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linasofia · 1 year

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Le Désir

Part 3

Fandom: Pilgrimage

Relationship: Raymond de Merville x OC Cecilia

Summary: Raymond is travelling along the coast of Ireland when a storm forces him and his men to seek shelter at a remote inn. When he spots the innkeeper’s daughter, he realizes the stay has potential to be more exciting than he first thought.

Warnings: 18+

A/N: This is the final part of this fic. You can read the previous parts here.

She was warm—a lot warmer than usual—and when she tried to move in her bed, she scratched her elbow against the rough wall. There was not enough room to rotate, and her hazy mind started to slowly put things together. The warmth under the thick blanket was not only hers; she was not alone. Cecilia woke with a gasp, and a few heartbeats passed before she remembered where she was. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she noticed the large candle in Lord Raymond’s room was put out. She had no memory of seeing the knight—who snored peacefully beside her—blowing on the flickering flame. It could only mean she fell asleep before he did. Had he watched her sleep? The thought made her uneasy.

She made a new attempt to move, and this time she managed to roll to the side without getting trapped in the sheet. Lord Raymond let out a groaning sound and stirred in his sleep. Cecilia froze. He reminded her of a wild animal—a predator even—and she did not want to wake him. She was not ready to deal with his piercing gaze yet. Lord Raymond exhaled loudly and relaxed the fine muscles on his face. The traces of dirt were gone, and considering how clean he smelled when he first lowered himself over her, she assumed he visited the inn’s massive wooden tubs to refresh sometime during the previous day. Long, dark lashes framed his eyes, and even if she could not see his irises, she had no trouble remembering their unusual blue shade. Cecilia found it difficult to guess how old the knight was. His hair was dark—both on his head and chest—and his beard thick. It was still completely unaffected by age. He had the physique of a warrior at the peak of his life, but the lord was not a young, inexperienced man. Time had carved small valleys around his eyes, and when he smiled at her the previous night, they appeared deeper. She liked his smile, for it brightened his features just as the sun chased away shadows during the morning’s earliest hour. The deep scar on his face looked old, and once again, Cecilia wondered how he got it. It must, no doubt, have hurt enormously. Even if she was certain he had done far worse to many opponents, she felt a hint of pity for him. Suddenly she wanted to trace the rough line of the scar with her fingertip but she quickly pushed the idea away. Lord Raymond touched every inch of her body the night before, and she caressed a good part of him in return, but a touch like that felt too intimate. She smiled when she thought about how he admired her curves after peeling off her stockings. It was hard to believe the same gentle fingers later wrapped her braid tightly around one of his hands and firmly forced her to arch her back as he took her from behind. He seemed to have endless stamina, and as the night fell over the green hills, Cecilia was pulled into his world of desire, lust, and satisfaction. It was not strange, Cecilia thought, that she had fallen asleep in his bed. The last memory of the night was how Lord Raymond came to rest beside her and pulled her close so her back rested against his chest. His burning hot sword left traces of his silvery stream on her skin as he pressed himself against her.

Soft light seeped into the room, and Cecilia prayed it was early so nobody would realize she did not sleep in her own bed. She knew she was expected to feed the animals and then return to the main hall as soon as possible, but leaving the bed was not easy. Inch by inch, she slowly moved away from the warm body resting next to her. As quietly as she could, she then stood from the bed and collected her clothes. She had no options except to dress in the middle of the room, so she began the process while keeping an anxious eye on the soundly sleeping knight. When she was finally done tying the lacing in her dress, she proceeded to make her hair presentable. Her braid was completely destroyed after a night in the lord’s bed, and when she ran her fingers through her locks, it felt unmanageable. Cecilia let out a frustrated sigh as she tried to comb it with her fingers, and when she finally succeeded in arranging her thick copper hair into a new braid, she hoped it looked decent enough. Then she quickly walked over to the door, took a final look at the alluring man in the bed—and turned the key in the door’s lock.

A clear blue sky met Cecilia when she stepped outside. With a surprised smile, she blinked a few times to let her eyes adjust to the brightness. It felt as if the storm was a bad memory, soon to be forgotten, and only the broken branches on the ground gave witness to the incredible forces nature released over the eastern coast of Ireland. The small birds with orange chests had returned to the old apple tree, and Cecilia could hear their distressed alarm calls as she walked by on her way to the stable.

Raymond woke from a deep, satisfying sleep and found the spot next to him empty. He sighed heavily. When he fell asleep the previous night, Raymond was certain he would start the following day buried between Cecilia’s lovely thighs. If she slept with her back against him, he would have gently lifted her leg and teased her most sensitive parts before slipping through her wet folds. But if she, for some heavenly reason, slept on her stomach—Raymond grinned at the thought—he would not have bothered with the teasing. He wanted to silence her again and listen to her muffled plea as he selfishly took her one last time. Just the thought of it made the blood boil in his groins. Absently, he stroked himself and groaned as he summoned the memory of her aroused smell and the feeling of her slickness around him. With another groan he grabbed the pillow next to him and buried his nose in it. The sweet, feminine scent that made him feral last night still lingered on the fabric. Raymond inhaled deeply and felt a rush of arousal flooding his body. One thing was certain; he needed relief before he could eat his morning meal.

The horses welcomed Cecilia with curious eyes. The stable smelled of horses and straw, and as she handed out piles of hay, she could not resist thinking of the fascinating man she left while he was still sleeping. She made it from Lord Raymond’s room undiscovered, and so far, her secret was intact. A part of her longed to be back with him to be able to feel the warmth from his body and bask in his heated gaze. His embraces were overwhelming—but she liked the way he handled her—and his superior strength was both intimidating and arousing.

When all horses were fed, Cecilia stopped at Éclair’s side. The mare looked at her, then sniffed expectantly on her stretched-out hand. Cecilia smiled, pulled out the apple she was hiding in her pocket, and offered it. The horse took it gently from her hand, but then the apple was gone in the blink of an eye. Only a few loud chewing sounds were heard before Éclair swallowed the pieces. Then she inspected both of Cecilia’s hands one more time with an expectant expression in her dark eyes. When the mare realized Cecilia did not have any more treats, she turned her interest back to the hay again. Éclair had the clear contour of a saddle on her back. Dried sweat made her silky coat coarse, and Cecilia decided to go over it with the bristle brush she used on their gelding. As soon as she started brushing, the horse came to rest one of her hind legs by tilting onto the toe of the hoof. She let out a long, pleased sigh in a clear sign that she liked being cared for. Cecilia took the time with her, and when she finally was done, she patted the mare’s neck. Éclair was a sweetheart, and Cecilia had a hard time imagining the beautiful buckskin during battle.

”I thought I would find you here.” The dark voice behind her made Cecilia jump. How in heaven’s name did he get inside without her noticing? Éclair lifted her head and looked at her master as if he was truly interrupting an enjoyable moment. Hay hung from her mouth, and she kept chewing as he approached them.

Cecilia gave him a shy smile. ”Where else would I be, My Lord? The horses need their morning hay. It is my responsibility.”

”I would have prefered if you were still in my bed,” he responded with a dark smile, making Cecilia blush like the sky on a warm autumn evening.

”I thought I stayed too long, My Lord.” Her voice sounded a bit unsteady, and she bit her lip.

”Not long enough,” he groaned as he stopped by her side and placed his large hand on the horse’s back. Cecilia took a step back, unsure what to do. Lord Raymond ran his hand slowly over the now soft coat, and Cecilia could not help glancing at his fingers—the same fingers which he used to give her great pleasure the previous night. Then he turned to Cecilia.

”I promised you a reward if you took extra good care of Éclair. I can clearly see that you kept your word.” He reached for the pouch in his belt and opened it. What happened next filled Cecilia’s mouth with an unwelcome, sour taste. Lord Raymond placed two silver coins in her hand. She stared at them—it was too much. ”For your excellent service,” he said with a tone she was uncertain how to interpret. It was a possibility, of course, that he really meant the extra attention she gave his horse. But Cecilia felt dirty, just like one of those women she had heard stories about. The unfortunate ones who earned their money by taking a countless number of men to their beds. She knew it was bad enough that she had followed him to his room, but to accept payment for it—that was something completely different. Yet she knew how much her family needed the money, so Cecilia slowly closed her fingers around the coins. They burned in her hand, just as the shame on her cheeks.

”Thank you, Sire,” she mumbled as she backed away from him. “Please, excuse me, I have to go.”

For the second time in two days, she left the stable in a hurry, but this time tears stung in her eyes. The sun blinded her as she slammed the door unnecessarily hard, and she almost expected Lord Raymond to come after her. But he did not. Instead, she reached the main building undiscovered and fled to her room. She needed to be left alone, if only to pull herself together. With a tortured whine, Cecilia collapsed on her bed. She wrapped the blanket around her and buried her face in the pillow. Then she screamed as loud as her lungs allowed her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and while she pressed the pillow harder to her face, her tears wettened the soft fabric of the pillowcase. Cecilia blamed herself and her weakness for the pain in her chest. She should have known better than to listen to her body’s deepest desire. If one played with fire long enough, it was unavoidable to get burned.

Eventually, Cecilia ran out of tears, and when only quiet sobs caused her lips to tremble, she tried to collect her thoughts. Deep inside, it was not the acts of the previous night she regretted—it was the way she had reacted after Lord Raymond gave her the silver coins. She had accepted them, knowing the sum was too high for the grooming of his horse. She had accepted payment for her body. Suddenly she recalled him saying that he would not pay for her delightful company, and it made her feel even more stupid. Of course, he could say that when he handled his transfers of money so smoothly. Her skin still smelled of him, and she cursed the heated memories it awoke. Cecilia lay on the side and pulled her knees up so she could hug them. She felt lonely and exhausted. Every part of her body ached—a reminder of the rough treatment she received the night before. She lost count of how many times she saw the white light that caused her body to explode in a storm of pleasure. During the late hours, she learned that Lord Raymond possessed impressive control over his lower body.

A quiet knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. ”Cecilia, are you in here?” Her youngest sister’s clear voice easily penetrated the thick door. It made Cecilia question how long she had stayed in her room.

”Yes,” Cecilia answered and coughed as she tried to clear her voice.

”May I come in?”

Cecilia sighed. She wanted to be alone, but she could not say that without waking the worry in Alice’s compassionate heart.

”You may,” she replied and pulled the blanket over her head. The door made a familiar squeaking sound as Alice pulled it open. Then followed her sister’s light footsteps as she walked over the wooden planks. Finally, she felt how Alice sat down and took her hand.

”Are you not feeling well?” The warm concern in her youngest sister’s voice made Cecilia’s throat tighten as if someone had put a rope around her neck. Or a hand.

”Not really, no.”

”Have you eaten? Can I get you anything?” The blanket was gently pulled from her face. ”I can tell father that you—,” Alice went silent. With a deep sigh, Cecilia met Alice's worried gaze. She knew her eyes were swollen, and there was no point in denying she had been crying. But she was not ready to share the reason behind her tears. At least not yet.

”What is wrong?” The soft words were enough to make Cecilia flinch under the weight of her self-loathing.

”It is nothing really, I am just being stupid and emotional. I already feel better.” The last part was a lie, but Cecilia tried to avoid questions. An approaching headache, as a result of her tears, started to spread at her temples.

”Is it that time of the month?” Alice suggested with a kind smile. All three sisters suffered from mood changes once a month, and they had formed a mutual understanding between them. They all knew the sacrifice their bodies had to endure.

”Yes,” Cecilia lied again. A sigh of relief left her when Alice squeezed her hand. They were necessary lies, and if it could prevent further questions from her sister, Cecilia would do it again. Alice did not continue, and it made Cecilia relax her shoulders. Neither of them spoke, and Alice stroked the upper side of her older sister’s hand.

”The cruel-looking knight and all his men are gone,” Alice suddenly said. Something in her tone caught Cecilia’s attention. ”I think it is a relief. Father made good money—I’m sure he did—but I did not like having them here. I do not trust them.”

Cecilia nodded quietly. So Lord Raymond was gone. She did not have to face him anymore, yet she was not sure how she felt about that. Alice looked at her with an uneasy expression in her eyes. Her sister seemed to hesitate as if she wanted to speak of something but was uncertain of how. A dark shadow fell over Alice’s sweet face, and it cut like a knife in Cecilia’s heart. She could sense something was wrong. Suddenly she became afraid Lord Raymond laid a hand on Alice, and it made her feel nauseous. If he did, it was her fault. She should have stayed in the stable with him and allowed him to satisfy his hunger. Her youngest sister was, as far as Cecilia knew, still untouched, but what if—

“The knight approached me when they were finished with their meal. First I was scared, thinking I did something to upset him. But he wanted to leave a message—for you. He made me promise to say this when we were alone. He wants you to know that he will take the same route again when he gets the opportunity. And he requests the same stable hand. What does he mean, Cecilia?”

Cecilia felt how the blood left her face. She knew exactly what kind of message Lord Raymond meant to send. He intended to come back—only God knows when. Cecilia deliberately bit the inside of her cheek to avoid revealing the conflicting emotions rushing through her body. She was certain Lord Raymond wanted to make his intentions known because he was convinced he had gained control over her. That she would gladly accompany him in his bed and welcome his feral behavior. Her heart raced at the thought of being trapped beneath him once more, and his scent seemed to grow stronger in her nose as if it wanted to make sure she had not already forgotten him. But he was right, she admitted, as the memories of his exploring hands made her body ache. She would gladly give herself to him again. That cruel-looking bastard was right.

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#richard armitage #raymond de merville #raymond de merville x oc #raymond #pilgrimage #raymond de merville fanfic #raymond fanfic #Le Désir

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blxckchxrrybxby · 1 year

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Unresolved Light

summary: Reader needs to vent.

pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Cordelia Goode x Billie Dean Howard x Reader

warning(s): mentions religion, blood, self harm

a/n: I’m beginning to think there’s no cure for the agony of living & there’s no love for those who need it most.

“Sometimes, I believe the purpose of life is to realize it is a form of hell in itself…” your fists unclenched, wiping away sweaty palms against the ragged denim beneath them, “And everyone shoves the idea of a greater, gentler being in your mind. They tell you He’s love and He’s what the world is not,” your eyebrows furrowed—voice breaking, “but what kind of merciful God would hurl His creations into a dying world and expect them to be the light when all influence leads to darkness?” The silver cross embedded with cubic zirconia sparkled against your neck; dangling daintily as you hunched over in despair. “How sadistic of Him to push me into nothingness, hoping I’d grasp at His glory just to catch a breath while drowning.” A scoff pushed past trembling lips. Pulsating veins spread through your forehead, making their presence noticeable. Your fists clenched once more, pounding at the ground. Tears fell and bodies moved closer to you.

They were not fond of fragile things shattering. They preferred to think of you as strong. And how could you blame them? It would be more convenient for them to believe that, than to witness your world fall apart, and your mind follow suit.

No one wants to pick up your pieces.

Yet, your fists kept slamming, and slamming, and slamming, and slamming—Oh, and now she was crying for you to stop… but how could you when this blood on the floor was the most color you’d seen lately?

Cordelia pulled you into her chest—where your fists continued to beat. Her heart would not suffice when you craved a rhythm of your own. Her eyes fell shut; chin laying atop your frazzled mind.

And your fists kept slamming.

Her white blouse was now painted red. Your weary heart shadowing Franko in Mendieta form. This was a cleanse.

And now your forehead found a home against her collarbones. Billie’s delicate fingertips traced at your spine; grounding you. Forcing you to accept anything but brutality. There was nothing worse than losing all faith in faith itself.

No matter their beliefs, this was yours. And upon an unforgiving life, it was now lost to you—the hope for something greater was foolish. As your fists settled—now aching—your gaze readjusted. From the left of her dirty blouse, you could make out Mina.

Eyes dark and heavy against the many flames. You were sure her tears could extinguish them.

“Come, little one.”

You listened, pushing away from the witch and medium. Crawling across the floor and past surrounding candles, you lay on her lap—staring at the red handprints smeared and left behind.

Her fingers moved down to play with the necklace; twirling the cross gently.

“No sense in running towards destruction when we can take our time.”

#wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #cordelia goode x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean x reader #sarah paulson imagine #cordelia goode #wilhemina venable x cordelia goode #wilhemina venable x billie dean howard #billie dean howard x cordelia goode x wilhemina venable

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wreckedchaos · 1 year

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She Melted

⚠️⚠️⚠️18+ only 100% smut

A/N: This story is based on Trap of Lies, which is a dark 1700 duskwood AU collaboration. There is no plot in this, just borrowing the setting and the Jake and MC we created for this story.

She was sitting in the parlor trying to read one of her favorite books. The room was dark in details between the colors he picked and the night sky but she felt safe in this house, with him. She could look up from the couch and see him in the study working. She could hear the quill dragging the ink across the parchment and all she could think about was the way his hands felt pulling her body close.

They had spent the day with her parents who had taken him in like their own son. Yet she was still madly in love with him, has been for the two years since he entered her life. She would do anything for this man. Her mind thought back to earlier when they kissed deeply and he pulled away giving her such lustful eyes. Those same blue eyes she caught in the at the flower stand and she learned where they came from. His were full of love and a feeling of home though when she looked in them, even when they were full of lust. Any other man would have been slapped for that look, but not him, it made her weak in the knees when he looked at her like that.

She realized she hadn't turned the page in ten minutes as all she could think about was him. His jet black hair, blue eyes, those soft lips, and his hands on her waist. She couldn't take it anymore, she had no idea how he could focus on working. She put her book down on the table in the center of the room. She stood up smoothing out her skirt and top and walked towards him. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor and she didn't care if he knew she was coming her way. Her steps matched her pulse

He had heard coming towards him and could not help but smile. He had been trying to figure out how to get her away from that book and not mess up on this paperwork at the same time. He should of been done but his mind kept wandering to her and that kiss earlier. He looked up just as she stopped next to her. Her small frame was a work of art to him, well really most men in this town, but she was his. This wasn't a forced relationship, he made sure of it when he saw her. He wanted to her honestly love him and choose a life with him, no matter what happened. He watched her sit on his desk and cross her legs at the knees. She was purposely showing her calf to him and he knew what needed him just as much as he needed her tonight. Normally they slept in separate rooms, but tonight that was not going to happen.

"Jake, can you stop working tonight" her voice was soft but demanding. He knew in that moment what she needed. He put the feather down and grazed his hand along her calf up under her skirt.

He saw her body melt to his touch and her soft skin against his hands was driving him crazy as he watched her melt and thought about that kiss earlier. This same kiss he knew was on her mind as he did that purposely when they snuck away together alone.

He stood up and her breathing hitched as she looked into his blue eyes. This man could do anything he wanted her to her in this moment and she wouldn't stop him even for a second.

He spread her legs hiking her skirt up more as he stood between her legs. His one hand on her thigh as the other was on the back of her neck and his mouth inches from hers. He could smell the cider she had been drinking, the smoke from candles burning. He also knew she had the taste of honey in her mouth as he made sure to always have it as she loved to suck on it as she read.

He watched her eyes close in anticipation of what he was going to do and he just smirked. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Why don't you join me in my room tonight and go get ready while I put out the lights" his voice is soft but demanding as his hand on her thigh squeezes her off skin.

She whimpers at the touch and his words. Turning her head towards his needing to feel his lips on her before they separate again. As her lips gently touch his the kiss becomes demanding and her body aches with desire for this man. She knew if she didn't pull away they were going to right on his desk.

As she pulled away his hands still were on her neck and thigh she looked into his eyes. She saw his desire in them and knew she wasn't going to think tonight and after everything that was perfectly okay in her mind.

Biting her lip she looked him up and down and she knew in his mind he was undressing her and it sent a shiver through her body. "I'll go get ready and meet you in bed" her voice is soft and ready to let him take control of her.

He couldn't move though, he didn't want too. Instead his hand slid further reaching her lips between her legs as his other hand moved to her back untying her top with on hand. There was no way he could let her out of his sight now. He had to have her in this moment as she looked so full of desire.

His lips crashed into hers as he slipped a finger inside her and she moaned into his mouth he took her gaping mouth as she was enjoying what he was doing and slid his tounge into her mouth. This position was new for them, they always moved to the bed before getting here but tonight he couldn't help himself. He slipped her sleeves off her shoulder seeing her corset as she hadn't put on her under dress due to the warm weather and he saw her breast. His mouth instantly when and kissed and the top of them as his fingers continued fucking her. She leaned back as she started with one hand to undo the corset which drove him insane that she could do that with everything that was going on.

He pulled away and looked into her hazel eyes and saw how much she needed this as well tonight. The unplanned desire of having her on his desk was making his pants strain against him.

His fingers found her spot that drove her insane and his thumb rubbed her clit. He knew in that moment as her body arched towards him that her last release after everything was with him. No other man would let her release like she needed too.

He went for the sensitive part of her neck and kissed her roughly there, nibbling slighty against her skin. Her moans told him she was close. She couldn't contain her desires tonight and he knew exactly what she needed, this being first. He stood up but not stopping his fingers as his other hand grabbed her chin making those lustful eyes look into his. "Cum for me, MC."

She looked into his eyes, he never said those words to her on his desk. It was always a spot that was forbidden for this. However, the look in his eyes told her body everything it needed to know. He was going to let her get the full release she needed and not stop until she was done. She adjusted herself so not to cum on her skirt and she kissed him again as she felt her first orgasm of the night release, she moaned into his mouth.

He smiled as he kissed her, knowing she needed it and much more. He pulled away when she was finished, sliding his hand along her thigh and stepping away from her.

She whimpered at the space between them but knew where they were moving things. She slid off his desk standing in front of him wearing only her skirt in this moment as the rest had been taken off already.

She placed her hand on his clothed chest and looked up at him, biting her lip. She knew she sold her soul to him in this moment by the look of lust in his eyes was all she needed. Her voice was soft but not in a scared away, as she knew he would never push her too far specially after everything they had been through. "I'm yours, Jake" was all she could say.

"Head up to my room. I will be there shortly as I put out the candles." He says grabbing her chin to look into her eyes. She bites her lips and nods her head and she walks away from him. She knows he's watching her every step as she leaves the study.

Darkness held the house in its comforting embrace. Her keen eyes had adapted to the lack of light by the time she opened the bedroom door and stepped inside to find it too was a charcoal etching of shadows. It had become normal to her, and she’d stopped bumping into things a while ago. Usually, she’d throw on the nightgown she kept in there for moments such as these, but something inside her rebelled at the idea of wearing it now. Instead, she reached for Jake’s soft cotton sleep shirt and tugged it over her head, heart racing as the shirt swamped her small form. She felt like she was doing something she shouldn’t have been, something exciting or forbidden. The neckline sagged and gaped. It was long on her, falling almost to her knees, but it was rich with Jake’s warm, enticing scent. It enveloped her and roused that familiar sweet ache of desire he could kindle in her so effortlessly. She fought the urge to bury her nose in the worn collar. A small, coy smile curled her lips at the thought of him reprimanding her for stealing his clothes, knowing the reward after would keep her warm through many dark, cold nights. She thought about running to him but instead stood in front of the mirror he had for her.

He hurries and puts out all the candles in the house that were lit, he didn't need them lit to walk through his house. He opens the bedroom door she had closed. He sees her standing in the mirror, her hair falling down her back in one of his shirts. He unties his shirt and pulls it off realizing she has missed his touch to be in that shirt. However, looking at her is driving him crazy, he notices her eyes are closed and he takes the chance to walk up behind her and wraps his arms around her small frame.

The sight of her in his sleep shirt was something he could never get use too. He would smell her in that forever when he put it on and he was perfectly happy with that knowing she belonged to him. He leans in and growls in her ear, "you know what this sight does to me."

She leans back giving herself fully too him but not opening her eyes. His touch, his scent, his voice sends the best chills and she knows its him behind her. "I know" she smirks opening her eyes and she catches him staring at her. His one hand reaching down under the top of the shirt and grabbing her right breast. His fingers play with her nipple as his other hand slides under the bottom of his shirt playing with her again.

Her moans drive him crazy as her head tilts back against him. She feels his hard bulge against her back knowing he needs relief as well. She tries to pull away but he pulls her back. "Where do you think your going?" He voice using that dominating tone that drives her wild when she is like this. His fingers not stopping their playing but giving her no release or even close.

"I…." She stopped she she gelt his fingers slide in her again. He was not letting her think, knowing exactly what to do to her.

"Use your words, MC."

"I wanted to give you release." She looks into his eyes in the mirror and sees his smirk.

He leans into her ear and growls "watching you like this will give me all the release I need when I'm fucking you hard." He feels her body go weak and smiles as he look down at her against him. “Lets get you in bed, but this needs to go” he states tugging on the shirt as he moved his hands a way from her.

She pulls it off in one go as she stands there, she feels him back away but hands on her hips. He gently moves them to the bed and pushes her back. Her legs are hanging off the end of the bed as she looks at him still in his pants and shes naked on his bed. She see’s the smirk on his face as she adjusts herself for what is about to happen. She leans up on her elbows and as she looks in his eyes her breathing hitches again, feeling the wetness and desire between her legs and throughout her body.

He undoes his pants and takes them and his underwear off and grabs the back of her thighs. “Tell me what does my love need?”

His voice as she says those makes her body feel on fire, as she looks at him standing between her thighs both of them naked. “I need you, all of you. I can handle everything you do to me, Jake.” she manages to get out.

With those words he leans over and kisses her deep, lining him hard cock with her wet enterance. He feels her moan into his mouth, as he pushes against her but not entering. He feels her hips buck and he smirks as he moves his mouth down her neck. As he feels her buck again, he can’t control both of their desires any longer and thrusts into her, filling her completely. He watches her body arch and head tilt back but he keeps his mouth on her neck as he stays there, thrusting just oh so little enough to drive her wild.

He knows in this moment, shes losing all control of her mind and body as she bucks against him to fuck herself under him. He bites on her neck and hears her yelp but her body doesn’t stop. He moves his hands from her thighs to her hips to stop her, holding them tight. She grabs the blankets under her trying to fight against him but as she looks into those blue eyes she loses the control and her body tightens around him. He knows what is about to happen and starts relentless pounding into her.

He feels her orgasms not stop as she watches her body arch and shake under him. He knew she needed this, but hadn’t realized just how much after everything they had gone through. As he watches her, he knows she’s about to go weak. He thrusts into her harder, feeling himself close. Normally at this point he would pull out of her but her body is holding him in and he can’t control himself anymore. As he thrusts deep in her he explodes inside her, her eyes shoot open as she looks up at him, realizing what just happen but feeling him fill her has her body wanting more of him.

Once they both finish, Jake pulls out and picks her up bringing her to the pillows. He lays her down and lays next to her, pulling her close to him. He looks into her eyes as his fingers draw circles on her body.

Once they both catch their breathe, she looks into his eyes. “You have no idea how much I needed that.” she turns her head and kisses him deeply.

When she pulls away, he runs his hand from her stomach up to her face and runs her fingers along her lips. “I know exactly how much you needed that, but lets get you cleaned up.”

He goes to get out of bed to grab a towel and wet it but she grabs her hand. “I love you, Jake.’

He kisses her hand, ‘I love you too, MC.” he leaves and comes back with a wet towel from the basin and cleans her up as she lays in bed. After he is done he lays back down and watches her fall asleep as he holds her.

#duskwood smut #duskwood fandom #1700 AU Duskwood

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mychemicalimagines · 2 years

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Black Flame Candle-Max Dennison-Chapter 4

Summary: Max Dennison is the new kid in Salem, Massachusetts. On Halloween, his life takes a dramatic turn when his parents force him to take his little sister, Dani, trick-or-treating. He, his crush, Casey Blackstone, and his sister are in for a ride when Max lights the Black Flame Candle.

Series Warnings: Slight Language, Fluff, Flirting, Angst, Supernatural, Paranormal, Canon Deaths. This series is a little more adult than the Disney movie.

Words: 4,729

Tag List: Reblog

A/N: One more chapter left! To be tagged in the last chapter: Message Me, Comment, Submit an Ask, or Tag Yourself in My Bio!

Third Person POV

The trio, plus Binx, have been walking for at least a half an hour, taking multiple turns and having no idea where they are going. They don’t mind following his lead to run from the witches but they just want to get the hell out of the sewer. Cas keeps Dani against her side, making sure she doesn’t look up at the disgusting mess above them.

Despite the spell book being his hand, Max reaches out slightly, grabbing onto the bottom of her red jacket with two fingers, keeping his crush close.

“Come along, not much further.” Binx says, before stopping at a four-way, the ding from his bell echoing. “Which way, which way? Oh, down here!”

They quickly follow behind him, not realizing that Billy is following their voices through the sewers as they murmur to one another. Binx reaches the ladder first and turns toward the group as they approach, letting go of one another.

“Up the ladder.” The cat says, causing Max to flip the lighter closed and put it in his pocket. “Come on. Careful.”

Binx jumps onto the teenager's shoulder as he hands the book over to Cas. He then starts to climb the ladder, making sure the feline doesn’t fall off his shoulder. Using all his strength, Max pushes the manhole cover, allowing the cat to hop out onto the road. Bright lights capture Max’s attention as his eyes widen.

“Binx, look out!”

The bus gets too close forcing him to drop the cover and drop down the ladder, looking up.

“Where’s Binx?” Cas whispers, looking at him.

He doesn’t answer as he begins to climb the ladder again, scaring the two girls.

“Binx!” Dani yells out.

After Max exits, he grabs the book from Cas and helps pull her out of the sewer. As Cas helps Dani climb out, Max turns toward where Binx was last seen.

“Oh my God.” He mumbles, running his fingers through his hair.

Dani finally sees what happened and gasps, tears filling her eyes. Binx is laying in the middle of the road, completely squashed flat. Cas immediately pulls her into her chest, holding back her own tears.

“Cas, I am so sorry.” Max says, walking past her. “This is all my fault.”

She grabs him by the jacket and pulls him toward her, tears finally falling.

“Max, this is not your fault.” She puts her face into his shoulder, holding the young girl to her chest.

Feeling incredibly guilty, he places his face into her hair, keeping his back toward the cat. He can’t even look at him right now. A second later, Dani gasps, capturing the teens attention. Cas’ eyes widen as she watches her dearest cat slowly inflate.

“Max…” She whispers, gently pushing his shoulder.

He looks over his shoulder and his eyes widen.

“Holy shit…”

Binx sits up, shaking his head before looking up at the guilty male and two crying girls.

“I hate it when that happens.” He glances between them. “What? I told you I can’t die. Girls, you alright?”

They slowly nod, smiling softly.

“Okay then.” He says, rushing past them. “Let’s go!”

After waiting twenty minutes of their time finding a cop, who only thought it was a prank and made fun of Max for being a virgin ‘with a hot girlfriend like her’, they run down the street and think of what to do.

“Max, where did you say your parents were?” Cas asks, looking up at him.

“At that Town Hall party.” He says, glancing down at her.

She looks at the buildings around her before gesturing down a road.

“Binx, Dani, this way.” She points before walking down that way.

Binx, knowing where they are going from their conversation, takes the lead with Dani walking close by. Bringing up the rear are the older teens, making sure to keep the two of them in their sights. Throughout their walk, Max’s hand keeps accidentally bumping hers, not that she minds.

“You know…He called me your girlfriend…” She says, glancing up at him but quickly looks forward when his eyes meet hers for a second.

“You noticed that, huh?” He blushes slightly.

“Kinda hard when he gestured to me when he said it…” She giggles softly, somewhat embarrassed by bringing it up.

“Well, what do you think?” He murmurs, biting his lip slightly.

She thinks to herself for a moment before grinning.

“How about we save our own asses and get rid of the bitches, first?”

Max laughs softly and nods, liking her plan. As they walk, their hands keep brushing against the others. Perhaps, it’s not as accidental as they would like each other to think, but rather more so they were doing it on purpose. After more ‘accidental’ touches, Cas’ pinky curls around Max’s. That small touch turns into full on laced finger, hand holding as the two of them walk a small distance behind Dani and Binx.

Their cheeks heat up slightly, but smiles appear on their faces, excited for what happens after they save their own asses. For once, Max is glad he took a leap of faith and held Cas’ hand, and most importantly, he’s extremely glad that she didn’t pull away when he laced his fingers with hers. They make it to Town Hall, seeing people outside and through the windows of the second floor.

“Oh great. How’re we ever gonna find mom and dad in this place?” Max asks, seeing how large the building was.

Not wanting to let go of her hand, he gently moves Cas in front of him and walks through the front door where multiple adults were standing around the door. Completely ignoring them, they rush up the stairs. Dani picks up Binx and looks around slightly, walking further into the room with the teens behind her.

Cas has no idea who she is looking for so she’s staying close to her…friend. The room is almost completely filled with people in different kinds of costumes as well as the band who was playing.

“I’m gonna look for mom.” Dani says, separating from them.

“What are they dressed as?” Cas asks, glancing up at Max.

Before he can answer, a hand grabs him from behind, scaring him. The teens turn around to see a man dressed in pajamas, but he has on a vampire cape, make-up and pointed teeth.

“Dad.” Max sighs, slightly happy it’s just him.

“It’s not dad. It’s Dad-cula.” He says in a fake accent, gesturing to his costume before noticing the blonde next to his son. “Oh my Goodness, who must this charming young blood-donna be?”

He gently takes her hand and kisses the top of it.

“Dad!” Max snaps, capturing his father’s attention. “Something terrible happened!”

“Dani?” He says, completely dropping his accent to be serious. “What’s wrong?”

“No, Dani’s fine.”

“Good.” He says, before grabbing his son’s shoulder and speaking to Cas. “Excuse me.”

He gently pulls his son to another part of the room, leaving the blonde alone. She looks around and bites her lip before following them, not wanting to be left by herself so she stands a few feet back, keeping her distance but still close by.

“Shoot, Max.” He says, noticing his son was nervous. “Look, whatever it is, just tell me.”

On the other side of the room, Dani is still looking for their mother, holding Binx close to her. Nearby, someone in an alligator consume was squating down, dancing.

“Mom?” She asks, trying to look inside the mouth, but the alligator shakes their head and stands up, still dancing.

She sighs and looks around until she sees her mom, dressed up.

“Mom?” She raises an eyebrow, capturing the woman’s attention. “What are you supposed to be?”

Her mother grins, embarrassed.

“Madonna…” She says, gesturing to her breasts which have cones on them, much like one of Madonna’s legendary outfits. “Well…you know…obviously…Don’t you think?”

“Come here.” She gestures for her mother to bend down.

“What?” She leans in, confused.

“This is Cas, Max’s girlfriend's cat, right? He can talk…” Dani starts but her mom cuts her off.

“Wait, Max has a girlfriend?” Her eyes widened slightly.

“Forget that part. His name is Binx and he can talk. My brother’s a virgin…”

“But you said he had a girlfriend.” Mrs. Dennison cuts her off again.

“Mom! Listen! He lit the black flame candle, the witches are back from the dead and they’re after us. We need help!”

“How much candy have you had, honey?” She asks, smiling at her as she moves some hair from her face.

“Mom, I haven’t O.D.ed. I haven’t even had a piece! They’re real witches. They can fly and they’re gonna eat all the kids in Salem, They’re real!” Dani says, practically beginning her mother.

“Alright.” She says, standing straight to look around. “Let’s just find your father.”

It takes a few minutes but the duo eventually find him arguing with Max and the blonde. Mr. and Mrs. Dennison are barely listening to them.

“Hey, guys, I love you but don’t you know how crazy this sounds?”

“Sir, it’s not crazy!” Cas tries to say but he practically waves her off.

“Max! Max!” Dani calls out to him from beside him where she’s standing on a table. “They’re here! They’re here!”

The teenage boy and the blonde immediately turn around to see Winifred and Mary in the middle of the dance floor, talking. He looks around for a second before he turns toward Cas and holds out the book.

“Here, hold this.”

She gently takes it but before she can speak, he instantly starts running toward the stage. Cas turns toward Dani and gently wraps her arms around her waist, helping her down.

“Stay with them.” She gently pushes her back into their legs and runs after him.

Chasing him down, she watches him climb into the stage and takes the microphone from the Skeleton dressed singer.

“Hey man, cut the music!” Max says, waving his hand in front of his throat. “Cut the music.”

“Hey man, I’m in the middle of a song.” The singer says, slightly angry.

“It’s an emergency, only for a minute.” He says, his eyes begging the singer for help.

The music cuts off and the teenager turns toward the audience.

“Will everybody listen up, please?” He says, capturing everyone’s attention. “Your kids are in danger.”

“What do you mean?” A woman in a cowgirl costume speaks up.

“300 years ago, the Sanderson sisters bewitched people, and now they’ve returned from their grave.” He explains, causing the crowd to laugh. “Hey man, I’m serious! It’s not a joke! I know this sounds dumb. But they’re here tonight. They’re right over there!”

He points in the direction of the three witches, causing the spotlight to hit them. The entire crowd gasps and backs up in shock.

“Thank you, Max, for that marvelous introduction.” Winifred says, wanting to keep the ‘Halloween prank’ going.

The entire crowd relaxes, and she starts singing the song the man was singing when the three witches first arrived, putting her own spin on it.

“I put a spell on you…and now you’re mine. You can’t stop the things I do…”

“No! No! Don’t listen to them!” Dani says, causing Binx to jump down from her arms so she can cover her ears.

Winifred continues singing, gaining everyone’s attention with her voice as she and her sisters start walking toward the stage.

“Good joke.” The singer of the band says, taking the microphone back from Max. “Happy Halloween.”

“No, man. I’m serious!” He says, trying to grab the microphone again, but the man uses his hands away.

“Yeah, right.”

The band immediately starts playing a beat to the witches’ song, not knowing that they’re ultimately, and unintentionally helping the sisters cast a spell upon all the parents. Max jumps down from the crowd and grabs Cas’s hand, pulling her back toward his family. Before they can reach them, Billy jumps out and tries to grab them, causing the two of them to scream and run in a different direction.

After pushing past a couple people, they reach his parents.

“Mom, Dad, thank God.” He pants.

“Hey, Max!” His father says, dancing with his wife. “Great show!”

“Cover your ears!” The trio says, covering their own.

Billy runs up and falls into them, wrapping his arms around Mr. and Mrs. Dennison. Max and Cas look at one another before looking down at Dani. Together the three of them scream and run in the direction of the door.

“Oh, I wish we had the camera.” Mrs. Dennison grins as the zombie chases after the kids.

The trio follow Binx down the road and into an alleyway, hoping they’re far enough away from the Sanderson sisters that they won’t be caught. Max shakes his head, frustrated, before kicking one of the metal trash cans.

“This is really bad!” He says, angrily.

“Max, calm down.” Cas says, rubbing his forearm.

“Look!” He snaps slightly. “I want you to take Dani back to your house or Allison’s…I don’t care which one, but don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Max, I’m not leaving you.” Dani speaks up, protesting his instructions.

“We’re not leaving, Max.” Cas continues the young girl's thoughts. “We started this together, we’re ending this together.”

Before he can answer, the back door to the restaurant slams open, forcing them to duck for cover, not knowing who was opening the door. The chef walks over to the lobster tank and starts talking to himself as he picks one out. Not even a second later, he walks back into the restaurant. The trio sighs in relief and stands back up.

“Uh-oh…” Binx says, looking down the alleyway.

Their heads snap up before rushing to their individual hiding spots, praying that they weren’t seen. The three witches walk toward them with Winifred turned toward Mary.

“I smell…” She says, sniffing the air.

“Yes?” Winifred says, coaxing her sister into sniffing more.

“I smell…”

“Yesss?”

“I smell…scrud.” She says, causing the oldest sister to give her a look. “Scrud? You know, it’s a bottom dweller. You cook it sometimes with a little bit of bread crumbs, a little bit of margarine or oil…Olive Oils…”

Angry, Winifred grabs her sister and pulls her back down the alleyway. Sarah stays behind and looks around. She swore she saw the blonde teenager in the corner with the book in her lap but she can’t be certain.

“Sarah!” The red-headed witch calls out, forcing her to turn around and run to them.

After waiting a few minutes, the trio start sneaking out of their spot. Needing a little help, Cas grabs into a part of the oven she was hiding behind and uses it to push herself up. Not knowing it was the door, it slams open with a loud BANG. She bites her lip, slightly embarrassed before her face drops and a smirk appears.

“I have an idea…”

Winifred has Mary smell the air over half the town when she catches the scent of the male teenager. Rushing toward Jacob Bailey High School, the smell just gets stronger.

“What is this place?” Sarah asks, looking up at the large building.

“It reeks of children.” Mary says, sniffing the air again.

“It is a prison for children.” Winifred grins as they open the door.

Walking around the halls, they search for any child they can get their hands on. Suddenly the loud speaker dings and Max is heard throughout every hall, howling as if he was a werewolf.

“Welcome to High School Hell.” He says, deepening his voice slightly. “I’m your host, Boris Karloff, Jr.”

He slams the microphone on to the table, laughing loudly into it.

“It’s time to meet our 3 contestants.” He continues, making a joke out of their plan. “Sarah, Mary and Winifred Sanderson. Read any good spell books lately?”

Getting his cue, a now collarless Binx walks into the hallway and sits down, looking up at the sisters. They look up after a second and he hisses, glaring up at them.

Winifred growls.

“Get him!”

He immediately turns around and takes off down the hallway, always being a second ahead. They get close to a room when they pause, hearing a female voice.

“Hello, welcome to the Library.”

They grin at one another, thinking it’s the blonde haired teen. They follow the voice, not paying attention to what she is saying. It takes them a few minutes but they stop outside a large oven, where the voice is loud and clear. Winifred grins at her sisters before counting down and giving them a signal.

One by one, the sisters rush into the room, screaming and laughing. Winifred then pauses when she realizes that the voice is still talking and not screaming in fright. She looks around the room to see a large boom box…That’s where the voice is coming. Suddenly the door to the kiln they were in is slammed closed by the blonde teen they thought that they were following, albeit unknowingly right into a trap.

Cas immediately locks the door, listening as they scream in frustration. She smirks to herself and hits the button on the side, turning the oven on. Dani, Binx and Max run up beside her and look into the window as the fire starts. All three sisters scream in terror.

“Hot!!” Winifred screams as the fire starts hitting her and her sisters. “Hot!”

The trio, plus their ever loyal, faithful, immortal furry companion, watch for a moment before they rush out of the building, rejoicing in their victory. Not one of them notices the green smoke that hovers above the chimney to the furnace.

“Farewell Winifred Sanderson!” Max cheers as his sister and crush start squealing with glee.

While the two females skip and dance in the middle of the road, Max laughs and walks over to Binx who jumps onto a tree branch after his own cheers.

“We did it, Binx. We stopped them.” The teen says, smiling toward his sister and…girlfriend?

“I’ve wanted to do that for 300 years. Since they took Emily…” He says, sadly.

“You really miss her, don’t you? Man, you can’t keep blaming yourself for that. That happened so long ago.” Max says, trying to cheer up the feline.

“Take good care of Dani, Max.” He says, looking up at the human. “You’ll never know how precious she is, until you lose her.”

He hops down from the branch and runs over to his owner, gently jumping into her arms.

“Hey, Binx.” Cas kisses his head. “Let’s go home.”

“Why don’t you guys come over for a little while?” Max says, walking up to the group. “Officially meet our parents.”

“I wanna show Binx my room!” Dani says, excitedly.

“Sure.” Cas giggles and pets her cat. “That okay with you?”

“Do you guys have milk?” He looks down at the young girl.

“Wait, this is your house?” Cas raises an eyebrow as she follows them to the back door.

“Yeah, why?” Max glances back as he unlocks the door.

“I live like five houses up the hill.” She says, gesturing with her elbow.

“Really?” He asks, pausing to look at her again.

“Great! Now, Max is going to be sneaking out every night.” Dani says, shaking her head as she opens the door, pushing him out of the way with Binx in her arms.

He blushes and shakes his head before gesturing for the blonde to enter the house. Looking around, she can tell they still haven’t unpacked fully but it already looks like a home. She smiles to herself as she walks further in.

“Mom? Dad?” Max calls out, closing the door behind him.

“Cas brought Binx over!” Dani calls out before walking toward the fridge.

“Well, I guess they’re still partying.” He says, looking at Cas. “Come on.”

After getting Binx the milk he requested, the trio ends up in Max’s room. Dani has claimed his bed after giving her brother one of the pillows while Cas is sitting on the stairs leading up to the window seat. The young Dennison lays down, petting the cat as he licks up his drink from a small saucer.

“I can visit you everyday! Right Cas?” Dani asks, looking up at her.

“Of course you can! If your parents allow, maybe you guys can have a sleepover once in a while.” She grins, watching them.

“I hope so! Because I’m gonna feed him milk and tuna fish everyday!”

“You’re gonna help her turn me into one of those fat, useless, contented house cats, aren’t you?” Binx asks, looking up at the young girl.

“You betcha!” She giggles as she picks him up to lay with her on the bed.

“I’ve been trying for years! Hopefully now you’ll listen!” Cas giggles but looks up as Max approaches her with one of his extra blankets.

He sits down next to her and gently covers her up, hiding the blush on his cheeks. She bites the inside of her lip softly before moving down a stair. Raising an eyebrow, he watches her, confused on what she’s doing. Scooting to sit in front of him, she leans back into his arms, glancing up at him. He smiles and wraps his arms around her, leaning back into the pillow.

She blushes and curls up against him, covering them both with the blanket, not caring it has Fish Bass’ all over it. Scooting as close as they can, curling up to one another, Max leans his head down, laying it on hers, causing them both to smile in content. The young unofficial couple who want to be together snuggle, enjoy the little bit of peace they’ve managed to get for the first time that night.

Max may not be a big fan of Halloween, but spending time with Cas has definitely changed his perspective on the dreaded holiday a bit. Slowly, the four of them fall asleep, not knowing that back at the school, the green smoke is forced back into the chimney.

A few hours later, the siblings as well as the feline and his owner are still peacefully asleep, not knowing what is going on a few miles away. The spell book they had successfully stolen from the Sanderson Sisters is leaning against one of the stairs near Max. A magical force awakens in the book, waking the eye.

The eye looks around for a moment before closing when Casey squirms and opens her own eyes. Due to her wiggles, Max opens his eyes slightly and looks down at her still curled in his arms. Cas turns her head and smiles up at him, tiredly.

“Hi.” He grins, his lip curled up only slightly due to his fatigue.

She blushes slightly before mumbling her own, ‘hi.’ before sitting up, moving the blanket off of them. She laces her fingers and stretches, forcing her shirt to rid up slightly. Glancing over at the clock that Max put next to her last night, her eyes widen and she grabs it, looking at it more clearly.

“Oh my God. It’s 5 o’clock.” She stands up and reaches for her shoes. “Allison is gonna have a field day with this.”

He stretches his arms outward, trying to crack his back as he sits up.

“I wish you could stay.” He mumbles, watching her as he relaxes slightly, still grinning up at her.

She pauses at his adorable, yet very tired voice and bites her lip. Gently laying her shoes back down, she lowers herself back down onto the stair, sitting down next to him this time.

“Maybe Allison will lie for me for a few more hours.” She grins.

“Lie?” He raises an eyebrow slightly as he leans his elbows on his bent knees.

“I’m supposed to be sleeping over at her house tonight so when my parents call her, she’s supposed to lie and say I’m there.” She explains.

“Gotcha.” He says, nodding. “But you’re with me, instead.”

“I am.” She grins.

He smiles at her before glancing up at his sister, who is still sleeping, curled up to Binx.

“Poor Binx.” He sighs slightly.

“I know. We owe him a lot.” Casey says, looking toward the bed. “At least we had him.”

He nods before looking toward the book that is sitting next to him.

“Maybe we can find some way to help him?” He picks it up and lays on his lap. “The witches used it to put a spell on him, maybe there’s a way in here to take it off.”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “Binx told us not to open it, remember?”

“Yeah, well, the witches are dead, what harm could it do?” He shrugs, looking down at the closed eye.

“Okay, just…” She sighs. “Be careful.”

“I will.” He says but gets a little nervous. “Hold my hand.”

He holds his hand out, palm up. Without any hesitation, Casey lays her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, both ignoring the small spark they had before. Max takes in a deep breath before opening the book. Immediately, a magical light shoots up from the book. Due to its magical abilities, the children are not able to see the brightly lit ball of energy coming from the pages.

The light projects itself upwards through the ceiling, towards the sky, acting like a location beacon for anyone who may be searching for it while unknowingly informing the still alive witches where Max lives.

The teenagers flip through the different pages, trying to find some kind of antidote for their feline friend.

“Oh, listen to this.” Cas points with her hand that’s not holding Max’s. “Only a circle of salt can protect thy victims from my power.”

Before she can finish, Binx jumps toward them, landing on the book, slamming it shut under him. He hisses, glaring at them.

“We were just trying to help.” Max says, holding his free hand up in the air.

“Well don’t!” He snaps. “Nothing good can come from this book. Got it?!”

He jumps down from the book and walks back over to Dani who is still asleep. Sighing to herself, Cas lets go of her unofficial boyfriend’s hand and moves the book from his lap.

“Let’s go see if my parents are home.” He says, standing up.

He holds his hand out, helping her up from the stairs. Together, they walk out of the room, holding hands. He leads her across the hall to a half open door.

“Mom? Dad?” He pushes the door open more to peek inside.

Their bed is still fully made, as if they never slept in it, meaning they must’ve not come home during the night. He raises an eyebrow and glances at the girl behind him.

“They’re still not home.” He says, closing their door. “That’s weird. They must be having a great time.”

“I don’t know…something’s not right.” She bites her lip. “I’d feel a lot safer if we had some salt.”

He gently pulls her down the stairs toward the only other room she has been in. Letting go of her hand, he climbs up onto the counter to get to the large cabinet. Searching through the different spices and boxes, he eventually finds the container and looks down at her with a smile.

“Salt!” He shakes it slightly to hear that it’s at least half a container before dropping it toward her.

She successfully catches it and smiles before jumping up to sit on the counter. Following her movements, Max climbs down and lands beside her, watching her as she starts reading the side of the cover.

“Well, what’s it say?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it says to form a circle of salt to protect from zombies, witches and…” She looks up at him with a small smirk. “Old boyfriends.”

He grins and glances down at it before looking back up at her. He keeps his voice low and soft as the next words come out.

“What about new boyfriends?”

Realizing how close their faces are, both of their cheeks darken with a soft red hue. They look into one another’s eyes before slowly leaning in. Before their lips can connect, a loud bang is heard from upstairs, forcing them apart. Their eyes widen.

“Dani!” They say in sync.

#max dennison x reader #max dennison imagine #max dennison imagines #max dennison x original female character #max dennison x original character #max dennison love story #max dennison fanfiction #hocus pocus fanfiction #hocus pocus love story #hocus pocus

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Text

Draw your swords, pt. 2

Summary: While marriage was the last thing he’d want, especially with his enemies’ daughter, the Darkling isn’t above playing dirty to get what he wants. But his wish for a wedding night turns sour once he realizes his bride is anything but a weak human.

Warnings: angst, swearing, sexual references

Part one

===========================

Walking down a hall, Y/N felt her heart drop as they neared a room meant for them. Glancing over her shoulder, she realized Darkling’s faithful Grisha followed them every step of the way.

Stopping moments before she walked into her now husband, Y/N turned on her heel. With a smile believable to anyone with an outsider’s perspective, she folded her hands before her abdomen.

“Did you guys enjoy the wedding?” Her voice is light, cheerful even. It felt odd, enough for Kirigan’s eyes to narrow at Ivan and Fedyor who replied simultaneously.

“Yes.” “No.”

Chuckling, she raised her eyebrows, “Well, did you both attend the same wedding?”

Swallowing thickly, Fedyor decided to speak for Ivan who was still disgruntled nearly as much as Kirigan.

“The wedding was perfect and you were a vision.”

Humming, she nods, “I’m glad it wasn’t a waste of time for you as it was for me. Good evening.” Turning her back on their flabbergasted faces, Y/N lifted her chin before entering the room on her own.

She could hear Kirigan’s annoyed sigh as he dismissed his Grisha, but the sound of the doors closing truly rattled her insides. Looking to him, she held her breath to stop a shuddered one from escaping her.

"I understand it's not what you expected", he smiled frostily. "I had plans that didn't include you either. But I suppose we'll both have to make do."

She scoffed, narrowing her eyes, "Make do?"

It was their wedding night, doors shut with no witnesses and the marriage arranged for the two of them felt like a noose tied around her neck. She swallows thickly, hyper aware of the bed dominating the room behind her and her hands, wrapped in each other behind her back have begun to tremble.

The general she married leaned back against the door, looking her up and down with a smile of slow appreciation. "Well, you are mine now."

"I may be tied to you by state laws, but I am not yours", she spat.

"No", he smirked, "Not yet." He peels away from the doors, stepping closer. He takes off his black kefta, draping it on a chair. Beginning to unbutton his black, silk shirt, the General looked at her as if she were a caged bird meant for his amusement.

"There are some traditions for tonight", he took one step toward her as he hummed.

"Are you familiar with the word defenestration?" She raised her voice ever so slightly, refusing to step back in fright. He does not get to challenge her and win. Not now, not ever. She does not draw back in a fight, her father taught her so.

"No", he raised an eyebrow, unsure what she means.

"If you come anywhere close to me", she growled out, "I will make sure you find out first hand."

"Don't be so quick to dismiss a good time", he purred, coming closer.

"Oh please, my heel is bigger than your dick."

Raising his eyebrows, the Darkling nearly scoffed at her confidence in this matter. "How can you be so sure when you've never even seen it?"

"No man with anger like yours could ever have something in his pants worth my time."

"You are my wife, are you not?" He narrowed his eyes at her and she rolled hers in contempt.

"Unfortunately."

"Glad you're aware of it", he licks his lips, "Means we're on the same page."

"Same page? We're not even in the same book!"

Those eyes of hers, as fierce and unperturbed by anything he did, could swallow stars and galaxies and universes. As far as he's concerned, she did for he could see them all mirrored in the defiance she locked her gaze onto his with.

"This", he whispers aggressively. "You", he presses closer until his lips are but a faint inhale away from hers, "Are mine. He gazes down at her, gauging her reaction, his eyes burning.

"You're a demon", she speaks through gritted teeth. "I don't trust demons, I don't lay with demons", she pushed against his chest with both her hands, "All you do is destroy."

"I’d say the same thing about you, human."

Rolling her eyes at him, she refuses to relent. Her body is tense, her neck aching from looking up at his dark presence she would not bend before. She isn’t a horse to be broken, she’s a soldier, her father’s daughter.

“Why are you glaring at me?” He grumbled, his lips nearly brushing against hers and she noticed.

Her heart skipped a beat once she realized just how close he is, “I’m hoping you’ll combust spontaneously.”

Raising an eyebrow, a cold smile forms on his lips, “Ah, how cute. But you’re no Inferni.”

“I’m better”, she brought her knee up so swiftly he didn’t see it coming. As her knee collided right between his legs, Kirigan bent over, bellowing in pain.

“Don’t you know who I am?!” He growled with fury, struggling to straighten up. Forced to look up at the smug smile upon her lush, rosy lips, Kirigan never felt more enraged by a woman before.

“I do.” Shrugging, she sat at the bottom of the bed. “I just don’t fucking care. You don’t scare me.”

His gaze felt like fire, setting every inch of her skin aflame and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was hate or lust that burned so bright within him….within her. Either way, she knew she’d be teasing him like this every day if it meant he’d look at her like that. She always did like playing with fire, Inferni or not, and Kirigan just made himself an easy target.

On one knee, he gripped the sheets in an attempt to pull himself up, yet all he could do is groan and clutch his groin.

Gripping his chin, she locked her gaze on him with an unforgivable disobedience. “I wasn’t born to be soft and quiet. I’m not a dutiful wife who desperately seeks your attention. I’m a general’s daughter. I was born to make the world shatter and shake at my fingertips.” Turning his head to the door, she leans in and whispers in his ear. “And now you can leave while your manhood is still relatively untouched.”

“I could kill you for this”, the Darkling threatens, wishing he could wrap his hands around her pretty little neck and squeeze the resistance out of her along with her life.

“I’d like to see you try”, she sneered. Standing abruptly, she turned her back on him.

Sitting with his back against the doorframe, Darkling glared at her with burning passion – for vengeance, of course. While he assumed she’d be difficult, he didn’t presume her to be as strong-willed. A part of him was certain she’d cave once he turned on his charm, but she never allowed him to.

Noticing her hand movement, he quickly realized she’s unbuttoning her kefta as well. In seconds, his eyes widen as she slips the kefta off her shoulders and it falls to the floor. Nothing but a sheer gown hugs her body so tightly, the Darkling felt his breath stop in his throat.

Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on him, “Do you have no manners?”

She kept her eyes locked on his as she turned, opened her gown and slipped it from her shoulders, exposing her body to him. In his eyes appeared a mix of hunger and desire in such intensity that she was both excited and frightened.

“I’m the only one allowed to look at you, that’s a right you can’t strip me of.”

In time it takes for a heartbeat to echo in her ears, the Darkling stood before her. She took a shuddering breath as he gathered her into his embrace.

“Are you planning on forcing yourself onto me?” Y/N’s jaw clenched as her nostrils flare.

Pressing his lips together, his dark eyes narrow in disbelief, “Do you honestly believe me to be so evil?”

Speaking through gritted teeth, she remarks, “Yes.”

Nodding, her purses his lips. Raising his hands in mock surrender, Kirigan moves away from her. He straightens his back, finishing unbuttoning his shirt until the end – just before he lets it fall to the ground.

She swallows thickly, refusing to look anywhere below his chin. For a moment, she could have sworn a flash of hurt crossed his eyes, but she blamed the candlelight for the deceit. There is nothing good, nothing human in general Kirigan. He cannot feel hurt and she refused to let him past her defenses. She will not feel for him, she will not fall for him. He’s a task she had to manage, nothing more.

Unzipping his pants, he took the rest of his clothes off.

Her eyes flicker to his middle as he heads to the bed, realizing he’s wearing undergarments.

Relieved, Y/N opened the drawers, finding herself a proper nightgown to cover herself with. Once her body was no longer open to his view, she looked to him with pursed lips.

“I will not touch you”, he rolls his eyes, “But we are married. Might as well make the rest of the world believe the arrangement is somewhat functional.”

Looking at the door, she contemplated leaving. Sharing a bed with someone, anyone, was intimate. It required trust, love, a sense of safety and loyalty she certainly didn’t share with Kirigan.

“If you choose to leave, it will be all they talk about it the morning”, Darkling warns her and she huffs.

“If you lay a hand on me, I’ll be seeing you at the end of the altar once more. But in a casket during your funeral”, she glares at him and he can’t help but chuckle at her words.

He watched her settle in the bed, beside him. Placing a pillow between them seemed rather odd, but he didn’t mind it. In fact, he half expected her to make an attempt on his life on their wedding night. He still wasn’t sure she wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do the same.

“Sweet dreams, wife”, he smiled as she blew out the candle and the darkness settled in. He always felt comfortable in the dark.

She never felt comfortable in darkness, but he’d never know. She would be brave from now on – she wouldn’t bend, break or bow to anyone.

“I hope your dreams are filled with Volcra”, she snapped before turning on her side, further away from him.

Eventually, despite her initial distrust for the man, Y/N fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. She shifted in her sleep, throwing her leg over Kirigan’s, her hair twisting round and round his arm.

But the Darkling did not fall asleep immediately. She moved against him and snuggled closer. Even though she wouldn’t come close to him awake, she reached for him in her sleep. She wanted him nearby and it drew a smile to his lips. Catching himself smiling, the Darkling sat up in distress.

She may be appealing, but he cannot get attached to her. Ever.

His heart beats loudly, deafening so, his mind unable to slow down even for a moment. How could he fall asleep when he knew this angel beside him was simply a devil in disguise?

She’s a human – daughter of his enemy. Once she serves her purpose, the Darkling knew what he had to do. Turning her back on her side, he fixes the pillow in the middle. She’s a human, fleeting, he’s eternal and he will not allow himself the weakness of caring for someone like her.

Just as his mind drifts, he feels an arm wrap around him and he tenses up, eyes opening wide. “Fuck.”

Tags: @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless

PART 3

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #shadow and bone #general kirigan x reader #aleksander morozova x reader

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 9

Chapter 9: The Hanged Man

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | eight

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: After some time apart, new conclusions are met.

Word count: 7.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT, fingering, unprotected piv sex, emo emo emo (are we even surprised any more), mature themes, abandonment/family trauma, loss

Notes: Friends, wow. I'm honestly embarrassed by how long this took. Thank you for your patience. I hope you find the reward worth the wait. This chapter is nearly all in Din's POV until it switches and blends in the last chunk. If you’re new to KOC, you’re more than welcome to start at this chapter! Love you guys x (gif credit: @bestintheparsec)

“Din.”

Familiar fingers brush through his hair, a hand he knew once combing over his overgrown locks. He feels the drag of nails across his scalp, tucking a truant curl behind his ear, and the act feels like home— like hearth.

Somewhere beyond his open window a morning bird trills, perched in its roost nestled into the forked branch of the elm.

He breathes a sigh, the sound thick with sleep, and turns to his pillow, burying himself deeper into the linen.

“Din, honey.”

He blinks— lazily, molassesed— her shape clearing into focus.

Green eyes peer back at him, fine lines framing the corners of them, and crescents crease around her lips, pulled warm into a soft curve.

Small toys— wooden things, baubles and bits, dolls made from scraps of old fabric—litter the floor, spilling from the chest butted against the stone of the wall. A book, well-loved and dog-eared, rests on his nightstand—the one he insisted she read from each night, the story he couldn’t possibly fall asleep without hearing—the images written on the page, dancing in his small mind to the tune of her voice.

It’s all there now as it was then before.

“It’s time to wake up.”

She sits at the edge of the bed—his bed—the weight of her arm draped over his shoulder like a blanket— like shelter. Like never being fearful again. Like never dying. Like summer, forever.

“I am awake,” he murmurs, and it is with his own tongue that he speaks. Not that of a boy, but a man—unfiltered, unmodulated. Stripped of his helmet, he hardly recognizes the tenor of it, of its richness, but he feels the words reverberate against the hollow of his throat and he knows they belong to him.

Light casts through the window behind her—particles of dust, trapped in the tines. Floating there, suspended on strings.

She only smiles, and strokes a thumb across the sweep of his cheekbone, there in the room he last felt safe.

“No, not yet.”

It’s time to wake up. It’s time to wake up. Wake up wake up wake—

“Not yet.”

His eyes blur open with a flutter of his lashes, the lifeless durasteel ceiling coming into view—the jade of her gaze fading, fading. Blowing away.

He shifts a hand through his hair— through the long strands in dire need of trimming— lying on his bedroll, spine knobbing into the thin mattress. The cold metal overhead stares back at him.

His chest rises. Falls.

Din can still feel her, the warmth of her, there on his cheek.

///

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He knows what you’re thinking, he can see it in the guard you’ve encased yourself with— your glass walls, your glass house. Transparent but impenetrable, Din can only look. A spectator, watching as you go about your routines— a stranger on the outside.

And he sees how you look at him.

You think he’s fine.

You think he’s marble. Unbreakable. Impervious to time, to cold, and he does nothing to correct you; no, he allows the belief. He lets you believe the calloused veneer of his beskar— lets you assume he is more machine than man.

Din thought it would be simpler. Convenient. Din thought it would hurt less.

Because how can he tell you? How can he possibly communicate the imprint you’ve left on him— how his mind revolves around the imagery of that evening in vicious figure-eights. How he can’t unremember your heat curling around his fingers, how he can’t unbridle the pulse of his cock in your palm. How he can’t unspeak that which he called you, his virgin tongue flicking new and flighty around the word.

Cyare.

It tripped—in the midst of his pleasure, it sprang clumsy from him how the inevitable always seems to where you are concerned: transport to Coruscant, his past, his history, his identity— it just happens, reasonless, illogically. Some driving magic beckoning him to buckle, wishing him to give.

Your moans, your gasps, how you prayed his name— this is the white noise murmuring through the ship, harmonizing with the tinny mechanical beeps and settling groans of the bulkheads. You churn like smog through his helmet. Ever present, the memory of you is constant— invasive. It’s suffocating him.

He’s been dealt plenty of injuries and contusions— he has the scars enough to prove it— but it’s this. It’s this that’s killing him. It’s you.

All of these paintings, life-like and lurid, and yet it is this wound - untended, uncauterized - that scalds most: the moment Din, that beskar apparition, slipped away from you. You were there, hip under the weight of his glove, and he simply

went, like fog.

He watched your face crest and fall—felt your heart, skipping nervous like a stone over a morning pond, little waves rippling lightly, lightly out and out until it puttered quiet and

sank.

He abandoned you there. He left you before you had the opportunity to convince Din that you wouldn't do the same to him. Because Din has learned this, his suit of armor a trudging reminder of the inherent fact: good things leave.

You’ll be gone soon. You’ll leave him—he’s taking you home and you’ll leave him. His son will leave him.

He’ll be alone again. He’ll have the Crest, he’ll have the Guild—he’ll have the life he once cast in stone for himself, the life he’s worn as proudly as the Mudhorn emblem he boasts on his pauldron. But that was then - before - and he can never find his way back to that now; now that he knows what he knows—of breakfast and bitter caf and laughter like church bells and warmth and goodness and you.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

There in the galley, lamp-lit iridescence caressing your countenance, you asked him once if he was scared of anything and he told you he wasn’t sure— not yet.

Din lied.

As a rule, he doesn’t make a habit out of dishonesty; it doesn’t typically suit him, he is blunted to a fault— earning allies and enemies alike with the very attribute—but he lied to you then. Maybe his fears are the same as everyone else’s, maybe they’re simple. Human.

Maybe he’s scared that you’ll unchain him from his armor, of his shortcomings and tragic flaws and see the pulpy heart of him—that you’ll look and look and look, and you will like nothing that you find there. That he’s just a man.

And perhaps, he’d rather remain unknown than risk the chance of being unlovable.

For there is a certain hollow you befriend in the aftershock of loss—there is an aperture loss gores you with. There are some holes time can never fill; they remain trenched, dug from rusted trowels— left to fester, left to ill.

Sometimes, in the surly vacuum of space, in those dulled moments in which he has nothing but to count the seconds as they tick clocklessly away, Din attempts to conjure the last word his mother gave to him. He didn’t know it then—he didn’t know it was intended as a gift, boxed and ribboned and bowed. He didn’t realize—a child, wide-eyed with naivety, drenched in fright—that he should cherish it. Remember it. Keep it safe.

No matter how hard he tries, how hard he strains, he can’t recall it. He practices the nightmared memory of it, transports himself into that war zone, dodging shrapnel and brimstone just to catch sight of her face— and he can see her lips moving, can feel the fan of the flames as his world is reduced to cinders, but he cannot hear her.

Was it goodbye? Was it I love you? Was it be safe? Was it hide? Hide hide hide for me. Be good and hide, kind boy—

It dogs him. The nothinged mumble, his silent passenger.

There is no part of this that comes easy.

He heard you. There in Valentia, the city buzzing cacophonously like an orchestra tuning their instruments, he overheard the Twi’lek translate for the older woman.

Family, she said. You have a beautiful family.

Din has never in his life considered forsaking his Creed— forgoing the thing that saved him, made him, honed him to tungsten, sharp as a blade.

But he did then.

It was a flash, something fickle and brief— like the flicker of a candle before it diffused to smoke— but in that nanosecond he saw himself ripping off his helmet. He saw himself going to you, pulling you close to his plated chest. He saw the surprise wash over you—the shock that bubbled to elation. He saw you smile, that crippling gorgeous thing, with his own naked eyes and—

And then suddenly you were there before him, snapping Din from his reverie, blanket snug to your chest, the child — his child— slung beside you. He wished he had an explanation, but before he could process his actions his hand was drawing itself to your body, tugged by some unseen force—robbed of his autonomy— and rapturously, he touched you. He felt you.

His knuckles grazed your arm—your warmth, radiating past the aged leather of his glove—and the wisdom that woman uttered, the plain truth only the ancient could learn— only a mother could know— rattled around his mind, unanchored and barreling.

Yearn for the past. Reclaim time.

Hold onto them hold onto them hold on—

Never let them go.

Ready? he asked you, arm resigned to his side, feigning monotony beneath the cover of his visor.

You threaded an even smile to your lips, as if Din were none the wiser— as if he hadn’t catalogued every lick of your expressions, every curve and bow and wrinkle as your emotions sung across your face. As if he didn’t know when you were lying. As if he didn’t know when you were falling apart.

Ready, you replied, swallowing past the disappointment welled in your throat.

Both your hearts broke then. Perfectly—the same.

This is the Way.

///

Din is gone over a week. It’s the longest he’s ever been away for a hunt—it’s the longest nine days of your kriffing life.

The ship feels vacant without him; she’s cumbersome, too cavernous for the likes of only you and his foundling. Her durasteel sidings yawn morose against the wind beating restless against her—her metal stretching like a lothcat in a patch of sun. The doors and hatches complain ajar and gripe shut, as if she’s recalcitrant to go about her standard operating procedures without Din’s presence. The old gal misses him, down to her steely bones and dual ion turbines, and in truth — and despite yourself— you suppose a small part of you feels the same, shares an inkling of that same loneliness.

The rituals and dog-eared routines you’d drawn comfort from are now rinsed in a forlorn wash.

The single bowl of food you prepare looks wrong without its twin beside it.

You scroll a finger over your display screen, flicking through various articles, the faint light from the holopad basking the contours of your face in a lonesome shade of inanimate blue.

Anything good you hear him ask, there in your inner ear— the memory of his voice leaving a nick among the many wrinkles of your brain.

You sigh, quietly— alone. Never.

Even Munch misses him, although he expresses it differently. He’s been a downright terror with Din gone. At first it was a vacation, a luxury retreat; you and the child gorged yourself on crackers and grava berries and dried bantha meat—mindful of sweeping up the crumbs on whichever surface you snacked. You giggled and ran amok and shared secrets in code only the two of you could decipher.

But one day grew to two, and two to three and three to four and by the fifth you were out of treats and your patience too had dwindled to short supply.

The child is special— unquestionably unique. And as much as you adore him, would lay down your life for him if it came to it, Maker he is uniquely qualified to send you round the bend twice over. He’s baffling, infuriating— just like his father. Of all the things he could have inherited from the man, of course he decided to latch on to his vexing penchant for mystery.

You lost him for half a day. He was somewhere aboard the Crest, of that you knew that for certain, but he managed to enact a stunt that could’ve puzzled even the most illustrious of illusionists with how quickly and effectively he vanished, seemingly out of thin air.

He emerged eventually for dinner, babbling wickedly. There was that, at least: you could always count on Munch to — well, munch.

Over a week of this— nine days, sixteen hours, and twenty-two minutes, to be exact… But who’s counting.

The sky glitches with lightning, sparking like a bulb in dreadful need of changing, and veins of violet skitter along the horizon, chased by the clapping hammer of thunder. Fat drops of rain trace down the transparisteel, the metalled drum of their pattering against the Crest lullabying your eyelids to a slumbered close. You drift, weightless, waxing and waning in and out of a reoccurring dream that always blurs to mere suggestion - to shadow - as soon as you wake.

The harsh sound stirs you—the ramp’s gears springing to life, signaling the Mandalorian’s return. Rapidly, you blink clear the slog of sleep from your eye, re-emerging from the forgotten depths of your subconscious and half-roused, you bound from the copilot’s chair. You rally from your stupor, instinct urging you to meet the bounty hunter by the entrance—some tittering, foolish part of you still so glad and girlish just to see him.

Hobbling down the ladder with veteraned coordination - one leg one arm one foot one hand - you hop the last two rungs to land catlike on the balls of your feet, heading towards the stern of the ship and—

You don’t make it three steps.

He’s there. Din is there— nine days later and finally, like a hallucination, he’s here— ominous and backlit by the glow seeping in from the galley. An obelisk, undaunted.

Your gut somersaults, flipping until it dizzies.

Knee-jerked and reflexive, the basest part of you demands you go to him, to cross the threshold separating you— the time and space and uncertainty dredged like a moat between you two. But instead of greeting him as you wish— two arms thrown around him, welcoming him home—back to the Crest, to the child, to you—you stand there, dumbstruck and wanting.

The passage of the corridor is like a strait. It's so narrow you can smell him— his carbon musk, his petrichored sweat—and it furls thick into your sinuses, fogging up your vision, clotting the faulty wiring of your mind. He’s brought the wet in with him, drip dropping from his hulking frame to splat puddled onto the deck.

plop

A beat ferments, hanging ripe from its branch as the tempest rages outside the sheltered hull of the ship. Distantly, thunder booms from above.

“Din— hi.”

“You’re up.” He doesn’t move from the archway. Stiffened, composed from granite, the man hardly breathes. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you offer hastily—untruthfully.

Din scans you: your obviously tousled hair, the drowsy flush kissing your jaw, the tell-tale crinkle of your tunic. Your tongue darts out to skip over your lip and his lungs pull, aching beneath his ribs.

Maker, you’re pretty even when you lie.

“Go back to sleep,” he assures, but you hardly register it; it’s scarcely above a murmur by the time the words hum through his modulator.

“Can I make you some food? Can I—"

There’s a tarred shake of his helm, tiredly dissuading you. “No, you—you’ve done enough.”

“But you must be exhausted, Din. Let me help you,” you urge, sincerity shaping the lilt of your voice. “Please, I—” You falter. Vision finally adjusted in the dimmed hall, it is then that you spot it.

Your mouth runs dry.

He’s dappled in a violent scarlet, foreign red splatters contrasted against all that silvered grey, bleeding with the rainwater to roll sanguined down the rounded edges of his armor.

Blood. He’s covered in blood.

Something pitted—something vital— in you contracts; horror, prickling the fine hairs along your forearm. “Maker, what happened?”

Eyes gaping fearful, you skitter around his breastplate, his vambraces, the paneling of his flight suit, roving meticulously in search for the source of his injury. Thoughtless, consumed with only one concern - is he hurt? - your hand flies to his chest where it rests—solid. Fretting. “Stars, are you—”

He can see it—he can see you, always—how your gaze swells, laced with a surge of adrenaline, of care, and Din lays his broad palm flat over your knuckles, grabbing your frantic attention. “It’s not mine—hey, it’s not mine.”

Your shoulders deflate, relief visibly relaxing the rigidity in your spine, and for the first time in what feels like minutes you release the breath you’d fostered high behind your teeth.

He doesn’t know what overtakes him. Perhaps it’s your sleep swollen lips or the soft petal of your cheek— taunting Din, daring him to feel you again, as he did before— or perhaps it’s the all too apparent fact that you simply give a shit about him— despite everything he’s done, all of that which he has left unsaid. That you worry. That you care.

Puppeted, arm hoisted by some invisible strings of fate—those unseen threads of inevitability—he reaches for you. Din’s thumb roams the slope of your cheekbone, the buttered hide of his glove gliding over your skin. Something rattles flustered in your chest, and you must look pathetic— how your eyes bat at him and your mouth parts, breathy and demure.

“Dala.” He sounds pained when he says it, as if it’s poisoning him; the very syllables like hemlock dripping down his tongue—slowly gradually, ending his life— this life.

This life as he knows it.

You nuzzle into the cradle of his palm, encircling a hand around his wrist, urging him still. You both know he could break away from you without an ounce of strength squandered, but he doesn’t; he listens, he quiets for you. Enchanted, neither of you dare move— neither of you, willing to shatter the profound spell of intimacy you’ve stumbled onto.

He holds you like this, and you hold him to you. His hand on your cheek; yours over the birdcaged throb of his heart— burning - devouring - its entombed aril like the heart of a dying star.

“Where’d you go?” you whisper, heathered, into the heel of his hand. There is something broken in your cadence, like the chipped rim of a fragile cup, and it punctures him just there beneath his sternum.

Where’d you go?

Where’d you go before? When you left— where did you spirit away to?

Why didn’t you take me with you?

A sick wave rots his stomach. He couldn’t answer you then, not when you were wobbly and coltish beneath him—Din can barely answer you now. His digits twine into your hair, cupping the arc of your neck. The gesture is not unkind. It is delicate— urgent, too—and the following hush you share speaks tomes for the both of you, the sob of his leathered fist admitting what he cannot utter.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

Maker, if you could see him. See how his face folds for you, grief lined into the shallow grooves that mark him. The cycles of it— how they bend him into something contorted. Something in need - I need you I need you I need - something ugly, he thinks. Leftover. Hidden. Hide hide hide hi—

You turn, pressing a kiss into the rough of his palm. It’s a soft thing— trepid and cautious—too worried you might frighten him away to offer anything more than a chaste brush of your lips—too worried you’ll send him scurrying back into the cratered unknown he crawled out from.

But he doesn’t.

Din doesn’t turn tail and run, he stands firm—weaving his hand further into your scalp, guiding you closer to him with a throaty sound. The forehead of his helm sinks to yours, and through its filter you discern the tremor of Din’s breathing, made fuzzy by the tinny modulator.

This is nothing like before. Din was hot blooded and vicious then, possessed by the infernal likes of some great beast, but he has since been tamed, if only momentarily—coaxed into a certain meekness by the frail ache of his heart—by the grace of your kind mouth, kissing his gun-worn glove.

He groans your name, mumbled and brassy. The two of you so close, so merged, that if it weren’t for his helmet, you’d feel the tickle of the syllables as they sweep over your face. Din repeats himself, repentant—praying for forgiveness on the cross of your name—your kiss, a benediction.

Again, he calls you. I’m sorry.

Again, you kiss him. There is nothing to forgive.

Again. Again.

With a flutter of bravado, you sling a lumbered arm over the span of his neck, notching yourself into his chest, an interlocking piece finding it’s match. Din’s forearm comes to coil around your waist, wide hand spanning the small of your back, and if possible, gathers you nearer— a growl emanating somewhere from under his beskar.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes, bullet riddled—grating—warring with the countless shards of himself he has yet to reconcile; but his body betrays his intentions as Din’s grasp finds itself lower, filling his fingers with the plush of your ass. “Tell me, please.”

Arousal rushes to pool in your depths—at the proximity of him, the hungered way at which he paws you—and it’s a reaction you feel mimicked by the iron rod straining against Din’s flight suit, pressing into your thigh. You shake your head, gaze colored earnest, and you shift, applying a grind of your hips against him in response.

Din lets out a defeated groan; weak to you, a fabled Mandalorian warrior brought to trembling knees by the guile of a good woman. And suddenly, like striking a match in a room swarmed with gas, you are incendiary.

He’s everywhere— groping and kneading your arms, your ass, your neck and waist. You are malleable beneath him, sculpted like wet clay under his eager touch—as if he is committing your form to memory; the fervor of his grip, reclaiming time.

He hooks a hand under the crease of your knee, yanking you to the column of his armor, sealing your bodies together. Gyrating your hips against him, your clit yearns against his thick outline as you dig into the cowl draped over his shoulders.

Sliding his hand down your backside, he presses his palm into your clothed heat from behind, pads of his fingers insistent as you saddle your spine into his touch, granting him better access. His cock brays, straining beneath his many layers, and a withered moan breaches past your lips.

“Gods, Din.”

Din. He can’t stand that—his name, lush in your wet mouth—and without ceremony, drops your leg from where he’d glued it to his hip. Like a beggar, impoverished and need-stricken, he begins to fight with your clothing, half tempted to rip the damn things off you, leaving you tattered; he’d happily buy you a new wardrobe if it meant having you as he’s wanted for these long months—naked and vulnerable and his.

Your tunic and pants come off in a flurry, your underwear too, discarded hastily in some forgotten corner—and with a hand on your chest, he walks you backwards until your bare ass connects with the durasteel, a jagged inhale tearing through you at the chill. A question knits your brows to meet as Din paces away from you, increasing his distance.

“What are you-”

He interrupts you with a groan. “Just - gedet’ye - just let me—”

His gaze drips like wax down your body—eyes dressing over your clavicle, the supple weight of your breasts, the gorgeous dusting of hair at your mound, the sweet press of your thighs as you clench them together, your pretty knees, your pretty ankles, your pretty feet, pigeoned inward nervously.

Pretty pretty pretty—fuck, all of you. So fucking pretty.

With the cock of his chin, his gaze returns to the heave of your breasts—tracing over your nipples pebbling in the everpresent draft of the Razor Crest— and you rile under him, heart stammering loud—so loud you’re convinced he can hear it with the aid of his helm. And Maker above, the way you’re fucking staring at him—all hooded lids and flushed cheeks. Din wants to fucking ravish you.

Dismantle you.

Pick you apart bit by bit until you’ve come undone completely.

And as if slogging through gravity itself, movements prowled, he steps to you. Din finds your hips, running the whisper of his gloves along the slopes of your sides; a master of patience, commanding time to his will, he crawls up your skin

slow

deliberate.

You’re all but helpless to the shiver that traverses the planes of your body, zipping along your synapses like the fault lines of a quaking planet—cracking you open, exposing your molten core. You’re not proud of the noise you make when he cups your breasts. Starved, you whine as he takes you into his hands, pinching and groping until you’re pert and sore and you drive your pelvis into him, rutting yourself against his frame like some flea ridden slum-mutt in the prime of her heat.

Din seethes, mumbling in Mando’a—spitting curses you can’t pretend to comprehend, but that blot warmth along your cheekbones at the oaky depravity of which he utters them.

He seals over your mound, blood pumping at your seam, bundle of nerves pulsing steady against the heel of his hand. Immobile, he waits, hovering stagnant and teasing before his lust to feel you outweighs his desire to make you be good and wait—and parting through your curls, he kisses the tips of his orange gloves into your honeyed cunt.

It’s dirty. He’s dirty, he’s fucking filthy—covered in foreign blood and alien soil—and you feel depraved, unclean. Powerful. You feel, perhaps, as the Maker intended—wild and without shame, to roam his gateless garden and sully the soles of your feet.

You feel raw. Din Djarin sands you raw.

The pump of his wrist is merciless, pistoning in and out in shallow thrusts, knuckles angled to prod at that spot— that piece of primordial heaven sequestered at the channel of your cunt—and he keeps discovering it over and over again with a sharp shooter’s precision—zeroing in on his mark and releasing the trigger. Dead eyed.

You grab greedily at his bulge, at his cock begging for regard beneath the protective fabric covering him, and you squeeze the best you can. The angle is awkward and unweildy and it’s not nearly enough for either of you, but it conveys your intention well enough.

Can I have this? Will you give this to me?

Din growls his reply, leaving your pussy to fumble with the waist of his trousers, fidgeting over the pesky buttons—the final of the flimsy holdouts separating you and the tempered steel hanging solid between his legs. It bobs free from his pants, ruddied tip straining and pining for you, and without spending another moment idle, he rediscovers the warmth of your naked body— molding himself to your form, his grip once more finding the pit of your knee and bracing it to his side.

He ruts the underside of his shaft through your slick folds, his blunt head nudging at the swollen cleft of your center—each pitch of Din’s hips sending bolts of pleasure crackling through your core. He’s stifling a string of moans while he does it, while he undulates against you, the sighs and gasps digitized to near silence as he coats his cock in your gloss—and not for the first time do you find yourself considering how fucking colossal Din is. How fucking virile and engulfing, like blaster smoke and tabacco and cedar. Like coaled smog from a cremulator. Like giving life, like taking it away— like mercy. Vengeance.

Din swipes your standing leg up to match the other in a fluid motion, effectively levitating you off the ground with only his palms secured beneath your hamstrings and your strangled hold around his neck to suspend you.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He’s practically begging you now, anguish wrecking through the timber of his voice—grasping blindly for an excuse not to lose himself in you completely, not to bury his primal drives and fears into the chasm of your sex.

You’ll leave him you’ll leave him he’s terrified you’ll leave him

“I-I don’t want you to stop— I want this. Din, I want you, I missed you. I miss you.” You miss him. He’s right here, cock streaking through your middle and still, you miss him. You’ll never stop missing him—wanting him. An unscratchable itch at the median of your back, burning for his affection, for his touch.

He releases a husked sound at that, as if hearing it from you hurts— your words, purpling a bruise into the bloody beat of his heart—and like a dipping sun sinking below the crust of a darkening planet, the last of Din’s resolve fades to utter black as he finally - finally - buries himself into where you weep for him.

Oh Maker. Fuck, fuck—

You muffle a relieved cry, forehead collapsing to the slope of his shoulder. Your walls shutter, blinking and gasping around his cock as he rolls up into you, lips pulling taut around his girth with each drag through your cunt. Din fucks you slurred and languid—his pace, sweltering like a summer fever—heavy, punitive. Smothering and thick. You can feel every vein, every silken ridge, as he notches himself inch by inch— the cant of his hips meditated, aiming to melt you open with each wave.

Stuffed to the hilt inside you, he rakes in a ragged breath, calming the race of his bloodstream drumming percussive in his ears.

It occurs to you then that he might be trying to be careful with you, curled around him like this, crushed up against the bulkhead. You think he might be treating you as a jeweler would handle a rarified gem— gentle and tip-toed, afraid of letting you clatter to the counter, of scuffing your facets— devaluing you.

But you don’t want that. You don’t want cautious or considerate or any of those awfully pious things. You want to be owned. Devoured. You don’t want to feel anything else but him. You want him to need you so terribly, so primally, he bleeds. You want to forget your own damn name and replace the memory of it with his—just his, to sit besot like liquor on your tongue. Din Din Din.

“Fuck me— please - please - fuck me harder Din.” Fuck me like you need to. Fuck me like you want me— please just tell me you want me. Tell me I’m wanted. Tell me I’m worth this.

You can see the deliberation span over his mask, the light glinting off the steel there hesitant, wary. Are you sure?

“Fuck me.” I want this. I want you.

He wants to give this to you somewhere soft— somewhere you deserve. With a feathered mattress and molted down pillows and gauzy curtains billowing in a sea breeze as light dapples prismed patterns on your dewy skin. He wants to give this to you somewhere beautiful—perhaps on that planet you once probed him about - Adega - with its red trees and warm nights and friendly natives you’d cherish and keep aloft in your breast.

He wants you to feel safe. Adored.

But what he wants and what he needs are two vastly different things—two opposing extremes at odds with the other. Because he needs to fuck you here— it has to be here. Needs to score your backside with metaled bites from the Crest’s unforgiving interior; needs you crumpled and sloppy, panting out his name to echo shamelessly into the deviled bowels of his gunship.

He needs you charred for him. Scorched earth.

And with your panted pleas, lilting addictive and irresistible, he is all but helpless to deny you— to deny himself. Relenting, resolved, his voice bottoms out.

“I-I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

He fucks you frenzied. The snap of his hips drives you into the wall; he lifts you off his cock just to spear you on it once more, fucking up up up into you, unleashing all his strength— his neglected need—into the grail of your womb. The salted slaps of skin are loud enough to make a lecher blush. It’s a chorus of beskar rattling, wet and ugly and Maker, he’s splitting you open and all you can do is mewl.

You screw your eyes shut, lost to oblivion—crown of your head shoved back, jugular bared for him like prey before the slaughter.

“No.” Leveraging his mass against you, Din clasps at the nape of your neck to command your focus, forcing your chin. “No, look at me,” he orders, brutal and sinewed and there’s desperation there. Din needs you looking at him — seeing him— the embrace of your gaze like a life raft, tethering him here, grounding him to this plane of existence, the one where he has found salvation—if only fleeting, if only like hourglassed sand sifting through his fingers—within the temple of your body. Struggling and led-lidded, you pry your lashes apart, shivering as you drink in the punishing expression leering across his visor; and as you always do, you peer past the murky T there, meeting his eyes camouflaged in their sockets behind it.

“There you are. There you are, my pretty thing - hnng—” He silences himself with a hoarse moan, the sensation of you clenching firm around him, gripping Din like a man would a rope, dangling some feet above the ground, hiccuping him to stutter. “T-That’s it, dala—fuck, y-your pussy is so godsdamn tight.”

You go boneless at the praise—at how he tongues out those fond epithets, vehement and covetous and brined in sincerity—and your breathing quickens as you soak the coarse weave of Din’s flight suit, chafing your clit to shambles with each bow of his starved sex.

You’re close. Stars, you’re so kriffing close—reach out and touch it and you’re there, a promise fulfilled dancing at your fingertips—and you almost tell him; you wish you could - don’t stop don’t stop please right there Din - but you’ve lost your voice, vocal chords stricken with tension. More than that, you’ve lost the wedge of your brain that recognizes articulation all together. Speech itself. You’re wasted. You’re shattered. You’re being fucked within an inch of your sorry life.

Nimbled, without a word of warning, Din relocates— grappling under the plats of your thighs and bracing you featherlight to his chest—negligible in comparison to the ton of armor he dons cycle after cycle, weightless when compared to that of his Creed, hanging like a yoke around his gullet. You yip in surprise and scramble around him, calves digging into his back, forearms clamped around his shoulders—his cock remaining delved within your pussy with each footfall.

Four long strides and he’s reached his destination: a large crate, stranded just outside the hallway leading to the galley. Stooping at the waist, he lowers you down with astonishing ease until you’re flush on your back, knees flanking his frame. You heave a sigh, petulant and wanting, when he slips from you mid-adjustment, a lewd squelch accompanying the movement. It is to the fervor of your clawing, desperate nails scratching down metal - please please please - that he glides back into you with one deft sweep, a satisfied gasp tumbling loose from him.

He looms over you now— Din, a tower unyielding—thrusting into you rough and hard and perfect. He’s filling you in undiscovered places long gone unrealized, nooks you didn’t know you had—the length of him completing you, making you whole.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants, orange pads of his gloves dimpling your hips.

With a tremor of your chin, you moan—broken and chirping. “Don’t - please - please don’t - shit - don't stop—” Your prayers convulse, dying in your throat, sentence cut short as he circles his thumb over your clit, catching at your slippery bud. Ever the marksman, he’s debilitatingly attentive to you, the hide of his glove snagging against your cleft, and combined with the steady rock of his dick shredding you open, you’re all but defenseless to the dawning of your release, crawling closer and closer and—

“Din,” you pant, ”Din Din Din, I think I—I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna, oh Maker—”

The muscles in your stomach seize, a twisted expression cramping your brow. You scamper to his arms, reaching out for something - anything - a parcel of real estate to clutch onto while you unravel. You’re grappling with his pauldrons, the pulsepoint at your wrist humming over the symbol welded to his shoulder, and you mage into starlight. You’re fizzing. You’re blind. You’re atomic and phasing in and out of realities and you burn— a meteor hurtling through the upper atmosphere crashing crashing crashing and—

Language exhausted, all there is left for you to do is cry, the evidence of your orgasm ricocheting like a hail of gunfire against the Razor Crest walls.

“That’s a good girl, that’s a good girl for me—f-fuck." It’s like taking a jab to his solar plexus, how you cinch around him— the corset of your walls milking his cock until he’s shaking, stumbling. The drive of his pelvis has gone erratic, the throbbing bloom gnashing its teeth in his gut—that rabid thing desperate to be released, uncaged—teeters on the identical ledge you’d just leapt from.

“Tell me to stop - please - tell me to, tell me to stop—” You’re all eyes. Your whole face, swallowed by the sweet, glassy orbs notched below the quiver of your forehead, and you’re looking at him like he could hang the damn moon and it’s too much— it’s too much too much he can’t levee this raging need— and with a hurried gasp he pulls out of your heat to tug at his slicked cock— panting ragged as he gushes onto your stomach, your legs, your pretty pussy made pink and puffy with abuse.

His breathing is labored; you can see it in the mountainous rise and fall of his chest plate as his strokes slow, his other hand digging into your flesh, indenting you. He exhales, scraping clean the fissure between his lungs, and Din tips his head, angling it backwards— granting you a rare sliver of the stubbled swath along his neck. The sightly patch, treasured behind his silvered grotto, shouldn’t be the thing that plays upon your heartstrings like one would pluck a harp— not after he’s burrowed himself inside you, not after he’s carved you to his likeness— but it does. You’re butterflied and cherry blossomed and you grin— not so much on your lips but in your soul, and there is a purring warmth that’s radiating like candle flame from the anima alive beneath your breasts and—

And then, suddenly — like time, like memory— he is gone.

He leaves you. Mirrored, he does as he did that night—laying a squeeze into the meat of your hip, he transpires to atoms, dissipating round the unknown bend of a corner and you’re alone again—alone, with only the citric bile steeping in your insides to accompany you, threatening to rise up your windpipe.

No. No no nonono—

Din’s presence, a beacon in the moonless night, disappears— leaving you orphaned and moored and mortified. He’s done it again— he’s left you, he keeps leaving you— and it renders you sick; viscerally, you’re angered and ill and green-washed with naivety.

Fool you once, shame on them. Fool you twice, and what in Maker’s name did you expect? A declaration? An about-face? As if a Mandalorian could let the beskar from his blood. As if Din could reanimate the cadaver of his past—could slip into that old snakeskin he’d shed cycles before.

It paralyzes you. Immobile, you are chambered flat on your back in the resin of your embarrassment, bereft of your vision as you stare sightless into the steel. You’ve separated—your mind and your body disjointed like oil and water, and you don’t hear it. You don’t hear the tread of Din’s feet, you don’t register his aura, Illuminous in the archway; you don’t see the stray towel fisted in his grip, you don’t feel the clench of a frozen hand around your heart as he does his. For he sees you there—a tick in your jaw; eyes distanced, fogged—and he knows he’s done this to you. The scarring of how he derelicted you then tarnishing the new-leaf flesh of the present.

He steps towards you, closer now, and your alerted gaze pins to him. A surprised expression makes a home there, astoundment freckling your face— and although he hasn’t earned the right, it strikes him bullseyed between his plated ribs because it hurts— the obvious shock of him returning for you hurts. Din is not a good man— not all of him. Sometimes, you and all your heaven-lit gleam, you make him forget that.

But sometimes, you make him remember.

And Maker, if you don’t look good like this. Streaked with his seed, creamy white pearling the maps of your body, the shine of it catching in the cannistered shafts of filtered light.

There’s a word for this—for you, for how you look, splayed and painted with his cum—with him. It puffs up like petals would, there in the square of his center. He’s never said it. His mouth doesn’t know the feel of it, his lips don’t know its shape. It’s scribed in Mando’a, and as native as the language is to him—as fundamental as Basic, if not more so—the word itself is foreign. Gawky. The thought of it alone hobbles through his mind on foaled legs. Din keeps this word barred, its essence clinging to the iron partitions of his skull, its perfume clouding his senses, his better judgement, his confounded rationality dangling precarious by a string.

Beautiful. Mesh’la.

You shift under his watchful eye, knees steepling mousy, and gingerly, he prizes the two apart and you let him.

You let him you let him of course you let him.

Din runs a damp cloth up your seam, up those hypersensitive folds, towards the expanse of flesh leading to your belly, and you hiss—a startled chill icing through your body.

“It’s cold,” he informs you, well after the fact, and you chortle a note in response. He continues to lave you clean, the drag of the material smoothing over your stippled planes and it’s intimate—how he takes you under his care, how he unmakes his mess.

Your heart, silly flustered thing it is, it tells you the act feels worshipful—reverent, maybe—but your head convinces you to look away, to cower, to do anything but address the blaze left in the wake of the rag he’s swiping over you. It’s too much. You feel vase-like— fragile and dainty, for the bounty hunter to either fill with wildflowers or crush under the heel of his boot— and it’s too unbearable. Bringing a hand to your sweat-sheened face, you shadow your eyes, ostriching shyly— if I can’t see him, he can’t see me.

A clipped tone escapes his helmet and it’s a sound you can’t place— it’s short, a blip—and you presume he’ll remain mum until he speaks. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

You don’t have to hide from me. I don’t want you to hide from me.

You nearly whimper at that. There’s something endearing and bronzed about how he says it, something torn, too—and you peak through the curtain of your fingers to watch him perform his ministrations. Almost begrudginly, you remove your hand from it’s shelf, resting it on the swell of your breast while he passes the cloth along your inner thighs, erasing the sticky traces of himself. There’s a quiet pause, a moment of distilled nothing before—

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” you admit, small.

He soothes his thumb into the crook of your hip, voice blunt with guilt. “I know.”

Sighing, you nod a little thing, a half-gesture, practically creeping under the Mandalorian's radar undetectable. Thunder shouts, lightning cracks— the bombastic storm outside apathetic to the lull within. Din clears his throat, rasping. “Was that okay?”

You resist the temptation to snort. Din is such a juxtaposition—one you don’t imagine you’ll tire from any time soon. He’s dangerous and protective and clever and strong and kind, despite his best efforts to snuff his compassion to ash like the butt of a dead cigarette. Lifting your palm from its perch, you extend to him, measuredly sliding your fingers against the crate— stretching stretching until he meets you, dubious and toddling like a child’s first steps, orange-dipped digits touching nude flesh. Your everbright grin brightens all the more— bewitching, back-breaking—as you entwine your hands to mesh.

“More than okay,” you say coyly. “Was that-was that good for you?”

Din huffs out an airy chuckle rich with disbelief, like he can’t fathom you’re even asking him—like you’d even have to ask at all. “That was—that was good. Very good,” he confesses gruffly, never a man for poetry, breathlessness still apparent in the bleed of his vocoder. “Even better than I imagined.”

A feline grin unfurls your lips, boldly quirking the droll corners of your mouth. “You imagine this often, Mando?”

Smirking wry and devastating, Din ushers you up by your woven hands, your body pliable and easy to his will; uprighted, his hips slot between your pretty knees, and he expertly twists your arm behind your back, snaring it there. Spine swooped, breasts brushing against his beskar, your nipples pebble cold. “Don’t let it go to your head, dala,” he gravels, visor tilted down at your dwarfed form, tenting you.

“Well," you tease lightly, "I’ll try my best.”

And you look at each other with all the tender awkwardness of two people standing on the edge of a brave new unknown.

Nervous, girlish, you smile.

Fluttering, pussy-drunk, he smiles back.

///

Nested in the pronged branch of a tall tree spindling up from the graveled soil, Din— a man, a boy too— reclines supine against the bark. His feet dangle like they did then, back when he wasn’t so afraid, and the air is dusted with a rosy haze as dusk settles upon the tired day.

The sun sets. The world twinkles a midnight blue, winking starshine as she spins.

Somewhere, behind him, his mother calls him home for supper.

tags: @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @gracie7209 @thatonedindjarinfan @altered-delta @email2ash @stevie75 @shegatsby @onebrownoneblue @uniquebiscuitmongerdonkey @severinsnape @kirsteng42 @justanothersadperson93 @mrsbentalmadge @radiowallet @librariantothejedi @whataperfectwasteoftime @babydarkstar @punkremus @mandobloggin @alma-rt1 @not-the-droids @pedrostories @kylieann0716 @jk7789

#King of Cups #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x ofc #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x fem!reader #din djarin fanfic #din Djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars fandom

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if you could do another fic involving jules and coops together? Just like sweet moments between the three? I loved the baby sitting series you did and could not stop thinking about it❤️❤️ Thank you!!

Yeah, of course! I love writing my boy at any opportunity. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but the relatives are my ocs!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sirius asked under his breath as Remus finally—finally—appeared from the mass of people.

“It’s fine,” Remus said around a forced smile to a middle-aged man across the yard.

Sirius hid his mouth by pretending to look down at the nearest casserole dish. He didn’t even know what was in it; nobody had bothered with labels, and everyone’s dishes were the same basic florals in different colors. “I love you, Re, and I totally get the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing, but this is a bit much if I’m being honest.”

“Honey.” Remus’ shoulder pressed against his own. “I’m sorry you’re not having a good time, but my Aunt Jen would skin me alive if I didn’t bring the man I’m marrying to the family reunion. We can leave tomorrow if you really hate—oh, no.”

“Remus!” a shrill, excited voice called. Sirius felt his fiancé straighten up as a tall, redheaded woman in star-painted jeans hurried across the grass with three other women in tow. She reached up and gave Remus’ cheeks a squish, then leaned in a planted a lipstick-stamped kiss to his forehead. “How are you, my duckling? Was your flight alright? Make sure you stay away from the salt or else your feet will swell.”

“Hi, Aunt Jen,” Remus said, grimacing a little at her rib-crushing hug. “I’m doing well, and our flight was fine. How are you?”

“Peachy keen,” she assured him. Dark brown eyes lasered in on Sirius half a second later and he felt his fight or flight kick in. “And who are you?”

“Aunt Jen, this is—”

“It was rhetorical, honey,” Jen interrupted with a pat to Remus’ arm as she stepped closer to Sirius and immediately hauled him in for a hug. She was as tall as Remus, but broader in the shoulders and hips; he had never felt so engulfed by someone. It was a strangely enjoyable feeling.

“Aren’t you a handsome one?” the shortest of the group cooed, as if she was talking to a particularly small dog in a purse. “Our Remus always knew how to pick them.”

Remus furrowed his brows. “Aunt Lisa, this is the first boyfriend I’ve—”

“But he’s not just a boyfriend!” Jen trilled, giving Sirius’ cheek a pat. “He’s a fiancé, something I learned from your mother. Not from your father—oh, I gave him a talking-to about that—and not from you, duck.”

Sirius bit back a laugh at the nickname and spared a glance to his left, where Remus had gone pink all the way to his ears. “Sorry.”

“Introduce us!” the shortest insisted, taking the other two by the hands as pulling them forward with an eager smile.

“Everyone, this is Sirius Black, my fiancé.” Remus gestured between them, and the four women beamed at him. “Sirius, this is Aunt Jen, Aunt Lisa, Aunt Allison, and Aunt Mary, my dad’s sisters.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Sirius said, holding a hand out.

“No need to be so formal,” the brunette grumbled with a teasing grin. “We have heard so much about you from Lyall. After those damned pictures—”

“Allison,” Jen hissed.

“—after the damned pictures,” Allison repeated with a pointed look. “I was about ready to drive up to Gryffindor myself and give that lousy son of a bitch a piece of my mind—”

“Allison!”

“—but Lyall talked me down and I have been waiting to meet you ever since.” She finished with a soft huff and gave his arm a quick squeeze. “Remus is a lucky boy to have you. It’s very exciting to see you in person at last.”

Sirius’ heart gave a happy little ka-thump and he smiled. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for having me.”

“He is so polite,” Lisa said to Remus out of the corner of her mouth with a wink and a thumbs-up. “Good choice.”

“You know what I just realized? We haven’t said hello to Jules yet. We’ll see you in a few, yeah?” Without waiting for an official answer, Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius’ waist and practically carried him away from the table. Once they were out of earshot—and the aunts had busied themselves with one of the younger Lupins—Remus relaxed with a slow exhale. “I am…so sorry.”

“For what?”

“I had no idea they were going to corner you like that. I mean, I did, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be for another few hours. They tend to move in a pack at reunions, like sharks. Or wolves.”

“They’re really sweet.”

“They are,” Remus said grudgingly, though Sirius could read the affection dripping off him like his favorite book. “My dad’s the youngest of five, and I was the first nephew. You can imagine how that went.”

“Baby of the baby?”

“Exactly.”

“Can I ask one thing?” Remus nodded, visibly confused, and Sirius found he couldn’t keep his grin down any longer. “Duckling?”

“I hoped you didn’t hear that,” he groaned as they headed toward the kids’ play area beneath a large oak. “Long story short, it involved five-year-old me, a pond, and a sinus infection that made me sound like a duck when I sneezed.”

“Oh my god,” Sirius laughed, earning himself a light elbow to the ribs. “And the name stuck?”

“Considering she was the one that had to stay with me while my folks were working, she could call me whatever the hell she wanted. Please don’t ask her about it unless you want a thirty-minute TED talk about the ins and outs of my sinuses.”

“She’s a doctor?”

“No, she just overshares.”

“Sirius!”

Sirius looked up and saw a herd of small children racing toward them, led by his favorite person under the age of eighteen; Jules crashed into his legs and squeezed him tight around the waist. “Hey, I missed you!”

Jules propped his chin below Sirius’ sternum and stared up at him with the classic hazel-gold eyes that were far more common than Sirius believed before they arrived in the Lupins’ backyard. “I missed you, too! How’s the team? How’s Harry? Is he still super small or did he do that weird thing that babies do where their legs grow and the rest of them still looks normal? How was your flight? Did you have turbulence?”

Sirius thought for a moment. “Good, also good, growing normally, and yes.”

“Sweet! Come play cornhole with us!” Jules grabbed his hand and dragged him along the grass at the closest thing he could manage to a sprint with Sirius’ added weight—the pre-teen years had lent him gangly legs, though he didn’t seem quite sure how to use them yet. He looked more like a foal than a sixth-grader.

“What the hell is cornhole?” Sirius muttered as the flock of kids ran ahead to grab armfuls of beanbags.

Remus grinned. “Something I’m about to kick your ass at.”

------------------------------------

By the time the sun set, Sirius was exhausted. He had been introduced to dozens of people who looked just enough like Remus to be eerie, as well as plenty who seemed to have been acquired by one Lupin or another over the course of their life. Jules fluctuated between laminating himself to Sirius’ side and disappearing for an hour at a time, only to return more grass-stained and rumpled than ever as he begged Remus to swing him around by the ankles again. His ass had been thoroughly kicked at cornhole and freeze tag; it was a true miracle he hadn’t already passed out into a food coma. For all of his earlier griping, Sirius couldn’t think of a time in recent months when he had been more content.

“You’re a brave soul,” Remus remarked as they sat in the grass together and watched the fireflies wake. Though it was a warm night, it seemed the citronella candles littering the tables were doing their job of chasing off mosquitoes.

Sirius leaned his head on Remus’ shoulder. He smelled like grass and summertime and sunbaked warmth. “Am I?”

“Mhmm. I’m sure most people would have run screaming by now.”

“I like your family.”

A beat of silence passed; Remus rested his temple against the top of Sirius’ head. “I’m really glad to hear that. They’re weird and loud, but I love them.”

“And I love you.”

“Are you saying I’m weird and loud?”

“On occasion.”

“Asshole,” Remus laughed, giving him a nudge that hardly qualified as more than a gentle sway.

“Language, there are eight million kids around.”

“They’re busy.”

Sirius watched as small group run by in a wave of giggles, all clutching mason jars of fireflies with their names written on masking tape. “Thank you again for asking me to come with you.”

“Like I said, Aunt Jen would—”

“Remus.” He fell quiet. Sirius didn’t remember the last time he said Remus’ full name aloud. “Your family loves you so much. They’re everything I ever wanted growing up, and it means the world that you wanted to share them with me. All they want is to see you happy. It was amazing to finally meet them.”

“They really, really love you,” Remus said softly, his voice a little thick. “I had about twenty people tell me how wonderful you are. They all thanked me for bringing you, and not a single one mentioned the celebrity thing. Even my Uncle Jay didn’t say a word about hockey.”

“He was the one in the jersey?”

“I’ve known him for my entire life and I’ve never seen him without one.”

“Huh.” Sirius tucked his face closer to Remus’ neck and let the sound of the bullfrogs in a distant marsh lull him. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. The adults will be up for a while, but the kids will start crashing soon.”

Footsteps on the cool grass rustled to their right and Sirius looked up. “Who wants pie?” Aunt Allison singsonged, breaking their quiet bubble with paper plates and utensils. “This one is blackberry, but we have peach, pumpkin, and a few others on the table if you’re still hungry.”

“Just a small piece, please,” Sirius said.

Allison paused and cocked her head, then burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re funny!”

“I am?”

“Don’t fight it,” Remus whispered.

“You are a growing boy,” Allison said as she cut a thick slice and plonked it onto his plate. “And there’s no such thing as too much pie.”

I’m 26, Sirius wanted to say, though he held it in. “Just a small one for me, as well,” Remus said.

“Ha!” Allison snorted. “You’re already too skinny. Eat your pie or you’ll end up a string bean like your father. The NHL might have given you muscle, but it’s useless if you don’t enjoy some of your favorite aunt’s—”

“—woah, hey now—”

“—pie once in a while.” Allison kissed the tops of their heads once both plates were secure and bowing in the middle. “I’m going to make sure the kids aren’t poking around in the river again. Sleep well, you two.”

Sirius stared down at his plate as she wandered away. “I’m honestly going to die if I eat this.”

“Yeah, please don’t make yourself sick on pie. You really don’t have to eat all of that. The aunts and uncles are convinced that none of us are eating properly once we turn eighteen.”

“Really?”

“I wish I was kidding. You’re going to sleep so well tonight, though.”

As if on cue, Sirius stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and cuddled under Remus’ arm again. A familiar shadow bounded over not two seconds later and he barely held down a groan. “Hey, can I join you?”

Remus shrugged. “ ‘course.”

“Sweet.” Jules settled himself across their laps, staring at the sky with his head pillowed on Sirius’ thigh. “Did you have fun? I’m really glad you could come.”

“I had a great time,” Sirius answered honestly. Now please move on so I can take a nap.

“Mom and dad and me got here yesterday, and Aunt Jen kept checking the door for you guys even though she knew you weren’t coming until today. She was worried you wouldn’t like us, I think.”

“That was never an option, Jules.”

“Yeah, I know.” A devilish grin flickered over his face. “Remus is the weirdest of all of us, and if you want to marry him—”

“Get off,” Remus grumbled, shoving Jules’ legs onto the picnic blanket. “You know, you were a lot nicer before you turned eleven. Can I return you and get a new one? I have the receipt somewhere.”

“Nope.”

“That’s all a birth certificate is, right?” Sirius raised his eyebrows. “If you bring it back in good condition, I hear they give you a ten percent discount.”

Jules scowled. “That’s so not true.”

“How do you think I got Regulus?”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Remus asked with a pointed look. “Run along, problem child.”

“Of the two of us, I’m the least problematic.” Despite his words, Jules clambered to his feet and dusted his hands off over Remus’ head. “I’m not the one that got a secret boyfriend and got engaged in a year. I’m so easy. Mom and dad want two of me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Remus sighed as he stretched out on the blanket. “They had a second kid because they wanted two of me.”

“You’re adopted.”

Remus cracked one eye open in disbelief. “No, I’m not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because—y’know what, go to bed. Or go find the stampede, I think they’re by the river.”

Sirius whistled lowly as Jules scampered off again. “That was impressive. Isn’t your aunt over there?”

“Yep.”

Realization clicked into place. “She’s going to make him go to bed.”

“Yep.”

“You’re brilliant.”

Remus smiled without opening his eyes, and tugged Sirius down by the sleeve to lay next to him. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

The stars were brighter than anywhere Sirius had ever seen; for a moment, he was struck speechless by the endless rivers of sparkling white overhead. He stared until his eyes burned from dryness, then put his head on Remus’ chest and kept on looking. There was no way he could tear his gaze from it. A few shooting stars streaked across the clear sky and he felt his heart skip a beat in pure amazement when he realized there was nothing else he would wish for in that moment. He could listen to Remus’ heartbeat and the sound of his new family talking against a backdrop of the night, relishing in a full belly and cool wind, and simply stay there for as long as he liked.

#sirius black #remus lupin #julian lupin #coops #lupin family #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #family reunion

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xoxo-teddybear · 3 years

Text

He’s Lost - Bakugou Katsuki - Part 2

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: angst, slightest fluff, cursing, physical harm mentions, lowkey little yandere obsessive hints, smut, 18+, daddy kink, sad boi Bakugou :(

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Summary: Bakugou’s been going through hell ever since the breakup. He’s been so lost without you. But he’s willing to do whatever it takes to win back his Teddy bear. Everything and anything for the love of his life.

*Everyone is of age for legal consent (which is 16 in Japan, if you are uncomfortable with it please move along, thx<3)*

A/N: Bakugou is a little OOC but the main thing in the beginning starts with fixing up Katsuki a little bit. So sorry if you don’t really enjoy it all that much<3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Melancholy music bounces off the walls of the dark room. The river of tears that flow down his once perfect porcelain skin is everlasting. As he lays in the soft bed, staring at the ceiling, he thinks about all he could’ve done better for you. In his hand, the same framed picture of you both that he’s held onto every night ever since the horrible incident. Y/N L/N. Like a song that’s stuck on loop. It’s the only thing that runs through his mind.

The door swiftly opens, and much to his disliking, a massive amount of light now enters the former den of manliness pit of depression.

To show his displeasure, Bakugou rolled himself in the blankets, covering his entire body in them and being the picture inside with him as well. With different circumstances, Y/N would’ve thought it was cute or adorable, but it wasn’t Y/N that opened the door.

“Really Bakubro?” The blonde’s best friend spoke.

Eijirou Kirishima. The best friend of our dearest sad boy. He’s been letting his Bakubro crash in his dorm room because Katsuki refuses to clean his own. It looks exactly the same as it did on Valentine’s Day. Just a little different.

Rose petals were dead and dried up on his floors, candles were nearly melted to the bottom as they lay everywhere in the room, the curry was thankfully thrown out by Kirishima claiming that he could smell the spoiled aroma all the way from his room. But the presents, letter, and new gear stayed in the exact same spots. Bakugou didn’t feel worthy enough to be blessed with all the stuff but he was oh so desperate to be worthy. Worthy of your time, your love, and you in general.

Bakugou let out a grumbled whine of displeasure. He could feel the disappointment and concern radiating off his friend. As Katsuki poked just his face out of the covers, he was met with the expression that represented those two things.

“You can’t keep living like this bro,” Kirishima began, “You can’t keep hallowing in sadness in my room. I wanna help you, but you gotta help yourself too. Ever since you and Y/N split-“ Bakugou quickly interrupted.

“We didn’t split, she left me!” The blonde cried.

“...Right, okay. Well ever since Y/N left you, you’re not the same. You stay in here, playing the same damn sad tunes, covering yourself in my blankets, crying all day, and holding onto that picture! You haven’t even been to class or training! Shit man, you don’t even come out of my room to eat food! I gotta bring your plate here just to make sure that you’re properly fed. You’re a mess Bakugou. And not even the hot kind!” His best friend was right. He was a mess. And not even the hot kind.

“Well what the hell am I supposed to do shitty hair?” Bakugou said while dragging the covers over his face once more. Inside the blanket he held onto the picture as if it were actually you.

The fake red head snatched the covers off of his friend’s body and forced him up.

The said friend didn’t take too kindly to that and growled in displeasure.

“What the fuck Kirishima,” Bakugou said, a little to calm and chilling.

“Dont give me that bull Katsuki. You gotta get her back. I would say move on, but it’s clear you can’t.” Kirishima said while rolling his eyes.

Bakugou mirrored the action and said “yea no shit genius. I can’t and won’t move on.”

“So then go get her man!” Kirishima yelled

“And how the fuck am I supposed to do that? Huh?!” Bakugou was so confused. In what way was it going to be possible to win you back?

“Figure it out! Look Bakugou, I’ll be here to help you along the way, but you gotta figure this shit out on your own. This is your relationship here, if you want it as bad as you claim you do then prove it. You want Y/N back? Then fight for her, idiot!” The blonde’s eyes seemed to go wide.

Two words stuck out to Katsuki during his friend’s little speech. Prove it. Fuck yeah he will! He’ll prove to the whole damn universe how much he wants you back. More importantly, he’ll prove it to you and win you back.

The iconic Bakugou smirk reappeared on Katsuki’s face. Kirishima took it as a good sign. “Alright shitty hair, you want me to prove how badly I want Y/N back. FINE!” The two friends pulled the iconic bro hug to seal the deal.

(You know? That shit that guys do where they high five and pull each other in with that one hand for the quickest hug and pat each other on the back? You know what I’m talking about.)

“Welcome back Katsuki.” Kirishima gladly stated. “Now get the fuck out of my room man, I’m sick of sleeping on the common room couches and you reek. Take a shower. And get your own clothes from your own room.”

As Kirishima pushed him out into the hallway and shut the door, it hit Bakugou like a bus. This would be Katsuki’s first challenge. Going back into the room filled with the torn love.

As Katsuki opened the door holding onto the picture, he felt his heart sink. He saw the damage. Melted candles, dried petals, the gifts and letter. Even the nasty smell of the spoiled curry still remained. As Katsuki gathered the courage to walk in and place the picture on the messy nightstand, it’s like the room was holding onto some sad emotions. Heartache and regret filled Katsuki’s chest. He couldn’t believe how fast it happened. He thought he would at least have a minute or two before he felt the pain again. Man, did it hurt like hell.

Katsuki dashed to his closet grabbing the first things he saw. He grabbed his shower container that held all his soaps and cleaning utensils and ran out the room, shutting the door. Once out, he let out a breath of relief.

“...after I clean myself up, the room’s next.” Katsuki said with determination as he walked towards the boy’s community showers and bath house.

When the hot water hit his skin, he felt a sense of calm. It wasn’t the same as the warmth of Kirishima’s blankets. It was better. The water and hot steam completely engulfed him in relaxation. The water washed away not only the dirt and grime, but also some of the tense feelings. For a moment, he felt at ease.

As Katsuki walked out the bathing area now fully clothed and dried, he made his way back to his room. He stood there, staring at the knob until he felt he was ready. Once he opened the door, the emotions hit him once again. Like a wave of sadness washed over his entire body. Finally, he stepped in.

First things first. Open up these windows. Let out that disgusting air filled with spoiled curry and sad emotions. When Katsuki took a breath a fresh air, he felt so alive. Much better than he has in days.

Now, we gotta move stuff. Katsuki picked up his dirty laundry and put it in his closet to wash later. He moved all his presents up off the floor and onto the bed. He swepted all the dead petals and toss them in his trash can. He threw out all the ruined candles and sprayed the room with air fresheners. He fixed up his bed and placed the picture frame back on his now cleaned nightstand. Next to it, a lit candle that smelled of caramel.

Katsuki took a seat at his desk. He was back to thinking about Y/N and all that he could do to win her back. As he checked his clock, he realized just how late it was. Kirishima came back to him at the end of class and training which was around 6. He spent an hour talking to Katsuki, and then Katsuki spent 4 hours cleaning himself and his room. It was 11:00 now. Way past his usual bed time. He’ll figure things out in the morning.

Katsuki smiled to himself as he layed in his own bed. He was finally on the right track again and one step closer to getting his teddy bear back. He turned to the picture frame, and grabbed onto it, hugging it while he slept. Katsuki was getting better but he wasn’t whole again. He needed Y/N to help him sleep alright, so holding the picture at night will have to do. He couldn’t wait till he woke up in the morning. Tomorrow he had school, he’ll get to see Y/N’s beautiful face for the first time in awhile, but before that, you bet your ass he’s waking up extra early to come up with a plan.

——————————————————————————

The next morning

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *click!*

The blonde smacked his alarm button before he rose up and stretched his body. Today was the day. He’s gets to see Y/N again. Bakugou just sits in place staring at nothing. Just taking 2 minutes to regain full consciousness. Once he’s set, he’s up and getting ready. It’s 4 in the morning now, so he begins to strategize.

Katsuki is pulling out easels and white boards. Pulling out notebooks and writing down facts. What Y/N is interested in, her favorite hobbies and foods, where she likes to spend her time, what she could need help with that Bakugou could assist her with. He’s also writing down the highlights of their relationship and what she seemed to enjoy best about him. He’ll be keeping that as a reference for when he needs to reassess on how he should treat her better. He will do better this time. That’s a promise to himself and you.

After half an hour of slightly struggling, he reaches out for help. Now at 4:30 a.m, here was the blonde knocking at his best friend’s door.

Rock music is blasting, sweat is flying everywhere and punches are being thrown at a hero. Not just any hero, Crimson Riot! As Kirishima continues to spar with his idol, he’s interrupted by a banging sound.

*BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM* *BOOM*

“The hell?” The younger red head says. Soon his idol began to fade away.

“Crimson Riot! Hey are you okay sir?!” But it was too late, the man was gone. Now the whole room was waving around. Did Kirishima accidentally mistake his giant jug of water for vodka or something? Soon he was left in nothing but a black abyss. And then....he fell!

“Shitty hair.....Ei....KIRISHIMA!”

“AH!” The red head screamed as he shot up from the bed, head-butting his best friend right then and there. Great, a perfect dream. Ruined.

“Ah, shit!” Bakugou said in pain as he held his now throbbing forehead. “What the fuck?”

“That’s my line Bakugou,” the red head sighed, “Did you break into my room? Jeez man, what the fuck? What are you doing here at.....4:38 a.m?!?!? DUDE!”

“I know, my bad okay? But..I could use some help.” Bakugou whispered the last part so Kirishima had no idea what this man just said.

“What bro?” Kirishima asked.

“I said....I could use some help.” The blonde repeated.

“C’mon man, you’re gonna have to speak u-“

“I need your help, alright?!” Bakugou finally said. Kirishima sighed. His bro really couldn’t wait until later?

“Bakugou, you know I’m always down to help you out but this is too early man. Can we just-“ the blonde quickly added on to what he was previously saying.

“Please.”

Kirishima’s eyes shot open after he closed them to drift off back to sleep. Did the Katsuki Bakugou just ask for help by saying please? This must be extremely important.

“......alright. You got me, I’m up. But if I’m gonna be up at 4 in the morning, others are gonna be helping us too.” Kirishima bargained.

“But-“ Kirishima cut him off

“But nothing. Besides, I’m drowsy in the morning so I wouldn’t really focus all that well. And we’re just going to the people we can trust.” The red head explained.

“Fine.” The blonde gave in. So there they went, gathering the other members of the Bakusquad (minus Y/N) to help Bakugou win back his girl.

As the 4 sleepy heads sat down on Bakugou’s floor infront of the whiteboard he wrote on, The blonde began to explain some of his plans.

“So I was thinking of treating her real nice all day until she takes me back and we become friends again, eventually leading to our relationship, but then I realized she’d be into a fake me and we all know I can’t pull the nice guy act forever. Then I thought I’d spoil her with all of the things she desires, but money can’t buy you love. So I thought I could-“ Katsuki quickly noticed the long period of silence other than his voice.

There, were his 4 friends sleeping in a dog pile in the middle of his dorm room floor, completely ignoring everything he’s been saying.

Bakugou sighed and grabbed a small “heroes weekly” issue sitting on his desk, rolled it up, and wacked his friends in their heads.

“You idiots...WAKE THE FUCK UP!” Ahh, welcome back Gremlin Bakugou.

As his friends came back from the dead, they all complained.

“Aww c’mon Bakugou. We’ve been at this for an hour already, it’s 5:40.” Sero said while yawning.

“I don’t care. You idiots offered to help so here you are.” Bakugou said while turning to face the board again.

“We didn’t offer shit!” The bakusquad simultaneously replied.

Mina let out a groan while rubbing her eyes open, “Look Bakugou. We really want you and Y/N to be happy together, we really do, but maybe it’s for the best if you guys don-“ Mina was cut off by Denki slapping his hand over her mouth.

As she looked at her electric friend, she saw a nervous expression on his face. She followed his gaze and saw the back of an angry and almost insane looking and shaking Bakugou.

Hearing Mina say that he should let Y/N go triggered something in his brain. But hearing her say they wanted the couple back together enlightened him too. His mind got the two mixed up.

‘Everyone wants us back together. Not just me. So...then we are back together. Yeah. Y/N is still mine’ the now insane blonde thought to himself.

“....Ok well, time to go, get some sleep, see you idiots in the morning!” Bakugou said while pushing the group out of his room. Once they made it over the threshold, he slammed the door.

With an insane plan in mind, Bakugou checked the time and saw he could take at least a good hour long nap before he had to get ready to leave for school. And that’s exactly what he did. So he jumped into the covers, grabbing onto the picture and drifted off into sleep.

——————————————————————————

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* *click!*

Bakugou’s alarm rang once more, and again, he slammed it shut. He stretched, got up outta bed and changed into his uniform. That power nap really well rested him, but it also must’ve fucked up his brain even more.

‘And now it’s time to go see my beautiful girlfriend,’ he thought to himself.

After Mina’s comments last night, it hit Bakugou with a great realization. Everyone wanted him and Y/N back together. Not just him. So why not give everybody what they want? Sure maybe Y/N might not completely want it but she’ll learn how to love Bakugou again. Everyone’s happy. And so, Bakugou was convinced that him and Y/N were back together.

At breakfast, Bakugou ran down to already see the Squad up and eating.

“Why the hell do you losers look like death?” He asked while grabbing a cup for his orange juice.

“Well we were all trying to sleep, but after what happened this morning, we couldn’t.” Mina explained.

“What happened this morning? There was nothing big except you guys helping me out.” Kirishima really couldn’t believe it. Had his dear friend not even notice his weird ass trigger moment earlier?

“Alright whatever. Anyway, wheres Y/N?” Bakugou asked after he finished his cup.

“Oh, she just left. She had an early breakfast and went for a quick walk.” Mina said.

“You planning on talking to her today Kacchan?” Denki questioned him.

“You damn Spark Plug, of course I’m gonna talk to my girlfriend today. Fucking idiot.” He said as he grabbed his bag and walked out the kitchen.

“.........Huh?” The entire squad was left in confusion.

‘Had they gotten back together this morning? Did she really accept him back that fast? What the fuck is going on?’ They all thought.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?” Kaminari cried out as he pulled at and scruffled his hair in confusion.

Ah Denki. Always saying what everyone is thinking but the only one ballsy enough to idiotically say it aloud.

——————————————————————————

As she walked to class, Y/N hummed a little song to herself. She enjoyed her walk as it helped clear her mind from all the recent events. Her breakup with Bakugou really took a toll on her. They were together for almost 2 years (EVER SINCE JUNIOR HIGH) so of course the split hit her hard. He accused her of cheating and burned her. So much for trust, right? Not only that, but the burn left a tiny scar. Usually, due to you having a regeneration ability as part of your quirk, Phoenix, the scar should’ve healed up. Maybe the emotional damage caused it to permanently mark itself in you. Oh well, whats done is done. And now it’s time for class.

When you walked though the door, you were expecting a normal day. Ever since the split, you usually got their a lot earlier before anyone else so you could sit, do a little reading, sketch out a little drawing, or just rest your eyes until the bell rang. Except this time, when you opened the door, someone jumped on you for a hug.

“Babe! There you are you little dumbass. Jeez, I was looking for you everywhere.” Bakugou said as he let go of the hug. “I’ve missed you, haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Uhm, you said babe??” You spoke with a confused and shocked voice.

“Yeah, I called you babe? So what? We always call each other that. You are my girlfriend after all.” He said so casually as he walked to his seat.

THISMANSAIDWHAATTT

“Uh, Bakugou-“

“Katsuki.” He deadpanned.

“Bakugou, we broke up.” You stated while walking up to him.

“Mm...no we didn’t.” He once again so casually said.

“Wha- I- we- you-....HUH?!” You stuttered out.

“Y/N-“

“L/N!” You corrected.

“Y/N. We didn’t break up you dummy, we only had a little set back and that’s fine. All couples do. But thankfully you forgave me and we’ve moved past it,” he began as he pulled you into his lap, “besides, everyone wants us back together including us so why not make it easier for everyone.”

You began stuttering out none sense right there on his lap. You were in such shock and utter disbelief that he said all that bullshit. Well maybe he was right about one thing. Everyone did want you guys back together, including you both, but that’s besides the point! Y’all broke up! He needs to accept it.

“Baku- no- I- we-“ and before you knew it, his lips were on yours.

And for some reason, you didn’t push him away. Granted you didn’t accept it either, but you slowly melted into it. The kiss was passionate and slow. It wasn’t sloppy, it was very controlled, but it was just a lotta lip and tongue. The whole thing sent butterflies to your heart and stomach. Oh how you missed moments like these with Katsuki.

He readjusted you on his lap so that you were now straddling him. His hands travelled down to your ass as he gave it a nice squeeze, one that made you moan into the kiss. Your arms went straight to his neck to pull him in for more and he took it as an invitation to start. The kiss began to get a little rougher. More tongue and teeth, both of you extremely desperate for the touch from one another. With your cunt pressed onto his crotch, he slowly thrusted up into you as you grinded down slowly on him. You both started breathing heavier and letting out little whimpers of ecstasy. He could probably feel your now soaked panties. One hand left your ass and came around to the front. He pressed on your soaked pussy through your damp underwear and it caused shutters to go through your entire body.

You began pressing down into his hand, desperate for more friction and Bakugou noticed. He moved your panties to the side and slipped in one finger. This was rewarded with a louder moan that caused Katsuki to smile into the kiss. He knew you and your body so well. He was determined to treat you right and get you to fall for him one more time. As his finger felt around your velvet walls, he slipped in another one, receiving an even louder cry of pleasure. You broke off from the kiss to throw your head back. Katsuki saw this as an opportunity to attack your neck. To mark you up and let everyone know you still belonged to him.

“K-Katsuki. Don’t...don’t stop,” you panted.

“I won’t princess, I’ll take care of you.” He smiled.

Without warning, he shoved in 2 more fingers. You were so loud and Bakugou was so proud. You were gonna let everyone know what’s happening and he was excited.

He lifted his head to whisper into your ear as you continued to moan and sigh.

“Well aren’t you just a little slut. You want everyone to know how well daddy takes care of you? You want them to hear you scream in pleasure?” His words went straight to your cunt that was now welcoming in his 5th and final finger. Completely fisting you now, you let out loud cries.

“S-uki, .....ah, AH YES! Mm, s’too much!” You cried out. You couldn’t help it, you loved him. You knew you did. Even though what he did was wrong, your body took over and your mind turned off. You fully succumbed to his wishes.

You let your feet hit the ground to stand yourself up a little bit and fall down onto his fist, meeting the thrust of his hand moving in and out of you. Watching the show, Katsuki couldn’t help but stare in delight. His hard on growing bigger and bigger each second as he bit his lip to hold back his sounds. Watching you bounce on just his fist did something to him and brought out a feral beast. He snapped.

He pulled his fist out of your aching pussy and sat you down on his desk. He stood up infront of you and tore your delicate panties off.

“Katsuki-“ you were silenced with a smack to your ass

“That’s not my name, teddy bear. C’mon now, you know exactly what I wanna hear.” He said while caressing your thighs.

“..Yes daddy.” You bashfully said.

With a kiss to your cheek he praised you.

“Good girl.” As he began to unbuckle his belt, you looked around the classroom.

“D-daddy. Someone’s gonna see!” You cautiously stated.

Katsuki reassured you with a kiss to your lips, “We’ll be fine princess, I promise,” he said while placing his tip at your entrance. You whimpered at the thought of him inside you again, it’s been so long. You were almost nervous. That is until Katsuki place a finger under your chin so you could face him in his eyes.

“I’m gonna take care of you, so don’t worry.” And with that you slowly nodded. And he finally began to press into you.

With just his tip in, you let out a breathy moan. He was bigger than you remembered. He kept pressing and pressing until he was fully inside your warm and tight hole. You both let out a moan at the feeling of each other.

“Daddy, please move.” And he did as he was told. With a steady pace set, he thrusted himself in and out of you. Both of you moaning louder every second. While you were enveloped in the euphoric feeling, Katsuki was struggling to hold back the beast inside of him. That is until you came up to his ear.

“Fuck me like you mean it, daddy. I won’t break, I promise.” You said in his ear and Katsuki swore he could hear your smirk. Gripping your ass and continuing his pace he spoke.

“Don’t be mad when you can’t walk for the next week,” he smirked. With that, he slammed himself deeper, harder, and faster inside of you. His tip hitting your cervix. You let our screams of pure pleasure and he did the same.

“Oh yesss...shit daddy..so big..”

“F-fuck! Oh you like that? Yeah princess? ...oh shit baby your pussy takes me so well. Y-Yeah, your tight little cunt takes this big cock so fucking well,” he moved faster inside, exploring you completely. His hands went straight to your shirt and and ripped it open. You had a few buttons fly everywhere, but you didn’t care. He pushed your bra up and let one of your mounds fall into his hand. He squeezed it tight to release a generous moan from you. He then dove into the valley of breast to mark your chest. You held onto the back of his head and tugged at his hair and he growled at he feeling, enjoying every second of it.

“Oh yess princess just like that. S-shit. Oh fuck yes...oh you’re mine,” he went deeper inside as he spoke.

“Fuck! Daddy yes! Right t-there! Oh my god..yess,” you cried out.

“Can you feel that. Oh fuck, can you feel my dick in your gut?” He moaned out. Katsuki went to grip the edge of his desk as you kept your hold around his neck, causing him to somehow move faster. He went up to taste your lips once more

“I love you....so much princess...you hear me...Mm, your mine,” he said between kisses and ended with a smack to your now red ass.

His words had you squeezing his cock. He knew what was coming.

“Aww, is princess gonna cum? You gonna cum on daddy’s dick?” He teased.

“Mm...p-please daddy. Please let me cum,” you said while throwing your head back. Katsuki only smirked at this.

“Not yet~” he pulled out of you, leaving you a whiny mess.

“N-no! Daddy please! Please let me finish,” you said while holding onto his shoulders, inches away from his face, pressing your chest to his. Your words caused his “little” friend to grow even harder and Katsuki only smirked and looked down at you.

“Dont worry teddy bear, Daddy’s not done with you yet.” He yanked you off the desk and pressed you down onto it, with your chest to the desk. Then he slammed back into you, returning to the fast pace again.

“Fuck yeah..oh god look at this ass. Nice and round, all red for me,” he said while pounding into you.

He gave your ass a good few smacks, countered with a thrust each harder than the last before going to lay his chest on top of you to whisper in your ear.

“You wanna be a good girl for daddy? Huh, teddy bear?” He asked.

“Mmm, yes! Yes I’ll be good, just please!” You cried out. He reached his hand over to rub on your clit. Your body began to shake with pleasure.

“Then cum with me.....NOW,” he said, and that was all it took for you to release the white liquid. As you came you could feel his hot release filling you up to the brim. He cried out in pure pleasure while you did the same.

You both stayed in that position for a bit, and you could feel the mixture of both your release dripping down your inner thighs. Soon, you felt Katsuki lower himself to kiss your neck.

“You did so good princess.” He calmly said to you. It was relieving, and you loved the sound of his voice, but you couldn’t help but feel a little off at this whole ordeal.

Katsuki pulled out of you and watched how his cum covered and filled your entire pussy. He smiled at the sight and went to grabbed some tissue on Aizawa’s desk to clean you and himself up.

He tucked himself back into his pants and you rebuttoned your shirt the best you could and flipped your skirt back down. Since Katsuki tore your panties you’d have to go commando at least until you got back to your room. You watched as Katsuki went to throw away the tissues and your torn underwear into the trash can. When he made his way back to you, he held you in his arms and attempted to kiss you. But you turned away.

“Hey teddy be-“

“No, Katsuki. Please don’t call me that.” You said while looking down. Katsuki felt his heart hurt a little. You’re always gonna be his teddy bear, why would he ever stop calling you that?

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” He asked you.

“Us. This. Katsuki, what happened today should not have happened.” You said

“What?” He was so confused and a little hurt.

As tears start to fill your eyes, you did everything you could to not let them fall. “Suki, we broke up. You accused me of cheating, you burned me! So for us to come in here and just have sex like nothing happened is wrong.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry for what happened. Seriously, after what I did it destroyed me. But please listen, I lov-“ you cut him off again.

“I know!.....I know you do Katsuki.....and I love you too Suki. So much,” this brought a smile to his face. A true, genuine smile that you loved so dearly.

“But I’m scared.” You added on. This made Katsuki’s smile drop, worry and concern fill his eyes.

“Of what exactly?” He asked you while gently holding onto your hand.

“.....You.” This shocked him. His own teddy bear feared him. Heartbreaking.

“I’m scared of the lack of trust that you have for me. And not only that, but your quirk too. Katsuki I know you’re one of the best students here at UA, but I know you’re emotions can get out of hand too. It’s clear that when you’re not in control of your feelings, your quirk can lash out. The evidence is right here,” you turned you arm that he was holding to show him the scar he left on you.

Now this really hurt Katsuki. He loved marking you with his love, not with his anger. The fact that he did that to you sent his mind into a frenzy. Until he felt your touch on his cheek.

Holding onto his cheek with your soft hands, you spoke reassuring words. “Katsuki, you were right about two things. I do want us to be together again and I do forgive you,” and with that, Katsuki leaned into your touch. Holding onto your hand that held his face, he released a single tear he didn’t know he was holding and closed his eyes in relief and satisfaction.

“But I can’t be with you again.” Your words caused him to open his eyes and stare at you in shock and fear. “At least...not yet.”

Whew, his heart rate went back down. Oh the rollar coaster of emotions this poor boy was currently on.

“Yet?” He asked hopefully.

“Suki, I’m still trying to fix myself, and it’s clear that you need to fix yourself too. I really want to be with you, but we both need time to grow for each other. I can’t leave you. I know for sure that in my heart, you’re always gonna be the one I run back to, but I don’t want to run back to someone who could possibly hurt me again. I want to come back to you knowing that when we are together again, our relationship is secured.” You explained.

A silence filled the air. You both stared at each other for what felt like forever. Nobody else in the world. Just you and him. He then pulled you in for a tight hug. As he held onto you, you could feel hot tears hitting your shoulder, and quiet sobs left his voice along with a hitched breath every now and then. Katsuki was crying.

“....I promise you. I’m gonna get better for you. I’m gonna be worthy of you and your love and it’ll stay that way for the rest of our lives. You and me. Together. Im gonna do whatever it takes to get you back and I won’t stop at anything until you’re mine again. I swear I’ll treat you better than I ever did before. As long as I know that you’re coming back to me and me only, I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes teddy bear.” He said into your neck with his arms tightly wrapped around your waist.

“I know you will Suki. And I promise I won’t make you wait too long.” You said while hugging him back.

“You better not.” The blonde said.

“Don’t forget though, I’m always yours. And just yours.” You reassured him.

“......Can we at least make this a little easier for me and say we didn’t split. We’re just on a break. A small break?” He said, now looking directly in your eyes while still holding onto you.

You put his worries at ease with your gentle smile. “The smallest break, Suki.” You softly laughed as you both went back in for another hug.

“........I like it better when you call me daddy,” the damn devil said while smiling.

“Shut up you horny idiot.” You chuckled.

‘I can’t wait to be yours again,’ you both thought

You both stayed there in each other’s embraces until the world faded away. It was just you and him. Together. You were both no longer lost. You weren’t at your destination yet, but you were on the right tracks. One step closer to each other. One step closer to love.

A/N: There’s still a little more I wanna add to the story, so there will be a part 3 to close this little short story. Sorry if there were any spelling mistakes. Thank you guys so much for the love and support. As a new writer I never expected to grow so quickly so I truly love each and every one of you bear cubs! Sorry this was so long, I hope you enjoyed! 💗🧸

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little-diable · 3 years

Text

Dark lord - Tom Riddle (smut)

First time writing for Tom. I’m disgusting, enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tom only uses the reader for his own pleasure, driven by his jealousy and hate.

Warnings: pretty much everything, choking, spanking, knife play, mentions blood, passing out, humiliation, slight noncon, power play

(Credit to gif owner)

“Isn’t it remarkable, how easy it would be for me to just snap your neck? And you’d still quiver for m,” he whispered into her ear, hands placed on her spread thighs, front nuzzled against hers, scent of his cologne engulfing her.

“I should punish you, wreck you for all the boys that keep on looking at you, you’re mine,” Tom placed his hand on her jaw, staring at her glassy eyes, “I’m sorry.”

His dark chuckle echoed through his room, the head boy only deserved the finest, giving him enough privacy to brood his plan, adding another Horcrux to his collection. Just like all those objects she was just a part of his collection, nothing more than another brick in the wall, entertaining him for as long as possible, spreading her thighs for him with every command of his.

Though as much as Tom acted like he didn’t care about her, he hated sharing her, she was his, his toy, his girl, nobody should ever touch her, touch the places he pressed his lips against, burning his touch into her skin. “Who do you belong to?” He tugged on his tie, loosening the knot, pale hands disappearing into her panties, spreading her dripping folds with his long fingers.

A cry bubbled out of her, “You, I belong to you.” The words coaxed a content hum out of the dangerous, tall man, the perfect embodiment of a Slytherin. Tom Riddle was more sinister than any Slytherin to walk those halls, more cunning and clever than anybody before him. "Yes, yes you do," he rasped out, "Onto your knees." The words managed to let another cry bubble out of her, shoving her down from his bed.

Tears kept on running down the sides of her face, (y/e/c) eyes twinkling in the dim light, warm walls welcoming his gorgeous throbbing length, tip nuzzled against the velvety skin.

Tom tangled his right hand in her hair, forcing himself further down her throat, “At least you’re good for something.” He panted, eyes darkening with every word he spoke. She gagged around him, waves of humiliation, guilt and lust crashed upon her, getting lost in his entrancing eyes, (y/n) was drowning and nobody would be able to save her.

He tugged on her strands of loose hair, length slipping out of her mouth, the wet pop echoed through his cold room, “Strip.” He took off his sweater, white shirt accentuating his muscles.

With trembling hands she unbuttoned her shirt, skirt falling down from her waist, she tried to wipe her tears away, hiccuping every now and then, waiting for Tom’s next command. He tilted his head towards his bed, clicking his tongue as she fell back onto his mattress, instantly flipping herself around, onto all fours, “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

“That’s not how you should address me, is it?” Tom grasped her behind, fingers moving her panties down her legs, wet folds glistening for him. “I’m sorry my lord,” (y/n) tried to keep her voice down, not wanting to agitate him any further, speaking with as much care, as if he’d snap any moment now. Tom’s fingers worked on her behind, kneading the skin, burning his handprint into the soft spot as he began to spank her, “Count.”

She tried to keep herself focused, whimpering the numbers, slowly but surely she was losing her focus, eyebrows furrowed together, “What was that?” He froze, eyes hooked onto the back of her head. “I-,” she stuttered, eyes squeezed shut, trying to remember the number, “I don’t know.” The moment her words left her lips Tom growled, grabbing her ankles, flipping her onto her back.

His dark eyes were burning through her skin, jaw clenched, shirt unbuttoned by now, exposing his milky, firm chest. He didn’t break their eye contact as he reached for his bedside drawer, hands enclosed around the small, black knife, blade shining in the candle light.

Her breath hitched in her chest, lips parted, Tom had never used a knife on her before, would he finally end this cat and mouse game, did he finally have enough, ending her pathetic life?

“Ah, don’t,” he spat, keeping her locked in place, moving the tip of the blade up her thighs, drawing some shapes into her skin, not leaving any marks, yet.

Tom pressed the blade flat against her hard nipples, coaxing a gasp out of her swollen lips, tears were welling up in her eyes once again, he had her exactly where he wanted, trembling in fear, begging for her lord. He moved the knife between her boobs, blade burning through her skin as he cut a thin line down the valley, drawing thick droplets of blood.

Her cry echoed through the night, back arched, arousal seeping out of her folds, aching for more, in her own, twisted way.

“You like that, don’t you?” He shook his head, “Such a pathetic slut.” His words made her shudder, “Yes my lord.” Tom hummed, placing the knife down, grabbing his member, forcing himself into her heat, not giving her any chance to adjust, walls burning, desperately begging him to slow down.

But he wouldn’t.

The dark lord wasn’t one to take it slow, he couldn’t waste any time.

The sight of his lips parted, cheeks grazed with a small rosy tint, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, pulled her deeper down the rabbit hole, her mind wasn’t properly working any longer, obsessed with the sociopath that kept on wrecking her.

“Fucking take me,” he spat, wiping away her tears, annoyed with her pathetic cries, fuck, he only needed his release, to fuck his anger out of his system. “Tom,” he grasped her throat, dark eyes burning through her wide ones, “That’s not my name is it?”

She couldn’t reply, no air left in her lungs, struggling to keep her eyes open, all strength seemed to leave her body, momentarily blacking out.

Tom didn’t truly realize that she lost her consciousness, passed out underneath him, he kept on snapping his hips against hers, kept on focing his length into her heat, chasing his own release. But her silence made him return back to reality for a glimpse of a moment, loosening his grip, smirking as her eyes shot open, deeply inhaling, whimpering for him.

Her body kept on betraying her, giving into her orgasm without protesting, walls clenched, eyes stoically focused on the man that owned her heart. “Fuck,” Tom tumbled down the edge, pulling out just in time, cum dripping down her thighs, making a mess on his white sheets.

Silence engulfed them, chests heavily rising and falling, catching their breath. “Leave,” Tom murmured, watching her leave with red eyes, barely dressed, shooting him one last glance, stepping out of his room with a heavy heart, an aching chest and sticky skin.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle imagine #Tom Riddle smut #Tom Riddle x reader #harry potter #Harry Potter smut #Harry Potter imagine

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sourholland · 3 years

Text

A Royal Convienence || Tom Holland

| Series Masterlist |

Part One

Summary → When an alliance is made between England and France, you are sent away to marry the crown prince and heir to the British throne. Except both you and Prince Thomas despise each other at all odds, subjected to the hand of the monarchy and unable to stand each other.

AN → I’m so excited for this, I honestly thought it’d be out a little sooner but whatever.

Pairing(s) → Prince!Tom x Princess!Reader

Warnings → None

Word Count → 1.8k

Word of the royal engagement had spread quickly, not only by mouth, but through the newspapers as well.

Prince Thomas of Wales and Princess Y/N of France would be married in the spring. Only six weeks awaiting the royal wedding where the crown prince would marry the firstborn princess of France. Rumors of His Majesty, King Dominic’s ill health thickened the air, leaving the country to wonder if the reason for the sudden alliance was perhaps in favor of the succession of the eldest prince.

“Your Royal Highness,” the man bowed his head as you stepped from the ship onto the dock.

You lifted your gloved hand to his outstretched fingers, helping you onto the grass. The clouds hung grayly in the sky, droplets of rain threatening to spill. The man guided you to the carriage not far from where you’d disembarked. He was clearly a member of the royal guard, dressed stiffly and talking very little. You couldn’t tell if this was due to your status or the requirements he was to adhere to.

The inside of the carriage was decorated richly, plush bench seats accompanied by satin curtains of gold. You were tempted to reach over and touch them, retracting your hand when the carriage jerked and began to move through the crowded streets of London.

You were exhausted, hardly sleeping on the journey from France. You’d been unable to keep down any food, seasick and lethargic the whole way. You hadn’t been able to freshen up, assuming that your hair which had been pulled back was a mess by now. You also hadn’t been afforded the luxury of taking your ladies with you, some of which had been with you since you were a girl. This was making things like lacing your own corset considerably more difficult.

The whole way to Buckingham Palace had gone by rather fast, the scenery passing you by reduced to blurs in your memory. It was a much different atmosphere than that of France, or at least what you’d been allowed to see of it. You spent most of your early life being taught how to rule a country, being the heir to the throne until you reached the age of fourteen. Your mother, the Queen Consort Marie, had finally produced a son, an heir, a male to take the throne once the king died.

This day, the day when your brother Prince Louis was born, had been one of the most dreadful days of your life. Everything you’d been working towards, learning about, being trained for, was stripped away from you. After that, you’d been reduced to what it seemed every woman was around you, aristocracy or not, an object of marriage.

Some years later, you would be called into the throne room and told by your father that you would be wed to the Crown Prince of England. You’d only met Prince Thomas once before, at the English Duke’s wedding when you were only twelve years old. He had been only fourteen, unbothered and unfazed by your presence. From what you recalled, your encounter with him had been less than pleasant.

You’d made several attempts to speak with the Prince throughout the night, taking your mother’s words of encouragement. He brushed you off every time, once telling you that he did not care for the French, nor your way of approaching the ‘next King of England.’

“Ma’am.”

You were brought away from your thoughts at the man’s words, your head rising from its place at the wall of the carriage. You glanced out the window, the large palace greeting you. You remembered nothing of coming through the gates, or even seeing the Buckingham Palace for the first time.

You stepped out, flattening your skirts with your palms and doing the best with your hair. You couldn’t imagine how improper you’d probably looked, your stomach churning at the thought of walking through the doors of the palace.

The walk from the carriage to the set of doors that led you into the large entryway was short. The walls were covered in rich fabrics, candles lighting each walkway. The guards accompanying you remained silent, the sound of your shoes against the fine carpet in your ears. You remembered your governess, the way she’d always remind you that a princess never slouched. The straightening of your back and extra spry in your step helped you to gain back a bit of confidence.

Through what felt like dozens of twists and turns, the tallest guard was pushing open two large doors. You stepped in wearily, recognizing it as the throne room. You suddenly became very aware of your appearance, the way you must be an absolute mess.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N of France,” he announced to the room.

You walked before the throne and gave a deep curtsy to both King Dominic and Queen Nicola. You met each of their eyes nervously, you knew it was wrong to look for any bit of illness in the king, unable to help yourself from noticing his paleness and sunken in eyes.

“Your Majesties,” you addressed.

“Why, I haven’t seen you since you were a girl,” she remarked. “Of course, then you were to be the Queen of France. And now—well, there’s Prince Louis, correct?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you answered with a twinge of bitterness. “My brother should take the throne some day.”

King Dominic’s eyes scanned over you promptly, looking for any imperfection, any flaw to point out. This wasn’t odd behavior of a king, yet it still seemed to make you stammer over your words.

“You’ve grown very beautifully, I’m glad of this,” she added. “We’ve had portraits sent over, however, I will say that you are a fine-looking girl.”

There was no sign of the Prince, nor his younger brothers. It was only the king and the queen that occupied the throne room. You felt almost relieved of this, not wishing to see any more people in your current state. You also dreaded your imminent fate, a vow of marriage to a man you hardly knew, let alone could stand.

The large doors opened once more, revealing the eldest Prince, behind him were the twins, and next was the youngest. Prince Thomas held a blank expression, his eyes not yet meeting your own as he walked with his brothers to bow at his parents feet.

“Thomas, I’m sure you remember Y/N,” his mother said, motioning towards you.

His gaze fell on you, his eyes dipping from the cream colored skirts that swayed at your feet, to the mess of hair falling into your face slightly. His hair was slicked back and styled, the embroidery on his tunic rich and in season. His eyes darkened, a look of disdain flashing for a moment.

“I do, mum, I quite clearly recall us being introduced at cousin George’s wedding a few years back,” he answered.

He forced a grin, looking to his mother for approval. She went on about wedding preparations, dining plans, and which wing of the castle your chamber would be. It didn’t take long for you to realize how much of a rambler Queen Nicola truly was. You could only blame it on her longing for a daughter, and the fact that this was the first wedding she’d be able to orchestrate for one of her sons.

“Tomorrow you’ll meet me to choose an engagement ring, then to tea where your Ladies in Waiting will be,” she spoke modestly. “It’s far too late to do anything this evening. Though, I’m sure a chaperone could be arranged if you and Tom wished to speak for a time privately.”

“That won’t be necessary, mum. It’s quite late, I’m sure the Princess would rather retire to her chamber for the night,” the Prince interrupted. Good, you thought. You had no desire to be anywhere near Thomas, not now, and definitely not for what was playing out to be the rest of your miserable life.

“Ma’am,” you started. “Do excuse me if I’m incorrect, however, I thought Prince Thomas should have been the one to choose an engagement ring?” You asked, a snort came from Tom, a dismissive look from the Queen following. He grimaced as his younger brother, Prince Sam, you assumed, had elbowed him in the ribs.

“Well—yes, you are correct. Traditionally, if you and Thomas had courted, and then he’d gone to your father for his blessing, he would have chosen an engagement ring once you agreed to have him. This is not a traditional engagement, though. You’ll look through some of our most precious jewels, I assure you, Y/N.”

You felt your face heat up at her words, drowning out the last of her speech and curtsying again as she and the king left the room. The three younger Princes followed suit, Tom stopped at the archway for a moment. A servant most likely waited behind those slightly ajar doors, ready to escort you to your chambers.

“Princess,” your title lingered on his lips.

“Prince Thomas, can I help you?”

“I wish you would not refer to me as Thomas, that god awful name is reserved for my mother,” he said shortly. “Tom will do fine.”

“Prince Tom, then. Is there a reason you’ve stayed back? We shouldn’t be alone in here,” you had only been in the palace a short time and the last thing you wanted was a scandal.

His expression was not endearing in the least, he looked burdened by you. His jaw was set, his eyes malice, the curl of his lip in disgust. You took in a breath, mimicking his body language and going to pass him out into the hall. You were caught off guard by the jerking of your forearm, his hand grasping at it harshly and pulling you much closer to his face than you had been before.

“If this is what I must do for my country then so be it, however, do not think for a second that I would ever willingly marry someone like you,” he cursed, leaning in so close that you could feel his cool breath on your skin.

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual,” you said, looking him dead in the eyes. The weight of his words stung like a blade, his expression like pouring salt into an open wound.

“Well then, something we can agree on.”

You yanked away from him, brushing off his grasp and looking up at him with narrowed-eyes. He gritted his teeth as you flattened the fabric of your skirts once more before you left the large room in a fleeting motion.

taglist- @justapurrcat @witchyartemis @keithseabrook27 @clara-licht @dummiesshort @username2002 @imaginationisgrowth @nova-sup3r

#tom holland imagines #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #prince!tom #prince!tom x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine

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cheelduh · 3 years

Text

How to Not Kill a Ginger (High School Au!)

Part 5 to the series hehehe

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Synopsis: Childe’s stomach stirs when you take care of him, and he’s not sure if it’s because of his major crush on you or just plain old diarrhea.

Warnings: Swearing. Graphic descriptions involving the true idiocy of teenage boys.

Words: Abt 2.6k

Note: Sorry I sort of half assed this. I have big ideas for the next part tho ✨😮‍💨

If there's one thing you're sure of, it's that Teucer knows how to throw one hell of a tantrum.

Him and his brother, Anthon, under your watch, manage to get into a petty squabble that's been airing for the last fifteen minutes. You've done everything, from offering candy to promising an extra hour on the switch, but your efforts do not bear fruit.

What did you tell Childe again? Oh yeah, that babysitting kids was a breeze. Apparently it's not a breeze. Maybe something more like a shart. A chunky, messy one at that.

"Listen dude," You reason to Anthon, the oldest of the bunch gently. "Where did you hide his toy?"

Anthon sticks a tongue out at you, and you nearly cry at the intensity of the insult. "Not telling."

Your patience runs thin.

"C'mon Anthon," Tonia lectures from her chair on the table like the godsend she is. "Just give him his toy back. You're being so annoying." She's taking the words right out of your mouth.

"Not until he apologizes!" Anthon crosses his arms, huffing. "He ate my cheese string!"

"There are more cheese strings!" You exclaim, opening the fridge to prove your point. "I'm sure Teucer's sorry for taking yours. Just pick another one."

"But it's not the same! He took the last cheddar and mozzarella one, now there are only mozzarella ones left." He speaks in between Teucer's wails. You wonder if this is a daily occurrence.

Tonia sighs, gets up from her chair, and hands the eldest her cheese string. "Just take this and give him his toy back."

Almost immediately, Anthon reaches a hand behind the tv table and pulls out the miniature Mr. Cyclops, then throws it point blank at Teucer's feet.

Teucer wails louder.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, shoulders sagging under the stress of being a temporary teenage mother.

Then you take a deep breathe, voice booming over Teucer's cries, Anthon's grumbling, and the clicking of Tonia's tongue. "Let's make a cake!"

Everything in the room stills. Even Teucer's loud cries comes to a halt, and he inhales so sharply that the streak of snot over his lip goes right back into its origin.

You wince inadvertently.

"Poggers!" Anthon cheers, and his siblings join in, laughing and clapping in excitement.

Tonia's eyes widen in confusion when she briefly pauses from her rally. "Wait a minute. What are we celebrating? We can't bake a cake for no reason! It won't taste nearly as good."

Everyone stops to ponder.

Then you snap your fingers in realization, and the kids huddle around you. "How about a 'get well better' cake for your big brother?"

They erupt in cheers again, but you shush them gently, wink an eye for extra measure. "We have to be quiet! He won't get better if we wake him."

The three nod in understanding and begin shushing each other, failing to conceal their giggles.

As you watch them making their way into the kitchen, bounce in their steps, you can't stop the warm smile that reaches your eyes.

That smile soon becomes a frown of horror when Anthon cracks an egg over Tonia's head.

The cake is not half as bad as you thought it would be initially. Between mixing the ingredients and ceasing the kids minus Tonia from being menaces to society, you were able to find middle ground.

Eventually Anthon found interest in finding ways to lick the batter whenever you turned around, and Teucer found comfort in your left leg, latching onto it as if it were a life line.

Just like how Venti latches onto his stupid little bottle of wine disguised as a water bottle. Seriously, you’ve never talked to him sober, and at this point are afraid of what’s he’s like lucid.

Tonia had been the only one taking things seriously for the most part, except for the sprinkles-to-icing ratio. She drowned the entire cake in sprinkles, the mere sight adding on the ghost of an ache in your teeth.

It looks like twilight sparkles took a fat dump on it.

"Okay besties," You inwardly curse yourself for giving into Gen-Z vocabulary as you brush your hands on the apron. "I think we've done a pretty decent job."

"It looks so pretty!" Tonia grins widely, eyeing the edible pearls she strategically placed. She quickly strikes down a finger Anthon tried to poke into the icing, with the accuracy of a true warrior.

You shudder at the thought of Childe teaching her how to stab someone with safety scissors.

"Can we add candles?" Teucer asks, but Tonia clicks her tongue in distaste.

"It's not a birthday cake." She crosses her arms judgementally. The power in her glare reminds you of La Signora, strangely enough.

You ruffle his copper coloured locks anyways, and his grip on your thigh tightens. "We can add candles if you want Teucer."

He nods his head and snuggles deeper into the side of your leg. Your heart warms up considerably.

After the candles are poked in, you try to shrug him off. "C'mon dude, just for five minutes. You don't want me to drop the cake before your brother can get a bite do you?"

Reluctantly, he obliges, and runs off to help Tonia collect utensils to take up to Childe's room.

Anthon's on door duty, kicking away any toys that serve as obstacles in your way like a professional soccer player.

Once you four make it up the stairs in front of the designated room, Anthon doesn't bother knocking. He barges in like he owns the place, chin up high and a signature smirk on his face that he probably learnt from his older brother.

Childe fumbles awake, kicking the air whilst in shock by the chaotic sound of the door hitting the wall and Teucer screaming "Happy Birthday!" at the top of his miniature sized lungs as he runs in to plop right on top of his older brother.

His bewildered expression soon turns into something of a loving smile as he begins to process what is happening, eyes lighting up despite the deep bags that frame them.

Tonia places the plates on his side table, right next to the empty soup bowl you placed there earlier. She climbs up onto the bed as well to join in on the hug.

Anthon approaches at last, hands in his pockets as he coolly acknowledges his older brother. Instead of a bone-crushing hug like the other two are indulging in, his opts for a fist bump that Childe happily reciprocates.

Then finally, between the shield that are his siblings, his cerulean eyes land on your near the doorway, then trail down to the cake in your oven-mittened hands. He averts his gaze back to your own, and grins so wide his cheeks start to throb.

"Big brother! We made you cake." Teucer moves his head from his chest to face him. "So you can get better."

Childe's laughs ring in your ears, but you don't shy away from the sound. It's a pleasant, something that you wish to hear more of in the near future. Sure enough he laughs a lot at school, but the genuineness of it at home, surrounded by his siblings, stirs something deep within you.

"How thoughtful of you." He ruffles his hair, then his eyes widen as he ushers the two off of him. "You guys can't be near me! I don't want you to fall ill as well."

"But-but how will we feed you the cake without getting close to you?" Tonia frowns, and her two brothers nod in unison.

You chuckle lightly, approaching the bed with the cake in your hands. "I'm sure he has enough strength to feed himself. The hugs and kisses surely must've energized him."

To be honest, Childe's all green in the face and the last thing on his mind would be to indulge in the cake. You understand the feeling all to well. With his nose clogged up, throat all sore, there's no way he'll stomach it. It took a lot of nagging on your part to get him to finish the soup earlier as well.

He blows the candles anyways, clapping along his siblings and letting Tonia drop a fat chunk of the golden cake onto his plate. You find it endearing, regrettably so. His dedication to keeping their dreams is admirable in more ways than you can count.

This is the same guy that wears meme shirts to school, topped off with douchey sunglasses to give him a pristine vibe. The same guy that punches holes in walls like a Kyle. The very boy that flexes his toned biceps in-front of you during lunch time, successfully ruining your appetite.

"Wait a minute..." Childe inspects the cake closely, narrowing in on the candles. "Why is there an eleven?"

Teucer scratches his neck sheepishly. "Those were the only candles we had left."

After another short-lived laugh, Childe manages a bite as everyone stares in expectation, the sound of a tight crunch enveloping the room, making you grimace in secret. If Childe feels like puking out his guts right now, he's doing a hell of a job hiding it from his darling siblings.

You're glad nobody forces you to take a bite, or it would've been a double homicide right then and there.

Soon enough, one by one the children file out of the room, satisfied with their visit. The reality is that they don't want to miss an episode of backyardigans.

Once they leave, you approach him with a napkin. He gets the gist, spitting out the remnants of the cake you slaved over for about two hours.

"Colour me impressed." You snort, moving the cake aside so you can take a seat on the open space next to him. "How're you feeling?"

"Amazing." He exclaims, eyes red like a crackhead's, nose runny, with goosebumps kissing his pale skin. He sure does look...amazing.

"Cool." You say, abruptly getting up. "I'm gonna vibe with the kid—"

His hand shoots out from underneath the blanket, clammy palms wrapping around your wrist to keep you locked in place. You gulp in anticipation.

"You kissed me." Childe reminds you, eyes twinkling in mischief, a vicious grin plastered over his stupidly handsome face.

You try not to choke on your words. "You have circumstantial evidence at most." No attempts are utilized to pull away from him.

He raises a teasing brow, and you give in because the tension is thick. Thicker than the tension between Albedo and Kaeya when the latter shamelessly unzips his front to show more of his biddies. You have no idea why he hasn’t been dress coded yet.

"Fine." You snap out of your impure thoughts, and huff out, frustrated all over. "I kissed you on the cheek."

"Still a kiss though."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. Also, cute nails." He points out, hand moving down to grasp your fingers. The act is intimate, his caress gentle and caring. Despite his brash, violent personality, he shows you a completely different side to him that hatches butterflies in your stomach.

"Thanks." You show off the bright jewels on your index. "You have a real nail technician in the house."

Tonia has some serious talent.

When he taps one of the jewels, you slap his hand away. "Careful there dude. These cost me a fortune."

His chuckles die down and he smiles again, but this time apologetically. "They didn't trouble you too much did they? I know they can be loud."

"I like loud." You answer him truthfully. "They're fun to be around. Not nearly as chaotic as you."

He blinks in mock offence, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "You come into my house, talk to my siblings, and have the nerve to insult me? Right after taking advantage of me?"

"If you don't shut up, I'll also have the nerve to rip you a new one." You reply dryly with the innocent curl of your lips.

"Bet."

You're about to lunge at him and scream a string of obscenities that no one has ever heard of before, but the Archons are listening and you don't want his siblings to grow up without someone to look up to. Wait a minute—scratch that. You'd be doing them a favour if you wiped his existence right here and now.

You have a fragile heart though. So you sigh, and grab a fistful of sheets in both hands instead.

Childe's grin turns into a petrified scowl.

"Oh no," He pleads, weakly fighting you back. "Have mercy! Please!"

You have loads of mercy. Just not enough for him.

When you have him wrapped in a successful bundle, Childe can’t help but beam, laying limp in his confines.

“What are you smiling about?” You inquire, pulling out the medicine from his box, pausing momentarily in shock. “Wait a minute, don’t tell me you’re into these things you freak.” Head snaps up so fast you nearly suffer from whiplash.

He’s about to answer you but his words turn into a fit of shallow coughs.

“I’m into whatever you’re into.” Childe’s shrug is nonchalant. “Even if that means I have to be tied up. Kinky by the way.” He winks, and you roll your eyes, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you hold the spoon up. The dark reddish medicine swirls in deep hues.

“Shut up and open your mouth.”

“Girlie, I don’t think you understand how contradicting that statement is.”

You momentarily wonder if it’s too late to abort yourself.

—

Childe awakens at the crack ass of night, sweat slick, sticky all over, tousled hair sticking to his forehead. He’s a panting mess, eyes darting around the dark room, inhaling, exhaling, mind in a haze from the fever. Gaining somewhat of a grip on reality, he fumbles around to turn on his lamp, throat parched and in need of water.

When he manages to find the switch, he recoils at the brightness, adjusting to the sudden change in his vision. On his side table, there’s a bologna sandwich tucked safely in plastic wrap, a glass of room temperature water, and a bottle of painkillers.

His eyes disregard most of the things, finding interest in the bright pink sticky note next to the painkillers. Unable to ignore the dryness of his throat and the pounding of his head, he quickly gulps a pill down with most of the water, instantly feeling the relief of hydration.

Then, he pounces on the note, giddiness overtaking him despite the pang in his muscles, and the general feeling of absolute shit.

I had to leave. Don’t worry about your siblings, they’re all tucked in and fine. Except for Anthon maybe. Apparently he’s mildly lactose intolerant and thought it was a good idea to overdose on chocolate milk when I was busy with Teucer. Anyways, get better soon stupid.

— Y/N

He safely tucks the note under his pillow, edges of his lips turned upwards, warmth flooding his veins when he takes another look around his surroundings.

The room itself is cleaned, floor cleared from the initial clutter and the cool shiny collector’s knives he buys off of Amazon safely hung over the wall, not littered on his desk like they usually are.

The homework he was supposed do, but most likely wouldn’t, is already completed, stacked neatly atop each other.

Childe swears his heart bursts in his chest, exploding into tiny particles that overheat his entire body.

There’s no way in hell a few days worth of homework is gonna bring his failing mark up, but then again it’s the thought that counts.

While the sandwich is catered to his nausea, bland and plain for easy digestion, an easy fill, it’s the best meal he’s ever had in his life.

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