I work.”

“Lady Kryze, why don’t you watch the ship for me?” Din asked, and you’re thankful that he did.

“Of course. Please don’t take too long.” With that, she was gone, and you finally felt like you could breathe again.

You dropped the jetpack on your worktable while Grogu stood curiously next to you. You took the little creature in your arms and put him on a stool next to you, so he could watch.

“You seem tense.” Noticed Din in an awkward tone.

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to come by after many moons with another woman.” You said as you opened the jetpack. You noticed that a few parts were burnt. You turned around to look at Din.

“It’s not what you think.” The Mandalorian rushed to say, gloved hands up in the air as defense.

“Yeah, so what is it then, Din?” You asked, your fists against your hips to restrain yourself from punching him.

“Just a friend, whom I’m helping. And who helped me redeem myself.”

“Ah, so it is done, then. I’m glad I had news from you.” You responded sarcastically.

Grogu let out a worried coo, like he was witnessing his parents fighting.

“Listen, it’s not that I didn’t want to…”

You turned around abruptly to examine the parts you would need, purposefully ignoring Din. Nothing you had on hand. “I can’t fix it right now, I’m afraid I will need some replacement parts.” You changed the subject.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you.”

“Yeah, and you’ll come back after how many cycles, Din? How long will I have to wait for you?” You hated that your voice cracked when you were upset. You heard him come closer, and you felt his gloved hands on your shoulders. The leather felt heavy against the soft fabric of your work clothes.

The Mandalorian hated seeing you heartbroken because of him. He didn’t know what to say and wasn’t good at all with feelings. He just knew he should have stayed with you.

You felt your body fall in his embrace, his arms tightening around your shoulders to keep you close. You felt the heaviness of his helmet resting against your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, mesh’la. Please, come with us. I promise I won’t leave you anymore.” The modulated voice was shaky.

You turned around in his embrace and pressed your palms against the lines of his helmet where his cheeks would be. You could almost see his eyes. Well, you imagined them.

“I’ll come with you and fix your friend’s jetpack and then what…?”

“Then, we will do whatever you want.”

“I thought you wanted to reclaim Mandalore…” The rough pad of his gloved fingers wiped the tears away from your eyes. You almost forgot Grogu’s presence, until he made a sound that you could only attribute to sadness.

“I can’t do it if that means staying away from you and breaking your heart.”

You were going to respond when you heard the bell from the door. You stepped away from Mando and you observed the woman in Mandalorian armor, visibly impatient.

“So, can you fix it?” She asked in an annoyed tone.

“I’m afraid I’m missing some pieces. I have a contact on Tatooine who deals with a lot of recycled Mandalorian armor parts. He comes by once every cycle maybe… but it would be faster for me to get to him. He will be able to help us.”

“Fine, get your things and let’s go.”

You didn’t like being bossed around, but you stayed silent. They waited for you outside with the child as you gathered the essentials for a short trip, and you changed out of your dirty work clothes. You put your pack on your shoulders and went outside to follow Din and the woman.

The silence in the ship was heavy and awkward. So much so that you disappeared in the back of the ship to play with the baby. The woman – Bo Ka-tan – made you feel uneasy and unwelcomed. You wished you were only with Din in this moment.

“Are you hungry, mesh’la?”

You lifted your chin to admire your Mandalorian standing over you, his towering and intimidating stature turning you on more than anything. Maker, if you two were alone in that exact moment…

“Not really. I think I’ll just rest, but I can feed Grogu if you need me to.”

“I’ll take care of him.”

“Where… do I sleep?”

“Take my cot.  We have two. I won’t go to sleep in a while.”

You nodded and you gave Grogu back to Din, who soothed him delicately in his arms. Din leaned down and bumped his head slightly against yours, which you could only interpret as a kiss.

The cot was a tight space and once the door of the minuscule room was shut, it was plunged in deep darkness, which made it easy for you to fall asleep. You woke up only when you heard the door slide open and felt the weight of a body next to yours.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, sorry.” Apologized Din when he heard you moving around.

“S’okay.” You slurred, half asleep.

It was so dark; you couldn’t even see his silhouette. You could just feel it. Your hands felt around the minuscule bed until you found the strong shape of his body. Instead of being met with cold beskar, your fingers felt the warmth of his skin. You traced his bicep until you found his neck, then his cheek. It was still scruffy, like you remembered, his unkept beard still on his chin and lower cheeks. You heard him chuckle slightly as he threw an arm around you to bring you close.

“You’re trying to rediscover my body, mesh’la?”

“Yes. I missed it. I missed you.”

“I promise we’ll get married, and you’ll be able to see my face every day.”

“You make a lot of promises.” You whispered back, before bringing his face closer to yours. Your noses bumped together, and you finally found his lips. You abandoned yourself fully to the mercy of his mouth, letting him guide you in softness and lustfulness. “Please don’t tell me you’ll marry me only because you like having sex with me.” You said playfully against his lips.

“I genuinely love you, mesh’la. Don’t want to stay away from you anymore.”  And you believed him.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum (I love you).”

“You’re learning mando’a? We’ll work on your pronunciation.”

“Well, I had to occupy myself in one way.” You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see you.

“You’re so special, Fix.”

You rolled over so your body was on him, your thighs straddling his waist. You already felt his arousal through the thin layers of fabric you both wore. You rolled your hips slightly against him. You heard him sigh, and you could imagine him lips parted, head relaxed against the hard pillow.

“What do you want, Din?”

“Whatever you think I deserve after leaving you for so long.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” You whispered as you lowered your upper body so you could kiss his jaw with rough hair growing there, his strong jaw, his thick neck. You sucked lightly on the skin there, imagining red staining the gold of his skin.  His hands held your lower back, and you heard him sigh again. You missed how vocal Din was when you were alone, but it would be for another time. Your lips traced his chest, following an invisible line until you met with his groin. You used both of your hands to take off his underwear. Your fingers wrapped around his girth, lowering his foreskin so you could kitten-lick his leaking tip. You heard him whimper softly, and you took this as an encouragement as you closed your lips around the head, hollowing your cheeks to put more pressure and suction. When you got tired of teasing, you lowered your head, taking more of his cock in your mouth, until your own hand stopped you. Your hand wrapped at the bottom of his girth slid up and down as you sucked the rest in your mouth.

“Kriff… you’re so good at this.”

You sucked a few times, before taking him out of your mouth, licking his length before you said. “I know.”

 His hands closed around your jaw so he could pull you up and kiss you. You undressed yourself, barely breaking the kiss. Din switched your positions, his large body a shadow in your vision. Din’s lips latched onto every parcel of skin he could find, until they wrapped around one of your nipples, making it hard as he popped it out of his mouth. He gave your other one a similar treatment as you writhed under him, keeping your mouth closed to keep any sound from coming out.

“You’ll have to be very quiet.”

“I know.”

You felt his fingers spreading your lower lips, as he used the tip of his tongue to find your clit. You bit your lip as you squirmed under him. You were so wet, it was ridiculous. But after all those nights of touching yourself and thinking about him, he was finally yours again. As he sucked on your small bud of pleasure, one of his thick digits entered your slicked walls.

“You’re so wet, I could just put all of my fingers in.”

You let out a noise between a moan and a struggled squeal.

“You’d like that?” He whispered, hot air hitting your wet core.

“Stars, Din, get to it. I want you inside. Please.”

Din chuckled darkly as he entered a second finger. He started moving them at a fast pace he knew would make you see stars. You were trying to be quiet, but the tiny room was filled with your obscene wet sounds already. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on to him as you felt your orgasm hit you.

“Please. Please fuck me, Din.” You asked desperately.

His fingers left you empty, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he entered your walls slowly, stretching you deliciously.

“You’re so tight, mesh’la.”

Your feet pushed against him so he could enter you deeper and deeper. Once entered to the hilt, he started snapping his hips back and forth, setting a slow, but powerful pace. You hid your head in his neck, letting your moans echo against his warm skin.

“Faster, please.”

His upper body left you, and you felt him grab your thighs to secure you as he fucked you harder, using you like you were his personal sex toy. Your upper body was limp, moving in waves with his harsh thrusts. When a moan escaped your lips, he stopped moving.

“Told you to be quiet.”

“I’m sorry Din, please don’t stop…”

You felt him leaving you empty and craving. You wanted to cry. But before any tears rolled down your cheeks, he laid beside you and turned you to the side, one of his strong arms over your body and his palm resting over your mouth. He shushed you, his free hand resting on your hip as he slipped back inside. The angle made him feel somehow even deeper, and you knew he could feel how tightly you were choking his cock. You bit on his palm to muffle a cry, but he did not protest. You could hurt him as much as you wanted in return.

“There. My good girl.” He whispered.

He fucked you deep and slow, the hand on your hip coming down to your mound, two of his thick digits circling your clit as the rest of his giant palm put pressure on your lower stomach. You could almost feel him there, he was so big.

“Give me another one, mesh’la.”

White stars replaced the darkness in your vision as you exploded around him, spasming and trashing as an intense orgasm took over you. It felt like you wanted to pee, and come at the same time. But it felt so good.

“K-Kriff…” Din cursed under his breath. “You’re making a mess.” Drunk on you, he followed closely, erupting between your walls. “Stars, come here.” Before you could protest, the man pulled away and brought your hips close to his face, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs and forcing you to sit on his mouth.

Flustered, you stuttered: “D-Din…”

He licked the mixture of your juices off your sweet pussy, making obscene slurping sounds. His hold on you was so strong, but you tried to pull away. “T-Too much…”

“Sorry.” He let you lay down against his chest, and you pressed your lips against his. He let you taste the potion you both made on his tongue.

Once arrived on the planet with a desertic landscape, you met with your contact, Jafan Typho. A man with a white beard, and kind, wise eyes, who lived in a garage-like house filled to the brim with junk.

You gave him a written list of what you needed as he eyed wearily the two imposing people with you (and the green little thing).

"Who are these... friends?" The man asked.

“I’m her future husband, this is my son, Grogu, and this is Lady Kryze of Mandalore.”

You almost choked on air at Din’s words, and you stared at him. You imagined his amused, teasing grin.

“I see.” Jafan responded. “Stay here while I get what you need.”

Bo Ka-Tan sighed, annoyed. She clearly was excited for this trip to end.

“What is our plan after this?” She asked as an attempt to make a conversation with you and Din.

“We go back to my planet so I can fix your jetpack. I’m thinking it won’t take me more than a day… Then… you’re free to do whatever you want.” You shrugged.

“Then, I will go back to Mandalore with our friends on Nevarro. You’re free to follow, or not.”

Din looked at you expectantly, but you looked away. All that you knew was always on Nevarro. Leaving… would mean leaving a part of your family legacy behind.

“I’ll think about it.” You said with a smile. You felt Din’s gloved hand grab yours, and you enlaced your fingers.

Jafan came back with a few pieces in hands. “There. Will you still be there when I go back to Nevarro, Fix?”

“I… don’t know.” You admitted. You exchanged the parts for a generous pile of credits. “But feel free to come by.”

“Okay.” The old man shook your hand, and you all thanked him silently as you went back to the ship, Grogu waddling behind you.

“You really are doing this backwards.” You let out as you’re crowded in the small space of the ship’s washer with Din.

“What... Do you mean?” He asked, distracted by your hands on his naked, tattooed chest. He put his hands on yours and looked at you with those adorable puppy brown eyes. You could see glimpses of him in the dark, and even though he called himself your future husband, he insisted on keeping the lights closed.

“You haven’t even asked me to marry you officially, and you’re already calling yourself my future husband.”

“Okay, then.” Din rolled his eyes playfully and pulled you closer. “Be my riduur. Please.”

“Finally. Yes.” You squealed and kissed him, long and slow.  “For someone so traditional… one would think that you would do things in order.”

“Maybe I lost my brain somewhere while I traveled.”

“I know where you put your brain.” You kissed his jaw, his throat, as you went down slowly on his body, your hands following the sharp lines of his muscles.

“Yeah?”

Once on your knees, you kissed the tip of his cock with a sly smile.

You wiped the sweat off your brow as you finished fixing the jetpack. You tested a few buttons and satisfied, you brought it to Bo Ka-Tan, who sat silently in your workshop, while Din was away, making arrangements for your union.

“You know I do not care for Din Djarin in that way, right?” She asked after clearing her throat.

“I would not blame you. He’s an attractive man.” You put the jetpack in her hands. She looked at it attentively, it seemed like new.

“I do not think of men that way.”

“…Oh. I apologize for making assumptions.”

“You’re fine. Thank you for the quick repair.”

“You’re welcome.”

You thought you hallucinated when you saw a smile on Bo Ka-Tan’s lips, but you were perfectly sane.

There was a small crowd of Mandalorians in various types of armors amassed in the covert. You were wearing a light dress, and not the conventional attire. Din was in full armor, beskar shining under the low lights. Bo smiled encouragingly at you, as you exchanged vows in Mando’a, repeating after the armorer. Your pronunciation was not perfect, which made you chuckle nervously. But Din held your hand and encouraged you. As he repeated the vows back to you, the deep rumble of his modulated voice gave you shivers.

You laid your head against his helmet in an intimate gesture, even though you couldn’t wait to tear off the helmet from his head.

After a celebration, you brought Din back to the apartment on top of your workshop, thankful of the other mandalorians taking care of Grogu for the night. The sun was almost setting, but you could see his golden skin in the sunlight. It felt even more special now that you were his.

“This couldn’t end any quicker.” You said, breathless, between languorous kisses. You almost tore off each other’s clothes, and you stopped for a few seconds to admire Din’s face in the sunlight after you took off his helmet. “There. My handsome man. I missed your face so much.” You cradled his scruffy jaw between your hands, and you kissed his pouty lips again and again, until he groaned in annoyance and pushed you on your bed.

“You will see this face so much; you’ll grow tired of it.” Your riduur settled between your hips, legs over his broad shoulders as he leaned down to kiss the sensitive skin of your thighs.

“I doubt it.” Your fingers settled in his curls, and you pushed him closer to where you truly wanted him. His nose brushed over your mound, then he spread your lips to gain an easier access, before drowning into you. He lapped and sucked messily at every piece of skin he could access, his head moving to the side as he ate you out with his whole body. “K-Kriff, Din…”

He whispered your name against your wetness, like a quiet prayer, before latching his lips onto your clit, alternating with sucking, and leaving quick licks. “Taste so good, mesh’la…” He said when he came back for air, after diving in again, like a man starved.

Your back arched, your hips bucking uncontrollably against his face as he kept going. His soft, brown eyes were on your face as he watched you coming undone, again and again, until overstimulation. You pulled on his hair and asked him to stop in a tired voice. His lips moved slowly up your body, stopping sometimes to latch onto a parcel of skin or a nipple. 

“Can I make love to you, my riduur?” He asked reverently, and you never wanted him to call you something else again.

“Yes.”

Din slicked his cock with your juices, before diving his tip slowly into your hole.  You held his gaze, wanting to engrave somewhere in your memory this particular moment.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum (I love you).” He said as he bottomed, his hips flush with yours.

You barely had time to respond, before he started thrusting in and out of you at a slow pace, like you both now had the whole time in the universe.

“Where do we go after this?” Din asked as he stilled to look at the remainings of the sunset reflecting on your skin.

“I will follow wherever you go, Din Djarin. So we’re never apart again.”

His fingers laced with yours as he felt happiness so overwhelming he could not bear it. A soft kiss. Another promise. And you would fly wherever he was needed.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x yn #din djarin x you #mandalorian #mandalorian smut #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x yn #mandalorian x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut

[wiliowisp]

Heatwave ❦

Word Count ➻ 2.5k

Pairings ➻ Sebastian Sallow x fem!MC

Warnings ➻ NSFW 18+ ONLY

Tags ➻ third person POV, smut, face-sitting, giving head, penetration, sub!sebastian, aged up characters, married characters

A/N ➻ every day i fight for my place in heaven. this is the first smut ive ever written in my many adult years of life and also possibly the easiest thing ive written. funny that. hopefully u wonderful, sinful lot will enjoy <3

୧ send me prompts! i may write them! ୨

Summary:

A heatwave has descended upon Sebastian and MC's happily married life. The warmth unties the strings of restraint and allows, often hidden, layers to be peeled away...

The heat of the August sun bore through the windows of their home like thick honey, making everything stick. She sat at the table, hands melting into the wood, a cup of water sweating in front of her. England had not known heat like this in years; the Daily Prophet had warned of winds carrying hot air from Africa but she didn’t think that it would swell the atmosphere the way it had.

Over the last few days, she had steadily reduced the layers of clothing that she normally donned. The corset went first; stuffy, abysmal thing. Then the petticoat, three layers under a skirt was simply too much. The chemise got traded out for the more contemporary brassiere, a thin lacy thing that was all but transparent under the sheen of sweat that she’d been drenched in these past few days. Her skirts got shorter and her patience thinner. She wanted to wring herself out like a towel.

Luckily, the only person who had seen her in such a state of impropriety was her husband and school sweetheart, Sebastian Sallow. They had been confined to their remote cottage in the highlands, sweating their souls away as the sun reaped across the country. Sebastian wasn’t bothered by her state of undress, they’d been married for almost five years and together for much longer—he had seen her in much more vulnerable states.

However, she had noticed his growing restlessness of late. They scarcely touched due to the heat; where they would usually be wrapped around each other in bed, they erected a boundary in the centre of it, loathe to touch each other’s skin and boil in the scorching nighttime fever. Now, she had developed a bronze tint to her skin, all the way down to her legs, her face flush with a sunny glow. Sebastian’s eyes had noticed this. He had noticed the layers slowly peel away, and the way the fabric stuck to her flesh, lathed along it like a tongue. 

The tension was thick in the air like rope. Sebastian did nothing to pursue her though, either by the heat sapping him of his virility or simply some form of chivalry. The rope tightened.

She had noticed him too of course—that was her husband after all. He was shirtless most days, a tan settling into his chest like varnish on a prized painting. His freckles darkened, set alight like sparks on his skin, the tone he had built from his career as a curse-breaker brought out in the daylight. A god cut in the stone.

When he entered the room, then, clad in a white cotton shirt, she was almost disappointed. He strode over to the sink, pouring himself his own water, and chugging it. His throat bobbed, adam’s apple prominent as the liquid ran down his chin and neck.

“I don’t think I can take another day of this,” he gasped.

“It’s not supposed to last much longer—we can go for another swim in the lake today?” she offered.

Sebastian took his wife in, his eyes dragging across her sweat-slick collarbones and jaw. “Maybe.”

The rope tightened. 

He put down his glass and the sound seemed to shake the foundations. His eyes did not leave her. After what seemed like a fraught but quick internal battle, he stepped over to her, hand sliding along her shoulders. His fingers slipped the shoulder off her loose blouse, revealing more of her glowing skin. His breath stuttered. Then, Sebastian leant over, ghosting his lips over her clavicle, tasting salt on the tongue, as he kissed a trail up to her throat.

“You don’t know…how difficult it has been,” he whispered, “to keep my hands off you.”

She tilted her head, offering her neck to him, as his kisses got sloppier, more desperate. He used his hand to force her eyes upon him and she knew that look instantly.

It’s not often Sebastian gets like this. Sex usually had him taking the lead, it was hot, heady and banal—as she liked it. Sometimes, though, Sebastian would get this glazed look in his eyes, when his desperation had mounted to a point he no longer knew what to do with himself. Most times, he was a half-full cup, the empty half allowed him some sense and reason, and he was able to control his desires. When left too long, his cup became full, there was no room for anything else except wild, desperate want. 

Right now, that need was etched into his expression. Sebastian’s eyebrows were pinched in a silent plea and his eyes were glassy; once he had started he no longer knew how to contain the water in his cup. The heedless want that pulsed through his senses until all they could perceive was her.

She maintained her composure. There was a delicacy to moments like these.

“Why is that?”

A frantic half-whine escaped his throat. “Because—because you’ve been practically naked in front of me all week and I—Merlin it’s so hot,” he was exasperated and whiny, and words failed him at times like these. Which made it all the more fun.

“What do you want, love?”

Sebastian’s eyes flickered between hers, he swallowed dryly. “So many things.”

His wife rose from her chair, levelling herself against him, bringing their faces closer. It’s not often Sebastian gets like this. But it’s so fun when he does.

She slipped her fingers under his shirt, running them up his flushed skin and around his waist. She pulled him closer, pressing his front to hers. He bit back a moan as the pressure met his hardening cock.

“Use your words, Seb,” she goaded, breath dancing across his cheeks.

He swallowed around nothing again. “I want your mouth on me.”

She surged forward, capturing his lips between hers. He responded immediately, an airy groan leaving his teeth as he gripped her hips and parted his mouth. She slid her tongue along the inseam of his lips, teasing him. Sebastian backed her into the table, arching her back slightly as he devoured her lips. Hunger stalked his every movement, his hips rutting into hers mindlessly as his hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head so he could kiss her more deeply, lose himself more entirely.

She pushed him away. “You wanted my mouth there?” she asked innocently.

He tried to kiss her again, but she dodged. He tried again. She dodged. Sebastian’s head slumped into her shoulder.

“Please,” he whined.

“Please, what?”

“Please put your mouth on my cock,” he begged her, pressing more wet kisses into her collarbone.

His wife grinned, trying to bite back the smile and regain composure. “Maybe,” she mused, “come with me.”

Sebastian was led easily, trailing behind her like a puppy in a way that warmed her abdomen. The heat persisted, whilst the sweat had her baby hairs sticking to her hairline, as well as Sebastian’s chestnut curls going slick around his ears. But a new fever had started to pool low in her gut, one that begged for satiation.

Now in the bedroom, she wasted no time ridding Sebastian of his shirt, peeling it off him as it clung to the perspiration. He kept trying to kiss her as she did so, which she swatted away while he petulantly whined. To shut him up, she ducked and licked a stripe up one of his nipples.

“Aah—!”

Then she licked the moan right out of his mouth. They kissed sloppily once more, Sebastian’s hunger disarming him of any prowess as his hands roved desperately over her clothed figure. When he was like this, Sebastian became putty in her hands. Despite her smaller stature, she manoeuvred them to the bed, separating their lips with a wet sound and pushing him onto his back. 

He fixed his gaze on her. Leveraging his raptured attention, she reached under her skirt and slipped out of her underwear, watching as his eyes followed the lacy material when she dropped it to the floor. He was panting. 

She climbed atop him, kissing him once more, before levelling her gaze with his. “First, you’re going to use your mouth on me, then maybe we’ll see about you.”

Sebastian readily nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yes, yes please,” he panted.

His wife smiled, something softer, fonder, before her expression settled back into her role. She shuffled up his body, Sebastian’s hands already greedily grabbing the meat of her thighs from under her skirt, dragging her towards his eager mouth.

Before even settling, he began, dragging a long stroke of his tongue across her cunt, a throaty moan leaving him as he tastes the sweetness coming out of her core. Like sugar. Sebastian forcefully urged her to settle more of her weight on him, wanting to feel her pressing against his nose. The last vestiges of sense in him commented how dying like this would probably be the best way to go ever. His wife sat, with a strangled moan, as his mouth sucked around the bundle of nerves that set her alight.

Obscene, wet sounds filled the room as Sebastian ate her like a man starved, coupled with the mingled moans of himself and his wife, her hips rocking back and forth against his tongue. The pool in her abdomen had now grown into a tidal wave that surged, pulsed. It’s crest rearing.

“Oh, fuck Sebastian,” she purred.

Spurred by his wife’s pleasure, Sebastian reached a hand towards his throbbing cock, palming it through his trousers, unable to help himself.

“You’re doing so good,” she rasped, “love, keep going.”

Sebastian rubbed the tip of his tongue against that sweet spot in tandem with the movements of his hand, shameful whines leaving his throat. His wife keened, her lithe body arching, head thrown back, a guttural moan leaving her throat as she came. Sebastian moaned in tandem, running the flat of his tongue across the seam of her cunt, feeling her pulse around him.

She panted—breath leaving her lungs like sap—and rolled off of her husband.

“C’mere,” she breathed.

Sebastian obeyed. She took his mouth into hers, eagerly licking the remains of her pleasure from him, savouring the wet slide of their lips. He was all but inconsolable at this point, wet patch at the front of his trousers, dick still painfully hard in its confines.

“Please,” he mewled, devouring the air of his lover.

She obliged him, taking charge once more, crawling over his supine body to suck bruises into his neck. Sebastian clutched her, a whimpering mess at the victim of his wife’s whims. Slowly, her mouth carved a path down his body, leaving wet kisses over his chest and nipples, before following the trail of hair at his sternum.

She undid the buttons on his trousers, shucking them over his waist and taking his cock in hand. Sebastian breathed heavily, watching her with undivided focus. She opened her mouth, sliding her tongue up the length of him, to his wet tip. Sebastian’s head thumped back onto the bed, a wanton moan escaping his throat. She licked him a few times more, savouring the salty taste of his skin, before swallowing him.

Sebastian’s hands flew to her scalp, gripping her hair, urging her mouth deeper. She began slow, tantalisingly dragging her mouth up and down his length, before bobbing in earnest. Sebastian’s resolve fissured as his hips met her movements, thrusting into the heat of her mouth. Stuttered whimpers left him, punctuating the movement of his hips. His throat was dry from the heat and how his pleasure worked his voice raw but in the wet cavern of his wife’s mouth he found it difficult to care.

His climax reared, any stamina drained from him after the restraint he displayed the past days, now completely abandoned.

“Ah, love—so good—m’ gonna—”

Before he could even utter the words, his wife pulled off his cock with a wet pop. Sebastian’s brows furrowed.

Quickly, she began pulling her sweat-soaked blouse from her body. Sebastian got the idea. He sat up, helping her out of her clothes. They kissed desperately in-between, his wife’s inhibitions being held together by a thread, as she hastily undressed.

Now naked, Sebastian couldn’t help but admire her, his own lust shelved momentarily while he worshipped the divine figure he was somehow married to.

“You’ll have time for that later, love,” she teased, “now sit back against the pillows.”

He situated himself at the head of the bed, cock wet and red against his stomach. His wife climbed atop him, hovering over his length. She took him in hand, lining them up, before sinking down.

They moaned in tandem, his hands gripping her waist like a lifeline while he fought off his climax right there and then.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she breathed.

Sebastian replied with a broken moan, the tight heat of his lover distracting him from all sensations other than that rapture. Then she started moving.

Slow tentative rolls of her hips that undid Sebastian like a bow. He groaned, latching his mouth to her throat and leaving searing bruises. His wife clutched his head to her, her pace on his cock increasing with each roll. He wanted his hands everywhere. He wanted his mouth everywhere. Having to settle for the bud of her nipple, causing his lover to cry out in pleasure.

He started rutting his hips back into her, chasing the crest of pleasure he’d denied himself for so long. Losing all sense, losing all reason. 

“Please—ah—please, I’m so close,” he keened.

His wife only increased her pace, all but bouncing on his length, torturing him divinely. More staccato whimpers left his abused throat, not caring how undignified he sounded. He was so close.

Sebastian sealed their lips, stiffened, and came. His release pulsed out of him, come seeping into his wife’s core as he groaned into her mouth. His dick throbbed, climax milking all his frustration dry, letting it drain him. When their mouths separated, he pulled her onto his chest and panted.

They remained like that for some time, his softening member seated inside her while they regained their breath. She placed a kiss on his chest and carefully pulled him out, before rolling next to him.

Finally able to think, Sebastian took in the sight of his wife, haloed in post-coital bliss. Sweat coated every inch of her skin, making her shine under the daylight. He reached a hand out to stroke across her cheek, his fingers coming away sticky.

“Better?” she asked.

“Better.”

A thunderclap broke their reverie. They turned to the window, finding the scene beyond submerged in a grey cloak. His wife crawled off the bed and stalked to the window, he got up to follow. Sure enough, as they peered through the threshold, a thick cover of rain descended over the highlands, coating everything in a petrichor hush.

“Well, would you look at that,” Sebastian remarked, “I think we broke the heatwave.”

She giggled, a sound like birdsong, and overcome with affection he bent down and kissed her by the open window, the cool air caressing their hot skin. 

“I think we did.”

#i want people to know i had the lords prayer typed out at the top of my doc whilst i was writing this #willow writes #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut

[middleearthpixie]

Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-Three

A/N: I apologize that it's taken me four months to update this, but between school and trying to figure out just how to work Sophie facing off with her husband, well... it's been a time. But, if you've stuck it out, thanks so much for your patience!

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all. 

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle. 

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…  

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm 

Warnings: None 

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3k

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@night-ace

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Previous chapters can be found here.

As she neared Erebor’s main gates, Sophie’s heart sped up. The sentry smiled down at her. “Morning, Mrs. Asharm. Off to Dale?”

“I am, yes.”

“Just let me send word to Dwalin. His Majesty has let it be known he does not wish you to be traveling to Dale unaccompanied.”

Her gut twisted sharply and sent a sour taste into her mouth, one she swallowed hard against. “He—he has?”

He nodded. “Aye. He said it’s not safe and that if you must leave, you are to go with Dwalin.”

“Oh, but I’m sure he has far more important things to do than to keep watch over me.”

“Be that as it may, Mrs. Asharm, I have to fetch him. His Majesty was very clear in his instructions.” 

Impatience seared her insides, but she tamped them down as she peered over her shoulder. No sign of Thorin yet. “Very well. But, please hurry. I’d planned on doing a bit of Yule shopping for His Majesty and I want him to be surprised.”

“It won’t take but a minute or two.” He smiled as he started past her. “I’ll be back as soon as I find him.”

“If you insist.” 

He didn't reply, but made his way down the corridor toward the Great Hall and as soon as he rounded the corner, she turned and made haste to slip through the door and out into the wintry air. 

Dale was busier than normal, as the Yule holiday was only a week out and more than once, Thorin found himself being knocked off to the side by an impatient man or woman, who then offered up an automatic, “I beg your pardon.”

He paid little heed to those he passed as he hurried along the walkways toward Stone Street. He wanted to find Jora as well as Sten. He had a score to settle with both of them.

A hint of snow hung in the air once more, the breeze crisp and cold as it stung his cheeks. He ignored it at he neared Lucy’s. From there, he walked to the end of the street, and turned toward the alley Jora had taken them down. His heart beat faster as he drew near the door with the peeling black paint. Asharm was not taking him by surprise this time, so Thorin carefully drew the Orcrist and moved closer to the building itself, close enough that he felt the cold of the stone through his leather and fur overcoat. 

At the door with the peeling paint, he paused, drew a deep breath, then grabbed hold of the handle, although he didn’t expect it to actually be unlocked.

But to his surprise, the door wasn't locked and instead swung open with only a soft whine of somewhat rusted hinges, which immediately put him on his guard. He carefully stepped over the splintering threshold, into the dingy main room. The air felt stale and cold, the room giving off an absolutely abandoned feeling.

Still, the hair along the back of Thorin’s neck prickled and stood up, which made him even more aware of his surroundings. He held the Orcrist at the ready, carefully moving along the room’s perimeter toward the kitchen. 

It was empty—no dishes in the drainer, not even a drop of water in the sink basin. There was no sign of life at all anywhere in the flat. If it weren’t for the fact that he still sported a small lump just above his temple and the healing cut above his eye, he’d swear he’d imagined what happened the previous night. 

“Wherever Asharm is,” Thorin muttered, “he’s not here.”

“Thorin?”

He jumped, jerking the blade clear as he spun about to see Dwalin in the doorway. “Are you trying to make my heart stop?”

“Sorry,” Dwalin pushed the door wider and stepped over the doorsill. “Is Mrs. Asharm with you?”

“No.” Thorin shook his head as he slid the Orcrist back into its scabbard. “She’s still in Erebor.”

“No, she isn’t.”

“What?” He looked up to meet Dwalin’s worried expression. “Of course she is. Where else would she be? I left clear instructions with Lon that she was not to leave Erebor unless she was accompanied by you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. She wanted to confront Asharm and I told her we do so together. But, instead, I decided to keep her safe and in Erebor.”

“So, you lied to her.”

“Do not look at me that way. I would have to be mad to let her come with me, to let her get anywhere near Asharm, and if that means telling a harmless lie, I’ve no qualms about doing so.”

“She’s not in Erebor, Thorin. Lon did as you told him and came to get me and when we got back to the front gates, there was no sigh of Mrs. Asharm.”

“Did you check her apartments?”

“Thorin, she left. She was no where to be found.”

“Did you look—”

“She isn’t there.”

A sour taste flooded his mouth as his heart splashed into his stomach. Had she done to him what he’d done to her and set out to find Asharm on her own? 

His initial reaction was anger, but then fear replaced it. Was that why Asharm’s flat was vacant? Had Sophie already found him, and had he done something to her? 

“So, where are they?”

Thorin moved to the single window along the south wall. There the alleyway opened to a wider road whose name he did not know, and beyond it, was the Long Lake and then Esgaroth. “Take a guess,” he replied softly, squinting through the snowflakes sifting this way and that at the new structures on the bulkheads and docks that made up Esgaroth’s foundation.

“I hope you will take no offense, Thorin,” Dwalin growled in a way that made Thorin fairly certain he would absolutely take full offense at what he was about to say, “but I thought she had more sense than this.”

“We don't know that she confronted him,” Thorin replied softly. 

“She snuck out of Erebor after already planning on confronting him with you, Thorin. Only a fool would think she did not take it into her head to do it alone.”

He continued to stare at Esgaroth as if he’d somehow be able to see where she was and that way know she wasn't in too much danger.

But that was foolish. Of course she was in danger. And he had no idea where to begin searching for her. Esgaroth wasn’t exactly a big city, such as Erebor was, but it was big enough that searching for someone could be a nightmare. And that it was still under construction meant it was also a bit of a dangerous nightmare.

However, all was not lost because he knew where to begin after all. “We need to pay Bard a visit. I think he might have an idea of where we can look for both Asharm and Sophie.”

“And when we find her?”

“Don’t you worry about that.” 

Snow fell to create a near white-out as they hurried back toward the center of Dale and the Provincial House. Snow covered the streets, the walkways, and roofs and showed no signs of stopping as it settled in Thorin’s hair and beard and on his shoulders as well. He shook it off as they mounted the steps to the Provincial House and he rapped firmly on the door.

It opened with a squeak and he found himself eye to eye with Sigrid, Bard’s eldest daughter, who narrowed her dark eyes at him. “What do you want?”

He smiled, quite used to her blatant hostility toward him. He had the feeling she would never forgive him for what happened when he and his Company unleashed Smaug upon Esgaroth, no matter how much time passed or how much restoration or reparation he offered. “Is your father home?”

She nodded, tugging the door wider. “Come in.”

He and Dwalin thumped into the man hallway, stamping snow from their boots and brushing it from their coats as Sigrid called, “Da! King Thorin is here.”

A chair creaked, boots thudded dully across the floor and Bard came around the corner from where his study was and smiled. “Thorin, I was wondering when you would arrive. And then I was beginning to think perhaps you weren’t and that left me at a bit of a loss.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Mrs. Asharm is in my study and I was running out of ways to stall her.”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin and then, without a word, shoved past Bard to march into the master’s study, where Sophie whipped about from the front window to stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same, Sophie. I thought we were to meet at the front gates,” he replied, his calm tone belying the irritation that now bubbled in his gut. Never mind that he planned to do the same thing—to go after Asharm without waiting for her—he knew she’d have gotten herself into serious trouble, had Bard not been of a mind to stall her. 

“I just came to do some shopping.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He shook his head. “It insults both our intelligence. You knew you were to wait for me or for Dwalin—”

“And you were supposed to wait for me,” her eyes swirled with pewter anger as she looked from him to Dwalin and back, “and yet, you did no such thing, either, did you?”

“If you think I was about to let you get anywhere near Asharm, you are mad.”

“Why? I know him, remember. You were running off to confront him without knowing a single thing about him.”

“Sophie, tell me, how would you have defended yourself when he attacked, because if you think he wasn’t going to, you—”

“I would have been just fine.” She reached into her satchel and withdrew one of the knives from the Great Hall. “I am not entirely stupid, you know.”

He looked down at the knife in question and it was all he could do to hold back his laughter. “You would not have stood a chance, you know. Not with that.”

“I bested him with a skillet, remember.”

“And for this, you would have to be up against him for that blade to be effective.”

She stared at him. “I could still use it, if need be.”

“If need be?” Dwalin growled. “Are ye serious, lass?”

“That’s enough,” Thorin said, holding up a hand in Dwalin’s direction. Then, he turned back to Sophie. “And why would think you would even have a chance to use it?”

“Because I—that is, I mean…” Her shoulders slumped and she sighed. “I’m tired of being afraid, Thorin. And I do not want Heather to always be looking over her shoulder. And you were going to go without me, so you have no right to be angry with me, you know.”

He sighed softly. “I do not want you anywhere near him at all, so yes, I was going to go without you and I’ll not apologize for that. I want him out of our lives and I want him out for good and I care not what I have to do to make that happen.”

“Do you wish me to take her back to Erebor?” Dwalin asked.

“No,” Thorin said softly, shaking his head, “I don’t.”

“Thorin, ye aren’t thinking—”

“Thorin,” Bard broke in, “it’s madness to even consider it.”

“Thorin,” Sophie’s voice was low and steady, “let me do this.”

He brought his hand to his forehead, rubbing it as a dull headache took root behind his eyes. “Sophie, it is too dangerous.”

“I lived with him for years,” she replied without hesitation. “And I lived to tell the tales. I want to talk to him. Perhaps he will be reasonable.”

“And think you he will?”

“I don't know for certain. But it’s possible. Let me speak with him and if he refuses to be reasonable, he is all yours.”

“All yours?” Bard looked from him to Sophie and back. “Thorin, you aren’t thinking of doing anything rash?”

“Bard, you should probably step aside now,” Thorin told him, “for I cannot say what I will do, but know this, he will have it coming regardless.”

“You cannot simply kill the man.”

“I won’t, unless provoked. But, I absolutely expect to be provoked.”

Bard sighed, his shoulders sagging a bit. “I had the feeling you were going to say that.”

“He is no man, but a worm,” Thorin told him, ignoring the look Sophie shot him as he added, “He raised his hand to Sophie, to Heather, with full intent to do harm. Killing him would be too good for him.”

Bard looked over at Sophie. “Is this true?”

A hint of color came to her cheeks as she nodded. “It is, yes. He was—is a cruel man and what’s more? He enjoys being such.”

Bard let out another sigh with that. “I cannot condone it, Thorin. You know this.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “I understand.”

“But, if I neither see nor hear it, there is nothing I might do about preventing it, either.”

“Good.” Thorin replied softly. “Because there is nothing you could do to prevent it at all.”

Dwalin folded his arms. “So, where do ye think ye’ll find him?”

Sophie cleared her throat. “I know where he’ll be. But,” she looked directly at Thorin, whose gut twisted with apprehension as she went on, “I’m going alone. You can follow after, but he must think I’m alone.”

“Sophie—“

“I’m not asking you, Thorin. I’m telling you.”

Continuing to debate it would be pointless. He’d come to know her well enough to know that. And despite the uneasy feeling he had at the thought of her meeting Asharm by herself, he nonetheless let out a slow breath and nodded. “Very well. But we will be right behind you.”

She didn't respond at first, but then, it was her turn to nod. “As you wish.”

“I don't like it, though, Sophie.”

“I know. I don’t like it, either.”

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #Thorin Fic #Is it hot in here? #Romance #Richard Armitage

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 11 - Such Pretty Eyes

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: He has to find her soon, otherwise, he won't know what they'll do. warnings: show-typical violence

At first, everything is numb and quiet. Then she regains feeling in her toes and fingers, both sets feeling like icicles. Her neck throbs like it does when she sleeps wrong and it has no support. She tastes her dry tongue and tries to move her arms, but her wrists are stuck together.

Her cheek presses against the ground and her brows crinkle as she regains herself. With a soft groan, she rolls onto her back, made all the more uncomfortable when she realizes she can’t move her arms out of the way.

Din!

Her eyes fly open and she sits up, panting. The first thing she notices are the soldiers clad in white armor, their dark visors all turning towards her. For the first time in years, she is face to face with a squad of Stormtroopers. A horrified gasp leaves her breathless and when she tries to pull with her hands, she feels the cold metal around her wrists. They’ve stripped her of her shoes and accessories, just to add insult to injury.

“You’re awake.” She whips her head around and sees Bras sitting at the table, flanked by two Stormtroopers. He cuts a piece of well-grilled fish with his utensils, continuing his dinner without an ounce of remorse. Behind him, against the metal wall, is a sprawling banner of the Empire’s symbol, albeit with burns and holes. Her eyes survey the room, noticing no windows, just the large door at the end. Along the walls are crates and canisters, many of them dented and dirty in some way. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Where am I?” she growls.

He pats his lip with a cloth napkin. “Patience, sweet one. You understand how playing cards makes one completely famished.”

You’ve never starved a day in your life. That much, I can tell. She keeps her glare fixed in her eyes, her vein protruding from her neck. Bras finishes his meal, washing it down with a glass of red wine. He makes a refreshed “ahh” sound and then stands, circling around his desk. “I warned you,” he says. “Did I not? You should have taken my deal.”

“I wasn’t interested.” She puts on her bravest face.

“And look where that got you. Regretting that decision now, aren’t you?”

She sneers at him. “Is this supposed to scare me? Look around you, old man. If you weren’t scared of me winning in the first place, you wouldn’t have set this whole thing up.”

Bras grins. Then, he tosses his wine glass towards the wall and in the moment it shatters, he wraps his fingers around her neck and lifts, his thumb pressing against her trachea. “What is it with pests like you being so stubborn? You could have had the galaxy in the palm of your hand!” She gasps for air, her chest crying out for relief. “But no. You throw it all away for what? Pettiness? Nobility?”

“Ah… hah… why not both?” she chokes out. His nostrils flare at that. Dropping her back onto the ground, she lands with a pained sound, then he delivers an open blow to her cheek with his palm.

“It’s a damn shame.” He kneels down, clawing her hair with his hand and forcing her to look up at him. “A beautiful mind is wasted on you. You could have been greater than this.”

She shivers, expecting another slap on her red cheek. Her heart races and she’s certain that the end is coming for her and it won’t be pleasant. “So… now what?” She breathes fast. “You’re gonna kill me?”

“Oh, sweet one. Not yet.” He flashes a sinister smile. “I’m certain the Mandalorian is well on his way here, coming for you.” Her face pales. “And when he arrives, we will be sure to greet him.”

“H-He has nothing you want!”

“No? He has a full set of new beskar armor. It will be perfect to add to my collection, in addition to the grand prize.” No! It is only now that her defiance drops and pure terror enters her eyes. The image of Din walking straight into a trap and being brutally assaulted, murdered, by the Stormtroopers robs her of words. She shakes her head. “My…” Bras breathes out in wonder, tilting her head. “You have such pretty eyes, especially when they are so full of despair.” With a dark chuckle, he drops her again. “I’ll tell you what, my little pest.”

The tip of his boot slips under her chin, tilting it up. “When he dies, I will remove his helmet. And you can look upon him all you want with those pretty eyes.” His foot presses down against her neck. “Let the sight of him be the last respite during your slow death.”

---

The doors of the elevator slide open and the Mandalorian aims his blaster, expecting an immediate confrontation. When he sees that the coast is clear, he enters a brisk pace making his way down the dimly lit hall. He’s taught Grogu well so far on how to keep himself clear of the danger so all Din has to do is focus on rescuing her.

He hears boots jogging towards him about to turn the corner, so he flattens himself against the wall. When they come into view, he immediately opens fire from their flank, yanking the nearest one towards him as a meat shield. It’s at this moment that his eyes widen at the familiar armor, but he does not hesitate in tossing the meat shield towards the ground and kicking its head. “Stormtroopers?”

Grogu’s face crunches in animosity, wrinkles deepening in his cheeks and forehead.

“Dank farrik.” His walk turns into a jog as blood rushes to his head. He hadn’t encountered these since Moff Gideon, since someone else stole someone important to him. Din expects there to be loads more of them up ahead, so he has to exercise some caution if he wants all three of them to make it out of there alive. When he hears more footsteps, he stops in the hallway and reaches for the small bombs in his belt. “Get back, kid.” Just before the Stormtroopers turn the corner, he sticks them on the wall and charges them, listening to the tempo of its beeping.

He stashes the blaster and his hand hovers over his choice of blade: the Vibroblade or the Darksaber. The latter is the more powerful weapon, but it still feels like he’s trying to lift a Mudhorn. No, he doesn’t have time for that. Din grabs the Vibroblade and readies himself. The Stormtroopers come in hot, their blaster fire lighting up the hallway while he hides around the corner. All he has to do is wait for the bomb to go off.

As soon as a Stormtrooper rounds the corner, Din delivers a hard left hook against its helmet to knock it back. In the small window of vulnerability, he darts his Vibroblade forward into the space between the helmet and chest plate, piercing through the softer mesh and disposing of the clone quickly. Just before he falls, Din relieves him of his blaster rifle, using the extra heat to return fire. The tempo of his bomb reaches its finale and he hides behind the wall just before it bursts into a cloud of fire, shaking the ground and scattering the Stormtroopers. He walks past the fire, coming up on a trooper trying to push himself off the ground. Din swiftly uses the flat end of the rifle to slam on the back of its neck, knocking it out cold.

The bottom floor is a maze of winding, dark walls, but he figures that as long as he follows where the Stromtroopers are coming from, he will find her.

Just hold on, please. I’m coming.

---

They hear a distant rumble and the lights flicker for a second. She lifts her head, listening for anything more in the dead silence. Bras leans back in his chair. “He’s here,” he says melodically. “Get ready.” The Stormtroopers make a crescent shape around the door, their rifles at the ready. Her heart goes into overdrive and her eyes glue to the door. Please don’t come in, please don’t come in, please don’t come in!

Another boom in the distance shakes the room, this time louder and closer. Muffled blaster fire and grunts of battle reach her ears. She breathes hard, as if her lungs cannot get enough air, and sweat cakes her forehead. Then comes silence. The door slides open and she holds her breath.

No one stands there.

The Stormtroopers exchange glances of confusion with each other while one takes a step forward. From the corner of the door, high pitched whistles startle them all and tiny blue lights fly through the air. They hone in on the Stormtroopers, piercing through their armor with precision and speed. One by one, the pins explode and make short work of many of them. She watches Bras’s sadistic smile drop in the matter of seconds.

The Mandalorian steps into the door frame and opens fire. Some blaster shots bounce off his armor but others make purchase on his unprotected areas, staggering him and making him grunt in pain. Two troopers gang up on him, using the ends of their rifles to knock him upside the head. “Din!” He takes a knee and a beating before he slaps a button on his vambrace and a stream of fire emerges. Pushing them back and igniting them, he stops his flamethrower and pulls out something that she had never seen anything like in her life.

A high-pitched hum fills the room as a blade of pure black light emerges from the hilt. Din has to hold it with both hands, but one swing slices through Stormtrooper armor clean. With Bras’s forces dwindling, he pulls a blaster out of his desk and stomps towards her.

As soon as Din finishes off the last trooper, Bras yanks her up by her neck, making her scream as he points the barrel towards her cheek. “Mandalorian!” he announces.

The Mandalorian slowly turns towards Bras, his weapon scraping against the floor and making sparks. Following him close behind and opening the canopy of his pram is Grogu, his big eyes narrowing. When he speaks, his words are clear with the bite of seething rage. “Let her go. Now.” He takes a step forward.

“Not one more step!” Bras spits, jamming the barrel deeper against her skin. “You’re going to listen to me, or you can walk out of here carrying her corpse.” Din doesn’t move. “Good boy. Now, let’s make a deal, shall we? I know you’re after the beskar. Let me go and I’ll give you two ingots from the grand prize. How’s that?”

She can’t see it, but she can feel Din’s glare. His shoulders tense and he takes a few more steps forward, the blade scraping against the floor. “No.”

“Th-three ingots!”

“No. Hand her over.”

“I warned you not to take another step!” She shuts her eyes, waiting for the click of the trigger near her ear. It never comes. Instead, the hands around her tremble and she hears pained gasps coming from Bras. Peeling her eyes open, she looks up and see his eyes widen, his tongue peeking out as he chokes. From what? The blaster falls to the floor and he lets go of her entirely and drops her, grasping at his neck.

Din does nothing, but Grogu has his claw extended towards Bras, his eyes focused with murderous intent. As he curls his fingers in, she puts two and two together, sliding away from Bras. Din storms up to him, lifting the saber and driving it through his chest. He clicks the button to draw the blade back, leaving Bras to fall to his knees. He wheezes as he collapses over, the last of his life extinguished.

Finally, she can breathe in relief. “Din!” He faces her and rushes to kneel down. As soon as he’s close by, he takes a tool from his belt and goes to work on the restraints around her wrists. The second she is free and the thick cuffs fall against the floor, she throws her arms around his shoulders and holds him tight. “Oh thank the stars! I thought he was going to kill you!”

He freezes, his hands sitting in the air awkwardly. But then he gives in, resting on hand on the small of her back and the other across her shoulder. “You… you were worried about me?” She was the one who was taken, she was the one being held at gunpoint, she almost died a minute ago. But she was worried about him.

She’s either really brave or really nuts.

“It was a trap. He wanted your beskar.” She pulls away, keeping her hands on his arms. “I--” Grogu jumps into the space between their bodies, his hands clinging to the cloth of her dress. She laughs in relief, hugging him close. “Thank you, Grogu. I can’t believe you came here… I…”

It’s a beautiful sight, Din thinks. Happy tears roll down her cheeks as she presses her forehead against Grogu’s her nose brushing against his. His hands cup her cheeks: a feeling he himself knows well. Din had only seen that level of protectiveness from Grogu for himself, never anyone else. She lifts her head, smiling despite what she just endured.

“Thank you, Din.”

His chest flutters and he feels his face flush again, despite the battle have ended. Words don’t come to his tongue, so he settles for an awkward nod. He helps her to her feet, letting Grogu remain in her arms for now. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.”

He keeps an arm around her waist just in case. She uses one hand to keep Grogu against her and the other to wrap around Din’s shoulders, leaning on him occasionally when she needs it.

As they walk past the small fires and scattered, knocked-out troopers, Din has a funny thought that he keeps to himself:

In that moment, they feel like a clan of three.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #work: dead man's hand #do you guys realize the smut is next #do you

[philliam-writes]

on that tree i'll carve our names (03)

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem! Hufflepuff Reader / Sebastian Sallow x Male MC

summary: St. Jude thinks about that. You see his jaw work, as if he’s trying to speak around a word. “You’re friends?” As if he can’t believe you are capable of having one. He isn’t wrong. “Friends is a bit much.” If you had a Galleon for every time you have made out with Weasley in a corridor to throw off prefects from the One-eyed Witch Passage, you’d have two Galleons. Which isn’t a lot, but it is weird it happened twice.

notes: [01] || [02] | [04]

words: 6k

a/n: almost finished with hogwarts legacy, i can't believe it's taking me so long. done with sebastian's questline i think 🥲 feeling lotsa feelings about this one

03: arsonist's lullaby

The Howler explodes at the end of corridor, echoing through the Central Hall and drawing everybody’s attention to a stocky little Gryffindor boy who might be in his first or second year. It seems they get smaller each year.

“HOW DID YOU EVEN GET YOUR HANDS ON DUNGBOMBS?! DID YOU SNEAK INTO HOGSMEADE?! HAVE YOU NO SHAME EMBARRASSING YOUR FAMILY LIKE THIS?!”

Poppy Sweeting tugs a loose thread from the hem of her robe, waiting for you to play the next card. Her never-ending patience seems almost menacing, stretching bottomless like the Black Lake until you dive too deep and find yourself swallowed by darkness. “Indeed, how did he get his hands on Dungbombs,” she wonders aloud, raising her dark eyebrows at you. Her gaze is the sort of steely that passes judgement and falls for nothing.

Sitting cross-legged on the dusty ground in front of the Potions classroom, you pass time until the lesson starts playing Exploding Snap. With soot-black fingers and a singed collar, you’ve made your peace that within the next turns, you might lose your eyebrows—and worse, the game. If only Poppy’s expression would give away any hint, but she has an impressive poker face, and is still impeccably put together after three rounds.

Your skills are horrid. Or maybe the old suit of armour behind you is helping Poppy out, which you wouldn’t put past it after you accidentally knocked it over last year. These suits can be so resentful and petty. Whenever you lost a round, it creaks and clanks, laughing wheezily.

“Curious, isn’t it?” you muse. Poppy knows of your side business, but she’s been a good friend since year three, and not quite innocent herself when it comes to disobeying rules. “I don’t remember us having such a generous service when we started at Hogwarts.”

“Generous?” Poppy snorts.

Your answer gets stuck in your throat—you feel his gaze on you before you see him rounding the corner from the Central Hall. The feeling in the pit of your stomach is less that of a hook pulling you than a black hole sucking you in, leaving you breathless. The only satisfaction dampening the blow to your gut about how you react to this appearance is that St. Jude isn’t left unaffected as well.

He stops dead in his tracks—comically so, as though he’s walked into an invisible wall—and stares as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His chest is rising and falling, as though he is a drowning man who just got out of water and breathes air for the first time.

It’s just seconds. It feels like a lifetime—and then Sallow flings his arm around St. Jude’s shoulders and leans into him, lips almost brushing the shell of St. Jude’s ear as he whispers something.

St. Jude flinches at the sudden proximity but the grin splits his face, and he laughs at whatever Sallow said.

They walk past you inside the classroom, St. Jude doesn’t spare you another glance and the moment he disappears out of sight it’s like a noose lifting from your neck.

It takes a minute to shake off the heavy feeling, like fog lifting from your head. You wonder if St. Jude spent the night with your face imprinted on the back of his closed eyes. Like you did. You wonder if that is a side effect of whatever strange magic spun your wands together, so tedious and annoying you had stuck your wand tip-down into the pot of a young Kris plant in your bed chamber, only to wake up this morning and find the plant completely wilted and dry, much to Lenora’s horror who’d gotten that plant on a trip to Africa. Her cries were just background noise as you’d stared at your wand. The hawthorn whose cut branches smell of death.

Poppy’s small hand settles on your shoulder and the contact disperses your thoughts. When you look up at her, you reel back at Poppy’s knowing gaze, the secret smile flirting with her lips in the half-shadowed hallway.

“A troubling pair,” she states as though you’ve given any indication to the opposite. “But quite good-looking, aren’t they?”

You leave that without comment as you let Poppy pull you up to your feet and follow her inside the classroom. You assume people call Sallow handsome, the sort of generic handsome any growing boy with acceptable features might be.

St. Jude though—St. Jude is pretty in the same way the larkspur lining the road towards Hogsmeade are pretty: pretty dangerous, pretty lethal. Even brief contact with the flower can cause skin irritation or allergic reaction—which is pretty much what you feel crossing paths with St. Jude.

You shove the thought of him away.

Contrary to what everybody believes due to your grades, the subtle science and exact art of potion-making is one you sort into the more interesting classes. The classroom always smells pleasant—of dried herbs and rich fumes, of burnt wood and charred coal which you enjoy most with your love for setting things on fire. But you have no patience for looking after a softly simmering cauldron day after day, the care more demanding than looking after a delicate newborn.

Where you usually sit next to Javi, the seat is occupied by Imelda Reyes, which is the first warning flag that something is off.

“Right on time.” Professor Sharp rises like the fog over the Black Lake, stepping right between you and Poppy, and brushes the non-existing speck of dust from his handcuffs. “Despite my clear instructions that in your fifth year, you will switch your potions partner, I have yet to see any actual change. Thus before we waste any more time, let me do it for you.”

You flick your eyes to Javi. He doesn’t seem too sad about losing you in favour for Reyes, which is no surprise with his embarrassingly raging crush on her: he looks at her as if she is the moon and he the ocean’s waves, her pulling him in with such gravity he can do nothing but let her do what she wants with him. It is a bit embarrassing, really.

You quickly turn to Poppy. “Poppy, would you—”

“Miss Sweeting will pair up with our new student,” Professor Sharp announces. “And you will work with Mister Gaunt.”

Your stomach drops to your feet. Better than St. Jude but compared to them all it just feels like the lesser of two evils.

You trudge over to his potions station, unsure what face to make after what happened yesterday. It takes you ten seconds to realise how stupid that is because Gaunt can’t see you, so you just slide up right next to him and shrug off your robe. It won’t take long until the classroom feels like an oven, hot and humid from the fire and steam rising to the ceilings in swirling tendrils.

“So, what are we cooking?” you ask.

Gaunt’s head slightly turns your way. He looks very unimpressed. “Ah,” he says, recognition dawning upon hearing your voice. “You.” Only it sounds as if he’s addressing a servant or house elf.

“Me.” You throw your robe over the chair’s backrest and yank your sleeves up. “A pleasure, Gaunt.”

“We’ll see about that. If you think you’ll get easy grades from working with me, I must disappoint.”

“Disappointment is pretty much what I expected.”

Gaunt’s milky eyes flicker towards you, sending a scathing look in your general direction. Without another word, his hand reaches across the table, and he yanks the textbook towards him. With an impatient flick of his wand, the book snaps open to today’s lesson: how to brew the Draught of Peace.

After Professor Sharp’s usual instructions about the powers and dangers, and emphasizing twice that it often comes up at O.W.L.s, he leaves you to work.

You skim over the ingredients and see what is already at your station and which ones you have to collect from the ingredient shelves.

“I’m going to grab some syrup of hellebore,” you tell Gaunt, and from the trunk under the worktable, pull out a few stewed mandrakes. “Here, cut the mandrakes into cubes.”

Gaunt doesn’t move. He barely dips his head towards the sound of you shoving the chopping board his way. “Bold of you to trust a blind man with a knife,” he states.

You click your tongue. “Fine. Then portion the powdered ingredients. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know what the ingredients look like.” A hint of impatience steals into his voice. “Do you want us both to end up at the hospital wing?”

“What can you do then?” you snap back. As if you’ll do the whole work and just let him ride on your coattails.

Gaunt raises his chin. “Read the instructions.”

“Oh, yes. You prefer ordering people around, what a surprise.”

“If only people would actually listen.”

Merlin’s beard, you want to be done with this. You leave Gaunt at the station and get the remaining ingredients. Gaunt reads the whole recipe out first, loud and clear, the tips of his index and middle finger following after the flashing tip of his wand as it runs along the black lines on the page. You’re not sure how that magic works, but as long as he assists, you don’t care (you still make sure he doesn’t read something wrong off the list, glimpsing at the book whenever you finish one step).

The more Gaunt reads the more you get used to listening to his voice—and realise he has a nice, soothing voice, slightly higher in pitch than his other male classmates. Clear as spring water, like pearls gliding off a smooth surface and then you don’t listen to the words he’s saying, just his voice.

When he suddenly stops, it’s like a rope snapping in half and suddenly you’re in free-fall.

“You are not paying attention,” he snaps, slicing your thoughts apart with his sharp voice. You blink through the dark grey steam rising from your cauldron. Gaunt must have picked up on the small cues; he must have heard you’ve stopped moving about, stopped measuring the ingredients and just left the cauldron on the stove without reducing the heat. The smell itself doesn’t give away that your Draught of Peace is in danger of becoming a catastrophe.

You quickly lower the temperature of the flames, knocking over half of the other glass bottles and an inkpot as you reach for the hellebore. Black spills over the surface, drenches your parchment scrolls, the textbook; fizzes as small drops fall into the gentle fire beneath the cauldron.

Gaunt’s hand moves out in a flash, slender fingers curl around your wrist, pressing into the inside of your thin skin where your pulse hammers against his fingertips.

“What are you doing?” he hisses, and for a moment you think he sounds like a snake.

“Adding the hellebore, just like the recipe says.” You try to move your hand, but for someone with bony wrists Ominis Gaunt is surprisingly strong. He pushes your hand down until the small bottle smacks with a decisive clink on the table and your hand becomes trapped between the hard, cool surface and his warm, rough hand.

With a deceptive calm, Gaunt says, “You’re supposed to let it simmer for seven minutes. I’ve heard you don’t care much about grades, but I cannot afford to fail Potions.”

A snicker crawls its way up your throat, spills like the ink. The black pool has reached the table’s edge and leaves dark smudges on your white shirt, sticks to Gaunt’s long sleeves dragging over the surface. Somehow this is far more satisfying than anything you could say. “And now your grade hangs on how well I perform. How does it feel having to rely on other people your whole life? Maybe you should be a little nicer to me, Gaunt.”

His nostrils flare. You feel him dig his nails into your skin and you brace yourself for his retort, ready to devour any ammunition fired your way.

A familiar redhead pops up beside you. Garreth Weasley has one of the kindest faces you have ever known, and gentle green eyes. None of which means he is the innocent sheep walking among the students. He slumps against the desk, leans his waist against the edge and considers the mess on your potions station.

Weasley grins. “Am I interrupting something?”

Gaunt immediately shakes your hand off as though burnt and retreats to his side of the station. You turn to Weasley, scowling. You are spoiling for a fight and looking for trouble, but that trouble wasn’t supposed to be 6’5’’ tall, broad-shouldered, freckled-faced with almost any type of powdered potions ingredient perpetually embedded under his fingernails. “What do you want, Weasley?”

“My darling Hufflepuff,” he starts, and you see the warning signals for what they are.

“No.”

His face falls. “I haven’t even asked—”

“I don’t want to know.”

Weasley groans. “Come on, do your favourite Gryffindor a tiny favour, will you?”

“You’re nowhere near my favourite Gryffindor. I’ve also decided I am going to live an honest student’s life from now on.” You solemnly place your hand above your heart. “Steer away from any trouble.”

Weasley snorts. He looks like he doesn’t believe you. Gaunt looks like he doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t even pretend he’s not overhearing your conversation, eyebrows drawn together, head slightly inclined towards you. It seems he barely endures your presence as if you are a stone in his shoe, a minor but constant annoyance.

“Thing is,” Weasley says as though you haven’t said anything, “I sent the new kid to fetch a Fwooper feather for me from Sharp’s office. He hasn’t come back yet.”

Involuntarily, your eyes swivel through the classroom—and indeed, you don’t find St. Jude.

You exhale air very, very slowly. “Why in Merlin’s tits would you ask him to do that?”

Weasley rolls his eyes as if you’re some simple-minded Muggle incapable of comprehending that Unicorns indeed exist. “Well, I can’t just waltz in and take it. I’m pretty sure Sharp has enchanted the door with some anti-Weasley spells.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“And besides,” Weasley continues, ignoring you, “you’ve just run out of hellebore.”

“We have not run out of—”

With a swift swipe, Weasley pockets your glass vial, and winks. You feel an awful itch to cast a toenail-growing hex on him as he turns around and strolls back to his station.

There’s an awful silence as your potion simmers on its flame. In another corner of the room, you’re pretty sure Arthur Plummly is having a crisis because his brew keeps spattering and splashing like hot oil in a pan.

Gaunt clears his throat. “Did Weasley—”

“Yes.” You grit your teeth against a groan of frustration. “Yes, Weasley did.”

Gaunt crosses his arm. He looks as if he’s aged a couple years, which you feel is a common reaction to being subject to Weasley’s shenanigans.

You yank your sleeves back down and shove your chair out of the way—an awful screeching sound which doesn’t go unnoticed by Gaunt. He narrows his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“You heard the man. We’re out of hellebore.”

You don’t wait for his response. Sharp’s office is on the other side of the room; Sharp himself is currently trying to calm down Plummly, so this might be your only chance to slip in unnoticed.

The wooden door opens without resistance, and to your surprise and relief without any noise. In all five years you have only been inside Sharp’s office two or three times—for reprimands, to fetch ingredients, to prove Prewett you could indeed cast Alohomora flawlessly in your first year. Not much has changed. The desk is much messier than the one in the classroom, as though a storm has swept through. Shelves with ingredients line both sides of the room, the usual you recognise from lessons and some you’ve never seen before.

The only thing out of order is St Jude who, with hair askew and dust smudges on his face and shirt, is currently crawling on the grimy, dusty floor, hands scrambling inside a half-opened cupboard. You wait another long minute, just to really cement the picture into your brain.

“Looking for your dignity?” you ask aloud, watching St. Jude start hard enough he wrenches his hands back and hits his wrists against the cupboard’s edge. It looks painful. Good. “I’m afraid you won’t find it in there.”

St. Jude glowers at you, his grey eyes cutting like a sharp blade. It’s a gaze that crawls under your skin and chisels off the carefully constructed walls around the well where you’ve drowned any sort of curiosity at the very beginning of fifth year when you wanted to know who this mysterious new kid is. The fact that it is resurfacing when you thought you got rid of it is more than annoying.

“It’s only your second lesson and you’re already stealing from Sharp.” You whistle, making sure you’re extra loud just to see some fear or anxiety in those scrutinising eyes. “I don’t know if that’s brave or stupid.”

St. Jude climbs to his feet, quickly dusting off his pants where the dust left grey spots on his knees. “What do you want?” he asks, quickly moving past Sharp’s desk to the other side. He looks paler than usual, and there is an urgency to his stride as though he’s trying to run away. You almost ask him if something is wrong. Almost. “I’m busy.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Though you should have told Weasley you don’t know what a Fwooper feather is. You wouldn’t be wasting all our time like this.”

St. Jude stops dead in his tracks. He turns slowly to you, and with grave satisfaction you notice the crimson pinpricks spreading high on his cheeks. He opens his mouth, closes it. He looks like a little boy who’s been caught with his hand inside the cookie jar, which makes you realise two things at once.

“How do you—” he begins.

You nod at Sharp’s desk. “You’ve walked past it twice.”

He swallows. His chin juts out and his Adam’s apple catches—it’s a whole scene as he wearily eyes the clutter on the desk, and finally spots the glass container stuffed with dozen different feathers in every rainbow’s colour. He still doesn’t move.

“It’s the bright pink one,” you tell him.

Very slowly, St. Jude moves over and stuffs the Fwooper feather inside his robe’s pocket. A grin spreads slowly on your face. “You’re not from the Wizarding world, are you?”

Just as quick as the flush has spread across his face, it drains and St. Jude blanches.

“Because I don’t know what a Fwooper feather looks like? Pretty sure I’m not the only one.”

“Because you just told me.”

St. Jude blows a stray curl from his eyes. He looks as if he’s … pouting? “Does it matter?” he asks, casting his gaze from your head to your feet. “You don’t strike me as a pure-blood elitist.”

“I’m not.” You cross the room to the other side and grab another vial of hellebore-syrup from the shelf, shuddering at the dozen unblinking blowfish eyes pressed against the inside of a glass bottle. “Just wondering what your deal is.”

When you turn around, St. Jude stands in front of the door, staring at you for a long minute. “That isn’t what you said yesterday,” he says.

You shoot him a quick, warning glance. “Nothing has changed.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why are any of us here? The universe is funny like that—”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Obviously. Weasley seems to worry about his new protégée. Or he just really wants this feather for his new concoction.”

St. Jude thinks about that. You see his jaw work, as if he’s trying to speak around a word. “You’re friends?” As if he can’t believe you are capable of having one.

He isn’t wrong. “Friends is a bit much.”

If you had a Galleon for every time you have made out with Weasley in a corridor to throw off prefects from the One-eyed Witch Passage, you’d have two Galleons. Which isn’t a lot, but it is weird it happened twice. The conversation after was beyond embarrassing. Weasley had a hard time articulating any words—I’m not interested, I mean there is hardly time; it’s not you, it’s me; I’m not interested in romance to be frank—He’d pulled you out of breakfast for that, doughnut still in hand which you had shoved into his mouth to shut him up. No, you’re not interested in him either, it is called distraction and, no, you don’t care he’s neither into women or men, that’s all his own business.

Weasley had looked relieved—more than relieved. Thankful someone doesn’t ask how and why and are you sure it’s not a phase?

“It’s none of my business,” you had said.

“I think you’re nicer than you let on,” he had insisted.

You’ll show him how nice you are next time you smash a Bludger into his face during a game.

“Having friends is good.” St. Jude’s voice pulls you back to the present. “Beats being alone.”

You shrug, feeling this is the moment to go, to leave and turn your back on him. Your feet don’t move. “Why are you doing all this?” you ask instead, and then you bite your lip because why are you still talking to him?

One black brow twitches up. “Doing what?”

“Being everybody’s errand boy.”

St. Jude leans against the dungeon wall, arms crossed. It seems he’s also building up a wall behind his eyes, they begin to flick from you to the shelves, up to the ceiling—everywhere except your face. “I’m the new kid. It’s kind of hard to get in with people who have known each other for five years.”

“And you think they will like you if you do their dirty work for them?”

A shadow falls over his eyes, the bright grey darkens like a brewing storm over the sea. “I like having people in my debt,” St. Jude says slowly. “You make friends faster than throwing money on the ground.”

“That sounds a lot like something Sallow would say.”

St. Jude’s eyes settle on you. His gaze is like a physical weight on the back of your neck. “You don’t like him.”

You snort. “What gave it away?”

“Why is that?”

You don’t have to think about it—the memory rises unbidden: you high up in the sky and Sallow on the broom approaching with neck-breaking speed. Your spiralling thoughts—He won’t; Sallow isn’t mad enough to fly right into me—though of course Sallow is ruthless and determined enough to do whatever it takes to win. The fall, the pain, the weeks spent in the hospital wing. “Because he is a bad person pretending to be good.”

“And you are a good person?”

“Maybe not. But I don’t pretend to be something I am not.”

“No.” His voice is disarmingly soft. “No, you do not.”

You meet his gaze head on as if it’s a challenge. It feels like everything with St. Jude is a challenge.

Then, all of a sudden, he asks, “Sebastian’s sister. What’s she like?”

“Why all those questions about Sallow? You could just ask him yourself.”

St. Jude gives a slow, inconspicuous shrug as though that is reason enough. You chew on your bottom lip, tipping the vial of hellebore upside down and back. Anne Sallow, now that is a name that has turned into a wisp since her leave last year, nothing more than a phantom’s memory to most students.

“If you think Sallow is good at duelling,” you start slowly, “you should see his sister. She even gave sixth-years a run for their Galleons.”

You remember Anne Sallow—not that she was easy to forget—always in her chequered trousers leading Sallow and Gaunt from mischief to mischief, her laughter boisterous and loud, filling the rooms and halls and announcing her presence. To this day, nobody knows why exactly she hasn’t returned to Hogwarts, but the rumours ran wild. Until people stopped caring. “They were always trouble, but Anne … when Sallow does something, sometimes you might think he actually intends to cause harm. Anne was bolder, and more mischievous. But she was also kinder.”

You see her face, peaking around the curtain, wincing in sympathy at your broken arm stuck in the sling. Only in your third year you realised the Sallow twins had the same eyes. When Sallow had said sorry, he wasn’t sorry for kicking you off during the Quidditch game, he was sorry that he’d been caught and punished for it. When Anne had said sorry, you believed her.

“Interesting,” says St. Jude. “You can say nice things about people.”

You brush past him and stop in front of the door for a moment to listen if anyone is walking past on the other side. “Don’t think you’ll get the same treatment, St. Jude.”

“Callum.”

You wait for him to add something, but nothing comes as he looks at you expectantly. “Yes, that is your name,” you say after a moment.

“You should start calling me Callum.”

You consider him with a blank expression. “No thank you.” With that, you push the door open, ear pressed against the hard surface to listen to Sharp’s limp.

St. Jude hesitates for but a moment, a shadow flitting over his face.

Before you can remind yourself you don’t care, your mouth speaks, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head as though trying to shake off a weight. “I am not fond of the smell of smoke and fire.” There is a scratch to his voice, like a broken record that keeps on spinning despite the damage. You don’t know what to say to that—you can’t remember a time where that smell has not brought you comfort.

“You’ll get used to it. I mean, it’s not the worst smell that can stick to your clothes down here.” You don’t know what you’re trying to do—reassure him or make light of the mood. Anything that would wipe away the pale, blank slab that his face is.

St. Jude sighs, resigned. He waves his hand at you with impatience, your cue to leave. You push the door open and squeeze past the narrow opening, slipping back out into the classroom. When you return to Gaunt, the damage is long done. Thick, black curls of smoke rise from the cauldron. The Slytherin boy sits on his stool, arms crossed, a slender finger tapping against his arm.

“I take it I was gone for more than seven minutes,” you say with the clinical observation of someone who messed up and does not want to admit she has messed up, or take the responsibility for it.

Gaunt has switched from sulking in his seat to trying to balance his wand on the tip of his index finger. “At least it seems most of the class has failed the task,” he says sullenly. “Professor Sharp advised us to ‘use that pile of pudding we call brain for once.’”

You assume Sharp’s mood might be worse than an offended Hippogriff, which also means that hopefully Weasley’s concoction works out for once instead of causing even more trouble—which is of course the moment Weasley’s cauldron explodes in a fit of colourful blasts, sparks, and a pungent odour of rotten eggs that has the surrounding students ducking away, retching.

From across the room, you meet St. Jude’s eyes. It takes exactly five seconds for Sharp to appear beside Weasley’s potions station despite his limp, rising like a Dementor ready to deliver punishment. There is no need for words: Sharp dips his chin, and then his eyes swivel like a compass and they settle on you first, then on St. Jude. Again, Sharp does not speak. Again, you meet St. Jude’s eyes, and you both move towards Sharp who is waiting for you two with an unreadable expression. You imagine facing a real Dementor might be more pleasant.

“When I allowed you to fetch what you needed from my office,” Sharp speaks and you can feel St. Jude deflate beside you which should give you some sort of satisfaction, “I did not mean that you can hand out my ingredients as if this is a common marketplace.”

St. Jude recovers quickly, lowering his eyes to the ground in unabashed guilt that reeks of shameless pretence. “I simply helped a friend in need, Sir.”

Two sets of dark, unimpressed eyes spear him; Sharp turns to you next, even more annoyed. “And you were not allowed to set a foot inside my office in the first place.”

“We’ve run out of hellebore essence,” you say, not looking at Weasley. “And I heard an Auror once say it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

It is a dirty card, quoting Sharp himself and he does not appreciate it judging from the glare he bends on you. When he cuts his gaze to Weasley next, the Gryffindor standing next to you actually flinches.

“There is only so much I can say to you Mister Weasley before turning into a broken record. Yes, you might have a gift for potions, but no, it does not give you permission to brew chaos—certainly not during class.”

“Sorry Professor,” is all Weasley says, crestfallen. He seems more disappointed about the fact his little project didn’t work out than getting caught.

“That’s ten points from Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Again. I do hope that in the future, should anything happen, it won’t always be you three causing trouble. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Professor,” choruse you, St. Jude, and Weasley in surprising and probably never-to-be-repeated unison.

“Good. And since all four of you seem so keen on taking responsibility, detention for the whole next week will suit you just fine.”

Weasley and you sputter at the same time. “But, Quidditch—”

“Sir, Quidditch practice starts next week!”

Only St. Jude picks up what you other two miss. “Four of us?”

“Precisely. I can see you listening in on our conversation, Mister Gaunt.”

Three heads swivel around to Ominis Gaunt still sitting where you left him, his face turned towards you. His brows are tightly knit together. “Why me, Professor? I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly. To my knowledge, Mister Gaunt, you are blind. Not deaf. You could have stopped your potions partner from embarking on something stupid. It is in all our interest to teach students to look after each other.”

Now that leaves Gaunt actually speechless. It would be funny were it not for a tiny prick of guilt settling in your chest for dragging him into this. As though he can smell your guilt, like a hound on the scent, his grey eyes glare in your direction as though everything about this has been your very idea from the start.

“Until Monday evening,” Sharp says. He dismisses you with a curt nod, then limps back to his class as he dismisses class with a sharp flick of his hand.

You scuff back to your place to get your robe and schoolbag, bracing yourself for whatever Gaunt has in store for you because going for conflict seems to be your default setting for anyone hanging around St. Jude lately.

But Gaunt just packs up his scrolls and quill and manoeuvres around the stations towards the exits, his wand flashing an angry red on his way out.

~ ⋆｡°✩ ~

It starts with a hunger.

To be touched, to be loved, to feel anything at all. It is such a familiar feeling that at first, nothing strikes you as out of order. Then comes the laughter—bright like clear bells, innocent. Unmistakably young, children’s voices.

They echo down a decrepit, narrow hallway drowned in shadows, the lily-of-the-valley wallpaper damp and overgrown with something dark and reeking of waste. Portraits, framed in rotten wood, hang askew, showing cobblestone alleys and crooked church towers. The only light crawls from open doors to adjacent bedrooms with bunk beds and half-deteriorated cabinets. Children’s toys lie scattered on the muddy ground as if recently used. On these walls hang crude crayon drawings of small children crying blood and adults hanging from the gallows, their neck crooked and twisted. A feeling of wrongness blooms within your chest, thick and sharp vines that grow up your lungs and make it hard to breathe.

You pass these corridors, eyes roaming over the unfamiliar faces on the portraits—James, Annabel, Theodore, Alice—but how? You have never seen them before.

The corridor ends in a wide-open hall with long tables and benches placed in an even distance from another. There are just leftover scraps on the dirty plates, an amount not meant to satisfy anyone’s hunger. The hunger in the pit of your stomach grows, snarls, gnaws at you.

The sense of wrongness spikes, a steady built up at the back of your head until you find him, cowering in a corner, face hidden behind his hands, save for the narrow gap between his small fingers where one eye is peeking through—looking right at you, at the world, like a single silver star flashing in the dark night.

The pressure is a steady column building, growing, pushing until you feel it overflowing from your pores.

Destroy it.

Destroy what?

Everything.

Everything?

And then everything is swallowed in flames.

You come out of the dream with the scent of burnt flesh and thick smoke in your nose and the taste of hot ash in your mouth. The fire took a dozen lives—the orphans whose name everyone forgot, everyone but you. James, Annabel, Theodore, Alice—except it wasn’t you who blew up the orphanage. Your sense of self shudders before separating enough for you to get a grasp of who you are and who you are not.

Callum St. Jude.

“What about him?”

You blink away hot tears from your eyes. Lenora shakes you with an urge as if she’s trying to shake the sense back into you. “Wake up. You’re scaring the other girls.”

“Fire—” You gasp, and choke as your lungs fill with clean air free from smoke and fire. “There’s a fire—”

“There is no fire.” Poppy’s wand swirls through the air and a small cup with water floats into your shaking hands. “It was just a bad dream.”

No, not a dream. A memory.

Poppy yelps when you shove the cup back into her hands, spilling half of its contents onto your and her nightclothes. Scrambling for your robe, you tumble out of bed and grab your wand before rushing out of the bedroom, the racing of your heart in your ears drowning the other girls’ voices.

The common room is dark and abandoned, the only light the softly crackling fire in the chimney still burning and for the first time you look at it and feel terrified. But the terror mashes and mixes with a rapidly swelling anger that chokes you up, sits on your chest and squeezes your ribs because why does he do that to you? What exactly is it about this boy that holds you like a bird in a cage?

The barrel’s entrance swings open and out of your way, revealing the dark kitchen dungeons and before the entrance, soaked in vinegar, St. Jude, staring at you.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x male mc #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x y/n #ominis x reader #ominis x you #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #phill.hl

[saphirered]

hey, how about a newly mated Rowan?

Nice and spicy like the others! Hope you enjoy! 😘

Footsteps echo through the halls drawing closer and closer. Rowan recognises them well. He’d be able to find them among the hundreds, identify the exact pace and fall of each step and know exactly who they belong to. It’s been a strange change to have the sound of those footsteps make him feel lighter, like he is floating upon a breeze, yet so grounding all the same. He feels like air returns to his lungs, like he hasn’t been able to truly breathe until those footfalls draw closer and closer. It feels like they take the air with them whenever they leave. Perhaps the thought of this might once have been frightening to him, but when he was faced with these feelings he was surprised to find them near second nature. They took some getting used to and he is still finding his way, same as you are navigating this new development in your relationship all the same. 

The soft creak of the door, the turning of the handle, and the closing of it with a light click, are music to his ears. The footsteps draw nearer, until they change, from the echoing clacks of shoes, they turn soft and muffled. He hears the humming of a melody, the movement of fabric, jewellery hitting the vanity; to be put in the designated boxes or drawers, cared for immaculately. You commented once; gems and precious metal are as much your armour as steel and leather are, your words as much a weapon as sword or arrow. It’s a thing he’s admired about you. You walk that fine line between diplomat and warrior. You may have times where you relish in the bloodshed of war, but equally you know there’s a time and place. It’s your patience that stands out. Your mind is your finest asset or so you claim and Rowan is inclined to agree, though he may have commented you have plenty of other good assets too. He smiles at the memory when you encouraged him to prove it. 

Humming to yourself you move about the room relieving yourself to the tedious reminders of the day you’ve had. Court is not as eloquent nor clean spirited as some make it out to be. It’s exhausting and boring and you’re stuck with the people you learn to despise for hours on end. You’re just glad that Maeve got sick of the endless bickering too and dismissed everyone before she’d decide to skin someone alive. While you worked, talked and fought verbal battles left and right, your mind would always drift to your beloved. He’d be home soon, another task of the queen coming to an end and finally he’d return to your embrace. You gathered she set it up as a test to set the bounds and show exactly that she is still in control, and that some mating bond does not change anything in your responsibilities, as well as to assure you know your loyalties belong to the queen first and foremost, no matter what some primal instincts might argue. 

Returned to your living quarters, you take off your shoes first, then discard any of the fancy vestiges of your station, and whatever gifts you might have worn to please and coerce others to your side, and lastly get rid of the heavier layers of clothing leaving you feeling like a burden has been lifted from your shoulders. You notice then, the doors to your balcony are open, the gossamer curtains blowing in the light breeze, you take in a breath and sense a familiar presence that makes your heart leap. You see the bloodied footsteps, the discarded dirty boots, weapons, belts and holsters and clothes. Shaking your head in amusement you begin to pick up the discarded items, and collect them on the side table where they would do no harm or leave any staining on your precious floors. 

All settled you move to the bathing room, the door slightly ajar and peak in to see the object of your affections seated in the tub of steaming water, back turned to you, hair stained with red, exposed skin no better, the reminders of minor injuries still present. You notice pointed ears perk at the presence of another; the habit of a warrior but he doesn’t turn, not when you draw nearer, not when you lower behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle your head against his affectionately, leaving a kiss to his temple. His hands previously resting on the edge of the tub come to find yours and hold on lightly as he sighs, leaning back into your embrace. 

Rowan chuckles lightly, as you attempt to take care to avoid getting any of the grime on your person but fail miserably. Your cheek is stained with red when he turns his head to face you and capture your lips with his. The kiss is not entirely heated but instead filled with the warmth of joyful content. No words are spoken but Rowan knows this speaks ‘welcome back’. He allows his fingers to dip into the water, and rise them to your stained cheek to wipe away the partially dried blood. 

“Not to say I haven’t missed you, but next time please don’t leave weapons scattered across the floor of our living space. It’s quite the safety hazard.” You joke leaning into his touch. The simplicity of your response spreads a wave of satisfaction through him. In a way Rowan considers it a frightening thing, that one being could be so attached to another without constraint, what scares him most is he knows he should fight these instincts, these feelings but he simply refuses. As a warrior he was trained to eliminate his weaknesses, and you certainly would fall into the category because he knows he’ll go to any lengths to keep you satisfied. At your command he’d unleash a storm to tear down your enemies, same as he would use the rains to feed the earth. His loyalty to you is unwavering. But he too knows that that loyalty can only be challenged by one thing and those are the risks he fears, simply because of their unpredictability. Still he would not change a single thing. He has you in his life. That is more than enough. 

“I was going to clean up before you returned.” Rowan counters and laced with amusement. You press your lips to his palm before it falls back to hold onto your wrists lovingly, like you are an anchor to this world. A sense of pride rises and you’re unsure if it is your own or Rowan’s, though you care little. You do feel some satisfaction at your presence, right here, right now and so you decide to act on it, take a leap and gently let your lips trail along the back of his shoulder until you go to rise. 

“And you are doing a marvellous job at that.” A pull on your arms douse your sleeves into the water. You yelp as you are pulled closer against his back, your chin resting on the warrior’s shoulder. Were you not surprised at the action, you might have berated him for getting your precious silk wet but what follows next leaves you to care little. The vibrations of his voice, warms your entire being. 

“I was doing just fine until I got distracted.” Rowan whispers into your ear as he brushes his lips against the shell. The small intimate gesture sends shivers down your spine and urges you to lean in further, though, your now soaked sleeves are more uncomfortable than his advances are welcoming and so you pull back, step to the side of the tub and face him proper, while swatting your arm, letting the excess drops from the fabric hit his face as your squeeze the rest out of the fabric best you can. The air grows cooler, dancing around you, and sends goosebumps up your arms, the warm water turning freezing in a matter of seconds. You give Rowan a disapproving look. 

“Yes. Your tendency to get distracted certainly is worrisome.” You deadpan with a light shiver clutching your fingers together to preserve some warmth. You debate your next course of action. You have plenty of ideas but you long for payback for his stunt first, and then a little teasing never hurt anyone. Just how far should you take it. Meeting your mate’s eyes and see exactly that glint of anticipation, one that dares you to choose your next moves carefully, push you over the edge to take it up to eleven. No need for escalated teasing. You’ll be torturous. 

He can’t take his eyes off you. Not when you move to unbutton the cuffs at your wrists, not when you undo the laces of your garments and let them fall to the floor so tediously slow without a single word. You make a show of bending down to collect the fabric, sway your hips when you put it in the laundry basket. No mercy is offered when you run your hands through your hair, not when you grab the delicate pins you usually resort to to keep dry what strands you might not want to get soaked, looking in the mirror when you stretch your neck, to get the right angle, offering a nice view of all the dips and curves of your body. Your slightly parted lips, the focus in your eyes, the don’t help either. But finally, finally you offer mercy right when he is about to come fetch you himself and you strut over to the tub, holding out your hand, he offers his and you grasp on for unnecessary support, stepping into the bath and allowing yourself to sink in slowly. 

You moan when you’ve made yourself comfortable, opposite of Rowan. Dancing your fingers through the water you cup them together to pour some over your shoulders, and neck. Each and every move you make, have made since you began this, he has watched you like a hawk, you see that spark in his eyes, the way his knuckles have gone pale with how he tightly holds onto the edges of the bathtub, and how he barely takes a breath. His response to you, sends a fire through your veins, you’ll be all the more happy to indulge and give into but not yet, you argue with yourself, not yet. Let’s see who gives in first. Sinking back further into the warm water until your shoulders are barely breaking the surface, your legs bend at the knee and end up brushing against the insides of Rowan’s. A low growl of discontent emits from his chest. You laugh.

Wrong move. Rowan’s features grow neutral, like a warrior’s calm. His fingers slide along the edge of the tub until they find your knee. They trail up and down your calf feather light, barely touching at all. They rise to your knee once more, other hand repeating. You know better to think this innocent affections, and you would be proven right because next thing his hands wrap around the under side of your legs and pull you close to him. You catch yourself on the edge of the tub as the water sloshes. Your moment of shock is quickly covered up by that very same warrior’s calm. 

“You have my undivided attention.” His eyes never leave yours as you readjust, the moment causing friction exactly where you both feel the desperate ache. Not yet. 

“Well, I am known to reward good behaviour.” That earns you a chuckle, quickly stifled and turned to a pleasant moan when you change your position to straddling his lap. You look all too innocent and as a reply to your action, Rowan’s hands trail down your spine and over the curve of your hips, around your behind, and back up again, repeating the gentle teasing touches he knows set you off. He can tell you bite your tongue given the tension of your jaw. Were the circumstances different he might have captured your lips with his but not now, not yet. He supposes he can be stubborn and he’d very much like to see which one of you will give in first. He’d be a fool to ignore his waning restraint but you seem to be very much in the same state. It’s simply a matter of outlasting. A warrior’s discipline is good for more than just battle and training. 

Your hands stroke up his chest, over his shoulders, neck and into the silvery strands, slowly brushing through from ends up, little by little, taking out any tangles, any grime left and rinsing out the traces of battle until you reach the roots, section by section, methodically. Once done, you don’t stop brushing your fingers through, instead your skilled fingers massage his scalp and neck earning one satisfied moan and groan after the other. The caressing of your skin grows more bold, dipping lower, closer to the apex of your thighs, and higher, curving around to your front, barely brushing over your sensitive chest. You fight the responses of your body, but can’t every time and so you find your back arching, leaning in closer to the attention. A particularly bold pinch extracts a moan from you. It’s game on now. 

“Are you going to be a good mate to me and finish what you started or should I quit l while I’m ahead?” Your lips dip down towards Rowan’s neck, your pull on his hair lightly guiding his head to the side to give you better access as you kiss and lick and suck your way along the exposed skin. You feel the vibrations of every sound you get him to make through your lips and again that fire burns up and burns brighter. Your resolve is dwindling but you’re not going to let Rowan know that. You were not schooled in the many masks of silver-tongued for nothing. 

“Do you want me to be a good mate?” Rowan’s voice is uneven when you bite down into the bend of his neck and shoulder only to smooth it over with your tongue. You pull back entirely, put your weight back further and letting your hands trail along the defined muscle of his chest, ever so lightly making your way lower with each rise and fall, so terribly slow. You don’t respond immediately, features turning thoughtful as if you’re considering. He tries to cover up his own response to your thoughts, and tries to stop his mind from imagining exactly what he could do to please you in both situations. He fails miserably in quelling those thoughts. 

“Let’s see where the day takes us.” And so that torturous touch of yours finally reaches exactly where he’s been longing. Whatever comment he might have had falls silent on his tongue, so instead he leans in to press his lips agains yours, feverishly so. It’s unclear who won this game of self-restraint but Rowan has lost all will to care and by the sound, look and feel of it; so have you. You’ve got other things on your minds now. Starting with the sating of this built up desire. 

#throne of glass x reader #throne of glass imagines #throne of glass imagine #rowan whitethorn x reader #rowan x reader #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass fic #throne of glass fanfiction #tog x reader #tog smut #sjm fic #sarah j maas

[amayadartan]

12

While Olly has been taking care of Amaya, things are not so smooth elsewhere in the Palace for Dartan...

“I want to see her.  I need to make sure she’s alright.” Dartan’s voice was raised as he was arguing with Arioch not far outside of the apartment of rooms he’d been given in an unused wing of the Palace.  He was being guarded, and, as soon as he’d tried to leave, Arioch and Mithos had been alerted.  For the time being, all agreed keeping him segregated from everyone was the best option, given his surly disposition and what had happened to Amaya.

“No one thinks that is best for HER right now.  She needs rest and quiet.  Olly and Arch will be attending to her, along with Abriella and possibly her friend Cassandra, who we have learned has healing abilities as well.  You need not worry about the sweet witch.”  Arioch had to admit he had a soft spot for her.  The previous night she hadn’t reacted when some of their glamour had slipped a couple of times, and she seemed sweet.  What problem Dartan had with her was his own.  She was now stuck there, confused, scared, and didn’t look at the scar down his face with disdain like some had.

“So other men are given the ability to see, touch, and care for my wife, but I cannot.  Do you hear yourself?  How ridiculous is that?!”  Dartan’s voice raised again, and he took a step towards the fallen.  He did not know why he was so angry at being kept away, except he wanted to apologize, to explain that he had not meant for her to be hurt.  If he was bound to her, the least he should be able to do is talk to her.

“You want a divorce, so technically you're her ex-husband as soon as someone figures out how to do it.  Trust me, we’re working hard on that, by the way.  Then we’ll send you home, much to the relief of all of us.”  Arioch was losing his patience.  He was not patient on the best of days, and the Demon of Vengeance wasn’t having the best day with his friend Asher having been tortured by Lucifer’s son, then the hunt for Amaya, and her healing last night.  He was tired and wanted to be done with the spectre in front of him.

“I’ve changed my mind.”  The look on Arioch’s face was one of pure, complete, and unadulterated shock.  Dartan had lost his mind.  The fallen was now sure of it.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”  Arioch blinked twice, sure he had not heard the damned spectre correctly.  “You. Changed. Your. Mind?” He repeated the words back slowly, still staring at Dartan as if the other male had grown a second head.  If he had, that might explain this new development.  NOW he changed his mind?  NOW!  “Could you have maybe done that BEFORE you lost her in a forest full of creatures who think of humans as snacks?  Hmm?  Would that, I don’t know, possibly, have been too inconvenient for you?”  The sarcasm was so thick in Arioch’s voice it was almost palpable in the air between the two males, as they faced off against one another.  

“Don’t even start with me, demon.”  Dartan’s voice held warning.  Not that he knew what he’d do to the other male.  “It’s not like I had a lot of time to think about things.  And she…”

“She what?!” Arioch was completely flummoxed on even what to say at this point, and damn near at his breaking point.  If he didn’t think that snapping the neck of the being in front of him might harm Amaya, he would have.  “She made a mistake?!  You mean like you did abandoning her in the forest of a foreign realm where there are vicious animals?  That kind of mistake?  Or one that just inconveniences your royally egotistical dumbass day?” Now the demon was growling, a slight glow starting around him.  Had Dartan considered who he was speaking to, he would have remembered Arioch was the demon of REVENGE.  As in payback.  So getting payback for an innocent left to die in a forest would be right up his alley. Funneling any of the feelings Amya had towards Dartan regarding her treatment would FEED him.

"I didn't ASK to be married to her, but here we are, and I AM.  SHE. IS. MY. WIFE!" Dartan roared back, still not considering who he was dealing with in the slightest. He took a step towards Arioch, his hand coming in front of him, one at chest level palm down and the other at his waist with palm up. Between them a colored mist started to swirl. Fuck this demon, and fuck anyone else who got in his way.

Arioch was not one to be threatened or to back down.  The spectre wanted to dance?  He'd dance, and they'd see if Dartan could die a second time.  Patience completely gone, Arioch shifted into his full, fallen demonic form in an instant, and his talons were buried in the side of Dartan’s neck; purple blood began flowing down the spectre's chest.

Dartan’s eyes were wide as pain cascaded through his body.  Every nerve was lit up as if chain lightning was traversing through every fibre of his entire body.  It was then he realized he'd made a very grave miscalculation on who held the upper hand betwixt the two of them.

#writeblr #fiction #fantasy #dark fantasy #fantasy fiction #original fantasy #original fiction #paranormal fiction #dark fiction #paranormal #original story #original world #my ocs #my writing #original writing #original characters #original content #original character #found family #strangers to friends #witch #spectre #four horsemen of the apocalypse #imperium #hell #specter #gothic #supernatural creatures #angels #demons

[givemeonesecpls]

CELLOPHANE

pairing: dick grayson x reader

tw: angst, cussing

word count: 1300+

It was 2 am, and raining, as per usual in Bludhaven. 

It was 2 am and you had a bad feeling.

The way Dick’s eyes avoided contact with yours, his fidgety hands, and his usual confident demeanor was nowhere to be found. He stares at the ground in silence, with his hair covering his facial expressions. He had just gotten back to your apartment after a few hours of patrolling with Bruce.

Your hands reach for his rough ones and you grasp them tightly. “Dick. What is going on with you?” You can only remember one other circumstance where Dick seemed this troubled.

Dick’s blue eyes finally make contact with yours. Dick opens his mouth to respond but no words come out. He seems stuck.

The patience you once had was quickly coming to an end. “Come on, Dick, spit it out.”

As more silence fills the air, you reluctantly let go of his hands. “Was it Kory again?” Your eyes begin to sting with tears.

“No, no, of course not. You know that was a mistake.” Dick responds for the first time since he has stepped through the door.

“Well, what do you expect me to think? You’ve been here for half an hour and those were the first words you’ve spoken to me since you've been here.” Y/N exclaims, the nerves starting to fire you up.

“I think we should break up.” Dick deadpans. You furrow your eyebrows in surprise.

“You… you are kidding right?” Y/N questions in shock, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Tears fill your eyes as his words begin to sink in. “I thought we were in a good place in our relationship. I thought you loved me. I thought- I thought-”

Dick tightly grasps your hand in his once more. “I just…” He deeply sighs and runs his other hand through his raven hair. “I just need time to think.”

“Time to think? About what?” Y/N’s frown deepens. “You’re confusing me, Dick, just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix this-”

“Barbara told me she still has feelings for me.” Dick blurts out. His eyes shining with regret. “And I think I feel the same way.” Your mouth parts slightly in shock..

After a few seconds of silence, You stand abruptly, Dick’s hand falling from your own. You head into the kitchen.

“Y/N…” Dick follows you into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” You ignore his voice and keep your eyes trained on the cars outside of the kitchen window, fighting to keep yourself calm. “Y/N.” Dick is yet again ignored. He had never seen you like this before. “Y/N, say something.”

“What do you want me to say Dick?!” You finally turn around to face him. “I told you, if you still had feelings for Barbara to not pursue anything with me! And you did it anyway!”. You take a large gulp before Dick speaks.

“When we started our relationship, I didn’t have any feelings for Barbara.” Dick’s eyes aimlessly try to make contact with yours. “They just… came back.”

Your bottom lip quivers as you struggle to hold in your cries. “...how long have they been back?” Dick tightly squeezes his eyes together as if he was in pain.

“It doesn’t matter.” You scoff and turn to walk away, but Dick grabs your wrist to pull you back.

“Tell me how long, or you leave.” You declare as your chest heaving with anxiety and sadness.

“Since I saw her… around Christmas.” You roughly pull your wrist away from Dick’s grip.

“Wow!” You laugh hysterically. “It has been nearly 6 months since you’ve discovered you still had feelings for your ex, and I am just now finding out about it.” Dick reaches out for you, but you swiftly evade him. “Let me explain-”

“No! There is no need to explain! I get it. You never loved me. You were just using me to fill the Barbara sized hole in your heart. I should’ve fucking known when you cheated on me. You have never fucking loved me-” Your loud sobs fill the kitchen as you turn back towards the window, trying to hid the tears streaming down your face.

“You know that isn’t true!” Dick exclaimed, gripping your shoulder and turning you to face him.. “My feelings for you were never insincere-”

“How sincere could your feelings for me have been, when in the back of your mind, you have always wanted her!” You sink your face into your hands, the feelings of despair too hard to combat. As you feel his fingertips brush your hands, you attempt to put as much space as you could between the both of you. “Do not touch me!”

Tears begin streaming down Dick’s face. Why is he crying? He was the one who had wasted nearly two years of your time.

“Y/N, I never meant to hurt you like this…” Dick states softly.

Your cries have not softened. “Well, you did hurt me. You hurt me really, really bad.” Before Dick could say anything else, you whisper something just loud enough for him to hear. “Just leave me alone, Dick.”

Dick shakes his head. “I don’t wanna leave you alone like this.”

“I don’t care! Just fucking leave! I don’t want to see your fucking face anymore!” With those words, you grab a wine glass from your counter and launch it at his feet.  

A few seconds of silence pass by before Dick begins to approach the door. As the door shuts behind him, you rush to lock it.

Dick stands with his back against your door. He takes a shaky breath before wiping his face and heading towards the elevator.

As you lay in your room with your heart in pieces, your phone begins to ring. You quickly hit the decline button and turn over to face the window. You gasp as Jason appears in front of your window. You frown as he knocks rapidly. You roll your eyes and turn over to face the other side of the room again. His knocking ceases for a few seconds, and your phone begins to ring again. You sigh and answer the call.

“You know I saw you ignore my call. Open the window.” Jason orders.

Your voice is raw from all of your crying. “I am really not in the mood right now, Jason.”

“I just saw Dick leaving…” You turn to face him again. “Did something happen?” You sit up and lean your back against the headboard.

You bite your nail nervously. “Dick broke up with me.”

Jason’s jaw dropped beneath his mask. “Wow, I thought…”

“Yeah, I thought so too. Turns out Barbara still has feelings for him, and he felt the same.”

Jason eyes you from the other side of the window. “Open the window, Y/N.”

You end the call and take a deep breath before standing and approaching the window. You unlock the window and crack it open for him. Your eyes begin to brim with tears again as Jason steps into your bedroom. You quickly turn your back to him before he can spot the tears streaming down your face. You scramble to the kitchen, while wiping the tears from your face. “Take your shoes off.” You open your fridge and grab a beer. As Jason approaches the kitchen. “Want a beer or something?”

Jason shakes his head, removes his mask, and places it on the countertop. “Y/N…”

You aimlessly search your fridge. “Maybe some water, you hungry?”

Jason steps closer to you and gently places a hand on your shoulder. “Hey.”

“You’re probably hungry. How long were you on patrol today-” Jason grabs both of your wrists. You try to shake him off but his grip is relentless.

“Y/N!” You finally make eye contact with him and you could easily spot the concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”  You gently shake your head and he pulls you forward. As soon as your face hits his chest, the sobs building up in your throat escape.

“Why am I never good enough for anyone?” Jason tightly wraps his arms around you and your fist bunches up his jacket. “What do I keep doing wrong?”

“Nothing. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #jason todd #batfam #angst #dick grayson x reader angst #barbara gordon #barbara gordon x dick Grayson #dick grayson imagines #batfam imagines

[hibernationsuit]

ALSO BELOVED PATIENCE

beloved - despite the sweet, cute word and actually having patience liking someone, i just couldn't write any romance BKDKDKDJFJK i need to work more on patience & alicia. have patience mention her beloved gun instead (given to her to alicia btw)

Patience has followed her contract's target since Byzantium. She wanted to catch him as soon as possible, but the adjutant hesitated. No one wants chaos on streets of Byzantium. Now, stuck on an abandoned asteroid, she waits for the right moment.

---

Gorgon seemed like the perfect place for people to hide: no authorities, a bar, and lots of places everyone else simply wants to forget - or do not know about. But it didn't fit the personality of her target. What the adjutant had told about him, hiding in some abandoned lab is not his style. That means he's here for another reason.

After following him for a while and asking some questions in the Sublight-owned bar, Patience found out two things: he's been running around here for a while, going into old locked up facilities, and that he's searching for something someone named Minnie asked him to look for.

He always seemed to be with members of his crew. More people meant trouble, and Patience didn't like trouble, especially when it's a job like this. Surely she'll manage to catch him alone at some point. She decided to wait, which is rare for her. Getting a few bottles and some snacks from the bar helped a little.

She managed to think up a dozen of ways to separate him from the group. Maybe get those door controls and lock him away from the others. Or make something that would get his attention so he would check it out alone on his way. She'll find a way. Or at least she would.

It was officially a night time, and based on her observations he tended to follow the rhythm of the day at least somehow - he always seemed to stay on the ship at this time.

Yet here he was, sneaking out of his ship all alone, barely armed.

What was he doing all alone?

She jumped off the landing pad and followed him. The man was surprisingly good at sneaking, managing to avoid all the marauders and critters roaming the path leading to the CHEM lab.

The place creeped her out, not only because of the weird primals and the smell. It's like there was something in the air. Something trying to make her lose control. Good thing her mask had a somewhat working air filtration.

She waited a bit before entering the building - going in too soon would make noise, and she wasn't ready to catch him yet. Too many escape routes. She'd catch up inside, which wouldn't have been hard since he was leaving tracks.

She hurried inside, ignoring all the clutter, death and destruction in the halls.

The scientist seemed to descent even lower in the building. Patience hesitated. The idea of going even deeper scared her - will she find a way out?

Every building on this damned asteroid seemed to be a labyrinth. She's been in the Purpleberry Maze on her friends' birthday, and even it seemed more clearer. Being in these labs gave her chills.

But, at the same time, going down would give her an opportunity, too. Get the target into a corner, and even if he managed to escape, he would have to make all the way back up to have even a little chance to get away from here by himself.

She followed him, beloved pistol ready in her hand.

#asks #my writing #oc: patience #the outer worlds #the outer worlds oc #yay patience content!!!!!

[dftreed]

The Silence of it

MASTERLIST

Chapter 14

Summary

Y/N has been with the group since the start of the apocalypse yet can’t help but feel like she doesn’t fit in anywhere. When they arrive at Alexandria, she should feel relieved. Instead she’s left feeling confused and stuck in her head. A certain someone helps her out of it.

You were growing restless. News from back home in Alexandria was running dry and you were almost starting to regret staying behind. It was breaking you heart and keeping you awake at night, more than usual, to be so far away from your family.

Normally, having Daryl’s company would be all you needed to keep calm and steady, but considering he hadn’t been talking to you as of lately, you just felt more and more unnerved.

You’d spent some time with the King and Jerry, trained with soldiers on their breaks, and even started to help with the crops and harvesting if you were asked. But you still couldn’t stop worrying.

“Y/N.” A voice was pulling you out of your thoughts and you squinted up past the bright sun, hands dirty from the soil you were digging through. You eventually made out Morgan as he approached you. “Do you know where Daryl is?”

You sighed and wiped the sweat off your brow line, not minding the dirt you smeared across your forehead. You shrugged and put your hands on your hips. “No, I never seem to lately.”

Morgan was watching you curiously but eventually nodded, giving you a soft wave as he walked away from you.

You were frustrated again, patience for Daryl being run thin. Quickly excusing yourself to the nice woman who’d asked for your help weeding, you jogged over to one of the King’s men, the first you’d met.

“Richard.” You came to a stop next to him and he glanced at you briefly, not paying you much mind. “Do you have any idea where Daryl is?”

He looked at you now, seemingly interested in you and your situation. He must’ve just realized you were someone from Alexandria, somebody the King had let stay.

“Yeah actually.” He smiled down at you and you missed the glint in his eye. “We’re scheduled for a run here about now, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the company.”

You were regretting coming along now, regretting leaving the walls with a near stranger and regretting letting your frustrations cloud your judgement.

Richard had practically left you in the middle of nowhere, slipping off while you cleared a few walkers on your way to where Daryl apparently was, something you now realized was untrue.

You’d obviously been lied to but the only thing you didn’t understand was why. What was the play here, if there was one. You felt you’d grow close enough to Ezekiel to understand he wouldn’t do this to anyone, especially a non-allied community.

Wandering now, you were once again feeling mad at yourself for losing focus. You didn’t keep track of where you were heading and you had no clue how to get back to the unfamiliar community.

The air was prickling against your skin and you were exhausted and angry, angry at Daryl and angry at yourself.

You liked to think you understood him, you knew what made him tick and what was happening under the surface and under his facade of cool headedness. You’ve spent the entirety of this new life together and you’d die before he did.

Yet, somehow, you didn’t see him pulling away from you like this, this time. You thought it was different and it was special and it was the start of acceptance towards something you both hadn’t had before.

Suddenly a wave of missing your family washed over you. You weren’t the type to go to them for advice, or anybody for that matter but things weren’t feeling easier.

You missed Glenn and Abraham like it was yesterday, you thought about Beth everytime somebody hummed a song and you still looked for Tyresse in a crowd.

It wasn’t getting any easier and you weren’t sure it ever would.

Your thoughts were exhausting you and you nearly let out a cry of relief when you spotted a small house off in the distance, almost hidden in the trees. You could find your way back to the Kingdom tomorrow, you just wanted to rest for now.

You crouched low and sped up to the house, knives drawn and angled. After sitting and listening for a few breaths, you deemed it empty and stood near the door, angling your shoulder and ramming it into the wooden door.

You flew into the house, still on guard, but paused and dropped your position when you looked around the small room. “Oh holy shit.”

DARYL POV

“The Saviors who discover what’s left, we want them to be angry.” Richard was explaining his plan to attack a small group of Saviors to Daryl.

They were somewhere out, not too far from the Kingdom, but far enough that Negan’s men wouldn’t immediately go towards that direction. Daryl was skeptical of Richard but the want to finally do something about this was burying that.

“I left a trail from here to the weapons cache I planted, to the cabin of someone Ezekiel cares about, and I arranged it so the stakes are even higher than just one.”

“Who’s that?” Daryl felt more guarded now, the idea of hurting somebody innocent not sitting well with him.

“It’s just some loner he met.” Richard dismissed. “And the girl he’s been spending time with.”

This comment missed Daryl, he took a step outwards towards Richard.

“Why don’t they live in the Kingdom?”

“She lives out there, she’ll die out there.”

Daryl was frozen completely now, piecing together one of the people being referred to. He felt his heart racing in his throat and squared his shoulders. “It’s a woman?”

“It’s two. What’s it matter? The new one has more balls than you and me. That’s why she’s there, it needs to be believable that they did this.” Richard continued to speak but Daryl’s head was spinning now, a ringing in his ear as anger and panicked built up.

“What’s her name?” His voice was a low growl, the threat of his anger building up as Richard started to ramble past his question.

“Maybe they kill them, maybe they don’t, but it’s gonna show Ezekiel what he needs to do.”

“The name. What is it?” Daryl ignored him again, pressing further. He was watching the man with a dark far away look in his eye.

“The one’s tough, maybe she’ll live.”

“Say her damn name.” Daryl was yelling now, his belief slowly being confirmed the more Richard tried to push forward.

He sighed softly and turned away from Daryl. “Y/N and Carol. I was hoping you didn’t know her and I didn’t see you talk to Y/N much, so I didn’t think you’d care ‘cause you know what needs to happen.”

Daryl was fuming, stomping forward to collect his crossbow and gear and ignoring Richard’s pleas for understanding. He felt dizzy at the thought of you and Carol sat waiting in a death trap, his stomach turning with rage thinking about how you even ended up outside the walls.

“You stay the hell away from them, you hear me?” Daryl was spinning back to face him

The sound of trucks and gravel kicking up stole their attention, peering around the truck to see the Saviors approaching in the distance. Daryl felt almost animalistic, the thought of you at the end of this plan turning his stomach.

“Look, we can wait for things to go bad, and lose people or we can do the hard thing and choose our fate for ourselves.” Richard was once again attempting to reason with Daryl and once he was met with disagreement again, he opted for acting alone.

Daryl swiftly ran up behind him, gripping the back of his armor and throwing the man on the floor. He held him down tightly, grunting as Richard fought back in an attempt to stand.

Daryl kept an ear out, listening and waiting for the sound of the Saviors vehicles to die down.

He was throwing punches, full body swinging as he rotated fists. Richard swung something heavy from his left and threw Daryl off of him with the force, both men scrambling for their weapons.

Richard was talking again, pleading for reason within Daryl but he felt nothing but pure murderous rage at the idea. “What we have to do requires sacrifice one way or another.”

“Guys like us… we’ve already lost so much.”

“You don’t know me.” Daryl thought of loss, how it plaques his whole life long before the apocalypse. Then he thought of you.

“She gets hurt.” Daryl started. “She dies, if she catches a fever, if she’s taken out by a walker… if she gets hit by lightning. Anything, anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

Carol was outside now, you curled up on her couch looking out the window. A small smile was on your face at the sight of the King, you almost went out to greet him before thinking of the questions it would cause.

She seemed agitated when she stepped back in but you felt like she was lighter on her feet, holding a cobbler in a glass pan.

You smiled over at her and shrugged, the giddiness of the Kingdom and it’s theatrics had remained amusing to you.

“You’ll need to go back soon.” She offered, sitting opposite of you and opening her book, placing it down on her lap. “Daryl will worry.”

“Don’t be too sure of that.” You mumbled, it fell from your lips in a pout and you didn’t bother remaining stoic. Carol was your oldest friend now, despite your lack of talks recently.

She shook her head at you like you weren’t making any sense. “He loves you.”

Your stomach turned and you hugged your knees closer to your chest. You didn’t reply to her verbally, shaking your head repeatedly.

She sighed and went to speak again, stopping when another knock at her door echoed through the house. After all this time the sound still was jarring and unnerving to you.

She met your eye and you felt even more worried when you realized her expression lacked any recognition or expectancy.

She stood swiftly, handing you her book. You watched her back as she swung the door open, watched her shoulders fall and the breath leave her body.

She stepped out of view, out onto the porch and you furrowed your brows. Anxiety was racking you but the lack of sound or anger just left you confused. You gripped your knives tightly and stood slowly.

When you heard the familiar gruff voice start to speak slowly, you froze in place. Their conversation was heavy and low and you felt like you weren’t meant to hear it so you sunk back against the arm of the couch.

“She in there?” You were confused as Daryl spoke, a hum of approval falling from Carol. You weren’t sure how he knew you were here. You looked around for a place to hide and then felt stupid for doing so.

This was Daryl. Although confusing and on the verge of breaking your heart, it was still just Daryl.

And when he stepped around the frame of the door, crossbow clinging tightly to his chest, you remembered again why you’d be okay with feeling this way forever.

He looked guilty and bashful but a wave of peace washed over you, calming fears you didn’t even realize were suffocating you. He had a wild look in his eye beneath the one he always had for you.

He was always going to make it feel complete.

You had hugged Carol goodbye for longer than anyone in your entire life, tears falling onto her shoulder. She was teary too but petting your head and lightly scolding you for acting like she wasn’t ever going to be back.

Walking back to the Kingdom with Daryl, you still felt that heavy sadness of leaving her. You were thankful for the dark of the night, covering your red cheeks.

It didn’t help that he wouldn’t even glance in your direction, silent and distant, all the way on the other side of the road.

If it wasn’t so dangerous, you bet he’d be walking in the fields just to be farther away from you.

“How’d you know I was here.” The words felt loud and heavy in the silence, taking up space they weren’t supposed to. But curiosity was weighing on you and the quiet was suffocating.

He didn’t answer for a long time, not sparing a glance to your side of the world. For a moment you wondered if he had been zoned out and didn’t hear you or if he was opting for pretending you didn’t exist.

Then the sound of his boots was gone and you halted a few feet infront of him, glancing back to see he had stopped walking and was watching the back of you.

You turned slowly, confused, and titled your head in his direction. He scanned down your face, your furrowed brows and tired eyes. He avoided looking below your nose.

“Richard told me a plan.” He started off slow and you watched his silhouette tense like he was recalling a nightmare. “Leading the Savior’s back to Carol and you.”

You were confused as you tried to understand what he was saying and what the Savior’s had to do with Carol. Your face dropped as you slowly understood what he meant and why you had been left out here.

“Is he alive.” You asked tentatively, watching his reaction.

He didn’t say anything again, biting his lip and glancing around the empty air.

“Yeah.” He eventually mumbled and you sucked in a breath, not sure if you were relieved or scared. “But I would’ve done it.”

You shook your head and instinctively took a step towards him, hands raised in approach. He didn’t need to hear you speak to understand what you were thinking. You didn’t want him to do that.

“I mean it. If I thought he’d do it I would’ve killed him then and there.” He sounded stressed out and angry again at the idea, agitation pouring off of him. “I’d do that for you.”

“Don’t say things like that.” You spat the words like the burned, recoiling away from him and hugging your arms to your body. “You’ve barely spoken to me. It’s too confusing Daryl.”

Now he was stepping forward, keeping his distance but making an effort to lessen the gap you were creating.

“I’d do that for you and I’d die for you Y/N.” He was pushing forward in his words and you felt yourself darken, anger and confusion finally reaching it’s limit with him.

“Then why do you do this to me.” You were almost screaming now, totally forgetting the existence of walkers or anything besides Daryl. “Don’t you see how this is what’s killing me. You’re what is hurting me Daryl.”

He was shaking his head and fumbling backwards like you shot him. When he spoke again his voice was weak and breaking around the words.

“Don’t.”

“I’m serious.” You yelled. “I’m going crazy Daryl, I don’t know why you hate me so much.”

You weren’t embarrassed when you realized you were crying. You were exhausted from trying to figure him out, longing for him day in and day out and worrying about his safety or what he was thinking about.

“I could never hate you.” He sounded panicked and you shook your head, flinching back when he took wide strides towards you.

He froze when you flinched back, hands stopping mid air around you at the reaction. You met his gaze for a second and felt yourself break at the look of hurt and shock passing through his face.

You knew he’d never hurt you, you also knew if he touched you it would be over for you.

“I..” He seemed frozen around his words, like he was having to pry them from his lips to present them to you. “I need you.”

Shaking your head again you sucked in a tight breath. It wasn’t enough for you now, his words that were constantly lacking action. You spun on your heel and started to walk again, longing to be back at the Kingdom.

You grunted softly when you felt his hands wrapping around your arm, both of them holding it tightly as you turned around. He was basically cradling your arm in an attempt to keep you there.

You felt your resolve weaken, watching him struggle to communicate how he felt. You thought about what Carol had said.

“I love you Daryl.” You breathed out and shook your head, prying your arm out from his grasp. He clenched his hands around nothing, stumbling forward towards you.

You wanted to turn again, to leave him there in silence a few paces behind you until you could go separate ways at the Kingdom, maybe you’d even go home. You wanted to let him sit with this fact and to understand how much you needed him.

Instead you held his face in your hands and watched him with soft but exhausted eyes. He leaned into your touch like a wounded dog and nearly whimpered at the contact.

You wanted him to hear you and to feel what you were saying. You hoped he’d have no doubt about the way you felt and start to feel like he could deserve something like this, atleast enough to fight for it.

“I love you.” You repeated, voice firmer this time. “And I’ll wait for you forever, longer than I already have, but I need you to remember how small that could be.”

Maggie and Glenn passed through your mind, just at the start of their family. And then Sasha and Abraham, only just being brave enough to try together when it was already over.

“Fuck forever.” His voice was snapping you out of your thoughts and you felt his rough hand cup yours that was still over his cheek. “I’m here now, you’ve got me.”

“For how long.” You felt like yelling again, stepping back from him and lowering your hands so they were rested on his chest. “Until you’re scared and run away again?”

He nearly sneered at you instinctively, the words hitting a sore spot for him. “Ain’t scared.”

“Then what is it Daryl.”

“Don’t you get it?” He was sneering at you now, taking a few steps away from you and you felt a flash of familiarity at the curl of his lip. Daryl was closing off again, a ghost of the angry man he’d been before.

“I do get it.” You lowered your voice, it coming out soft and reassuring. “I get it and you know I do, but I can’t do it anymore.”

And you did get it. You knew why Daryl was scared, why he couldn’t say the words that would put you at ease. But you were sick of losing people with regrets.

“So that’s it? You’re leaving?” He said hurt and confused, pacing slightly like a cornered animal. You shook your head and sucked in a rough breath.

“Find me when you’re ready.”

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