#*flops on the ground* when will my brain return from the war for good…

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

me when the dissociation causes memory loss: *surprised Pikachu*

[burnedbyshoto]

the bodyguard

— Kirishima gets assigned to be the bodyguard to one of the worlds greatest idols: you. —

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pairing: bodyguard!kirishima eijirou x idol!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, brat taming, authority kink, spanking, blowjob, slapping, choking, brat taming, brat!reader, modern!au, no quirks, bodyguard!kirishima, idol!reader, PTSD portrayal, anxiety, war flashbacks, implied minor character death, drugging, alcohol consumption, size difference: kirishima is 2 feet taller than you, regardless of the reader’s original height. If you’re 6 ft congrats he’s 8 ft.

word count: 20,500

a/n: this is for the bnharem collab.... im so sorry, it’s 4:30 am and I have a plane to catch in 2 hours to get back to school. thank you jo for proofreading this for me because lol I am a mess. if the paragraph spacing did not work as I wish it does, please let me know so I can go in and edit in visible paragraph spacers!

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“I’ll be okay.”

The smell of dirt, sweat, and blood clung to the air.

The sun was setting, its blood-red shine illuminating against the destroyed earth, making the already bloodied soil even bloodier. 

There was no telling if the land was quiet, if the reason why the world's silence was because the world just for this moment had gone silent, or if the earlier explosions were still ringing in his ears.

Kirishima sat wounded, his back pressed to the wall, his eyes wide, breathing erratic. He can’t move, can’t bother picking up the gun that lays abandoned by his knee as warm, sticky liquid spills onto his clothed knees and continues to soak the fabric of his jeans.

What had he done?

What in the fucking world had he done?!

BOOM!

Kirishima stills, his eyes stilling on the floor and looking at the clear moisture. He doesn’t need to touch his face to know it’s a combination of both sweat and tears. 

His ears sing with white noise, the erratic beat of his heart, and his pained breathing.

“I’ll be okay,” the ghost taunts his mind.

But I’m not okay, Kirishima tries to speak, but knows with how his tongue is sitting like a thick dried sponge in his mouth, he won’t be able to speak. Pushing off the cold floor, flops onto his back, his arm flinging over his closed, shaken eyes until the ringing in his ear disappears into his alarm clock. 

05:30.

Kirishima lays there for a bit more, his chest still heaving heavily with the weight of lead.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Better?

No, not yet.

Kirishima runs through breathing exercises, his chest never stopping in it’s hiccuped, broken pants as his memories continue to haunt his mind. If only he was smarter, more observant, better.

“Time to get up, time to get up, time to get up,” his phone screams with his second alarm set at 06:45. The sound does what it’s intended, jolting Kirishima out of his own head. His labored breathing shallowing just enough for his lungs to finally grasp ahold of its required function.

Today was an important day for him; he needed to be on his tiptop game, according to what Toshinori said yesterday.

I’m okay, he convinced himself as he does every morning after having this dream. Kirishima flings his arm off his eyes, the morning purple sun shining softly through his blinds. I’m okay.

Date: 4/2 Time: 08:00 Location: UA Services

“And in other news, music industries princess Y/n has been attacked by yet another round of masked perpetrators. Fortunately for the music idol, she was left unhurt but was clearly rattled. This is but the fourth attack on Y/n since three weeks ago. It’s leaving many of us fans, spectators, and civilians wondering just what is being done to ensure her safety? Y/n is reported to not have a single bodyguard to her name, wanting to quote-on-quote ‘experience her fans to the fullest’, but with these recent attacks, we can’t help but hope something is done. At least until something is done about these attackers—”

Kirishima’s eyes tore away from the screen, his lips pressed into a deep frown as he took in the story. There was deep worry about it, not only because he hated the idea of people getting hurt, but because he was a big fan of yours.

Your debut album had come out during his training camp for the military. Not only was it an instant billboard smasher breaking every standing record, but his commanding officers were obsessed with the album and played it continuously until they graduated. Most of Kirishima’s comrades came to dislike your music solely because they remember throwing up, bleeding, and suffering while you sang about love and whatnot, but Kirishima? Kirishima fell in love.

It was a bright spot in his life, and he was grateful for your music, even if it has been ten years and six albums since the training camp.

“Yo, Kiri!” a voice cheered out happily as a hand clasped onto his shoulder from behind. Kirishima held the flinch that threatened to rip through his bones. Kirishima turned to find Kaminari grinning up at him, a cup of steaming tea in one hand as he grinned brightly at his coworker. “I heard you’re finally getting a good case today!”

Kirishima found himself relaxing at the sight of his rather spontaneous friend, a warm smile easing onto his face as he raised his fist for a greeting fist bump.

“We’ll see, I know Toshi’ said it was going to be important, but he also said escorting the paranoid old lady was important,” Kirishima sighed, his smile softening a bit.

Kaminari laughed, his arm slinging around Kirishima’s shoulders as he remembered that.

The little old lady was sure that the government was out to kill her and wanted protection until her son returned from his vacation. Needless to say, Kirishima had thoroughly enjoyed his time with her, even if she was a bit scary. It was a low-risk job, and he only was paranoid by her cane, which she used to thwack his back many times as she talked about how plums extended your life.

“God, I remember subbing in for you for one hour because of your family emergency, and she was so scary! She still haunts my nightmares!” Kaminari shudders, placing the cup of his tea to his lip and taking a long, slow drink. His eyes shift over to the TV, which is still broadcasting the story of your attack. “What a bunch of bastards,” he growls, eyebrows scrunching as the news reporter ends the segment. “Thinking they can go after such a beautiful and talented idol… I’ll kill them.”

Kirishima was more than well aware of Kaminari’s plentiful budding romances. The blond man fell in love with just about any smiling woman who happened to waltz in front of him. Still, unlike most times, he found himself agreeing with him.

“It sounds really serious. I hope that she really considers some type of security team,” Kirishima inputs too, taking the teacup in his fingers with a nod of thanks. “There’re too many weirdos in Japan and in the world, I wouldn’t want to hear the news the day something bad happens.”

Kaminari hums, his face nearing Kirishima’s as he takes a small sip of the apparently black tea. His eyes scrunch, and Kirishima smiles awkwardly as the blond studies him intently.

“W-Wha—”

“You like Y/n!” Kaminari exclaims (accuses, maybe?), his arm leaving Kirishima’s shoulders as he points a finger accusingly at him. “I thought I was the only one in this department who did!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Denki,” the familiar voice of Sero responds for Kirishima. “Everyone in the world is in love with Y/n; she was voted the favorite artist of the year in our company. Everyone but Bakugou voted for her if I remember correctly.”

Kirishima looks over at his black-haired friend who is rummaging through his locker, his mouth curved into an easy, teasing smile as he looks between the bashful Kaminari and sneering Bakugou, who also seemed to just walk in.

“Her shit is basic and overrated,” Bakugou defended himself. “Nothing special and bad for your brain and ears.”

“Your go-to music playlist is fifty percent death metal and alt. rock. I don’t think you have ground to say that it’s bad for your brain and ears,” Midoriya’s snicker sounded from behind Kirishima, and he looked around to see the freckled man grinning at the snarling ash blond.

“And how does your stalker ass know that, shitnerd?!”

“‘Cause I’m a stalker, duh.”

“Oh, Bakugou-kun, Midoriya-kun! You’re both here! Todoroki-kun is looking for you!”

“I’m just saying that Y/n’s dates to all the award shows and premieres have been blond. She’s into blonds, so she would totally be into me!”

“Deku, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to kill you myself.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to protect Y/n, bro. The only thing you performed well on in the application process was the tasing part. You can’t even tase people repetitively! She’d be dead in a second.”

“Can you believe my client dropped me because I couldn’t cook a five-star meal correctly? Hello, I can make 7-11 into a five-star course; it’s not my fault they’re not refined.”

“Kirishima-kun, are you okay?”

“I deadass got into a dance competition on the way to work. That’s why I’m late, why would I lie? Of course, I had to compete; my reputation was on the line!”

“Kirishima-kun?”

“Yo, he’s not looking too hot?”

“Kirishima?!”

“Can you hear us?!”

Silence.

Kirishima found himself opening his eyes — when had he closed them? For a moment, the air turned coppery, his body feeling weak, and he thought he felt something heavy on his lap. But that wasn’t right; he was standing up, he wasn’t sitting down. Most importantly, he was in Tokyo, Japan. He was alright. He was safe.

The sweat that clung to the back of his neck was cold, clammy, and intrusive. His chest felt tight again, his hands shaking so harshly the tea's warm, dark liquid was sloshing onto the floor.

There were seven pairs of eyes on him, each a different color, each swimming with concern and other emotions. Kirishima knew his ears weren’t working right now, his face unable to meet his brain's screaming demands to smile, and he watched as their mouths moved as they questioned his sanity.

He was okay.

He was okay.

He was okay.

“Kirishima?”

Kirishima looked up, his neck craning to the side to see a tall, skinny man standing at the doorway. 

Toshinori Yagi was an esteemed bodyguard, one of the best in the industry, which was saying something considering that most bodyguards went unknown and unnamed. According to Google, Toshinori gained the nickname All Might after saving multiple political and celebrity lives when the government could not. It was long after his prime, and the man had retired but has since filled as the company’s head — thus why this job was near impossible to get.

Kirishima heaved a breath, realizing that he hadn’t taken a single breath when Toshinori’s bruised eyes narrowed in his concern.

“C-Coming,” Kirishima smiled, the blood rushing to his ears mostly ignorable now, but the scorching concerned gazes of his friends feel like cinders on his shoulder.

He straightens his tie, fingers curling when he feels the cold sweat penetrating through his clothes, but Kirishima doesn’t let it show. Smiling like he does, Kirishima pushed through his friends and followed Toshinori out the door.

They walked down towards the conference rooms, rooms that held their contractors, in complete silence.

“This is an important case,” Toshinori began, his voice gentle and poorly hiding his concern. “I chose you because you are a great asset to have, Kirishima. You are strong and smart, and most importantly, are personable.”

Kirishima looked at the man, his face contorting with his anxiety. He didn’t want to be treated like glass.

“Honestly, you being so personable is why I chose you for this assignment. Todoroki-shounen was a contender at first, but he’s not much of a talker; the same goes for Bakugou-shounen. Midoriya-shounen was probably the best choice, but there’s a new assignment that asked for three, so I gave up those three,” Toshinori explained the current assignments. It both delighted Kirishima to hear that he could keep up with arguably the three most qualified workers here as it did, at times, make him feel lesser. 

“Oh.”

But he was obviously not the first choice still.

“The only reason why you weren’t the first choice is because of what I walked into just now,” Toshinori interrupts Kirishima’s thoughts and words. Kirishima finds his eyes tearing away from the smooth, polished wood floor to see Toshinori stopping in front of Conference Room A, his gaze intense on him. “To be frank, I wasn’t too sure if we should have hired you all that time ago. You are excellent on the field, your skills are phenomenal. Something to be proud of, truly, but you are clearly not completely healed from your time on the force.”

“Toshinori—”

“Kirishima-shonen, I’m not saying that there’s shame in your current struggles,” Toshinori once again interrupts, his hand a soothing warmth on Kirishima’s shoulder. “I’m still not healed from my past injuries, and as many people have undoubtedly told you, it’s okay to not be okay. But you barely passed the psych evaluation and only passed your field training because you scored so phenomenally on the other things your lack of a shooting score passed you.”

Kirishima felt unable to look away from the piercing blue eyes, and the lump in his throat never tasted as bitter, as sad.

He had barely passed the admittance test.

“I just need to know, are you ready to take on this assignment?” Toshinori asks in complete seriousness. “It’s a high stake, big-name client. We do not expect anything untoward to happen, but we never know in these cases. I think highly of you, Kirishima-shonen, and if you are ready to take this on, I’ll believe you, but likewise, if you’re not, I will gladly give this to someone else.”

Kirishima swallowed, his dry tongue passing through his equally dry lips.

Without question, he was not okay, not when he nearly broke down twice in a matter of hours, but it was just a bad day. He wasn’t as shaken as he was two months ago; he was going to his mandated therapy, talking to people who could assist him. Kirishima just didn’t want to be treated like glass anymore; he wasn’t glass; he was an unbreakable force.

Steeling over his nerves and ignoring how his stomach twisted and turned, Kirishima raised his gaze to Toshinori.

“I can do it.”

A smile.

“Good.”

If Kirishima was sweating because he was on a mental slip earlier, he was now sweating because he was beyond petrified and embarrassed. His hands raised up to brush against his red spikey hair, praying to God that it didn’t look dumb. His legs bounced at a speed that was bordering insanity, but he could only hear the sound of his racing heart as he stared at your frowning form from across the table.

It was you — the Y/n, the world's biggest music idol, an absolute legend in the making.

“This is our very own Kirishima Eijirou, age twenty-eight. He has been with U.A.Services for approximately six months now and is without a doubt one of our most capable and well-serviced men,” Toshinori began the introduction to the three people on the other side of the table. Kirishima could feel a blush rising up his neck and settling into his cheeks as what he presumed to be you, your manager, and your lawyer shuffling through paperwork that was very thorough on his background. “He was enlisted in the military before joining our ranks and was honorably discharged at the age of twenty-six as First Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou due to extreme injury. He excels in negotiating, scouting, and is, as you know, a skilled close combatant and was skilled in handguns—”

“I don’t think he’ll need firearms,” you interrupt, a frown on your face in contrast to the bright smile Kirishima was so used to seeing on your face. He tensed in worry.

“Y/l/n!” your manager, Sato Kimiko, scolded.

“What? It’s true! We’ll be around my fans for the majority, if not all the time! How is that right? For him to have a firearm around defenseless, and may I add, harmless individuals?!” you argued, your eyebrows scrunching in your fury.

Kirishima felt frozen in his chair, his eyes seeking Toshinori for guidance, but found himself unable to look away from you. He knew nearly everything about you, he could admit with a proud grin that he was a super mega fan of you, and he might have, at one point, looked your height up to imagine how you would appear beside him. Kirishima had known this entire time that you were two feet shorter than him, but it hadn’t hit what that meant until he was shaking your hand when he first entered.

You were tiny.

His dick and mind really liked that, and seeing your own passion spilling out for your fans was making him fall deeper into this hole he had for you.

“You don’t have a say anymore? Do you understand? You were nearly assaulted yesterday, and we are all done waiting around for something serious to happen!” Kimiko yelled, her face contorted into a look of both frustration and fear. “Either you take this, or we all leave you. I won’t have you murdered in front of me! You’re twenty-six now, stop acting like a damn brat and grow the hell up!”

The words scorched the table, blistering heat filling the conference room as you met Kimiko’s glare.

Kirishima watched with a dropped jaw as your nostrils flared, your lips pursing, and your eyebrows furrowing with unspoken distaste and anger.

“Six months tops.”

“Uh, yes,” Toshinori interjected. “Our contracts only last up to six months for new clients, but if you find yourself wanting to extend your contract after those six months, we are very much open to negotiations.”

You nodded your head, your eyes falling back onto the booklet in your hands that exposed all the information available on Kirishima. From his likes, dislikes, to his allergies and the reason why he was discharged. Each in disturbingly deep detail to make sure all things were up on the table.

“So, you can’t shoot your gun, Kirishima-san?” you speak, your voice tight, a pleased, almost taunting tone.

Kirishima stills, embarrassment bubbling in his chest as you drop the booklet onto the table, exposing his military history to him and you. 

“...no,” Kirishima answers truthfully.

The lawyer shifts from the other side of you, his eyebrows scrunching as he too comes across that piece of information. 

“He won’t use firearms?” the lawyer scoffs, his semi-permanent frown deepening. “How will we know that he will keep Y/n completely safe from any sort of danger that may come her way? We’ll be paying six months for a glorified security guard? We want a bodyguard.”

“And we clearly have one,” you snap back, your eyes narrowing. “If my bodyguard isn’t Kirishima-san, I’m not getting one. I mean, isn’t that what you said earlier?”

“When we were assuming that the person Toshinori was assigning to your case was a well-rounded bodyguard. Not one that was still clearly haunted by his past.”

Fuck, that one hurt.

You scowled, your head tilting as you bared your teeth slightly, “And what? He managed to get into the best agency in all of Japan in spite of that. Sounds like he’s competent. I already told you I won’t take on a team, just one individual. I trust in Toshinori-san’s guidance and his choice in picking Kirishima-san. If you disagree, that’s too bad for you.”

“Y/n! Please stop this! You’re being ridiculous!” Kimiko huffed, slamming her own booklet down, her eyes drowning with her exhaustion. “I’m so sorry, Toshinori-san, Kirishima-san.”

“H-Hey, it’s okay!” Kirishima immediately imputed, his hands raising in a sign of retreat. “I know that Y/n has always enjoyed her independence as a solo star, and how me being involved now is imposing, especially after multiple attacks.”

Kirishima felt that his smile was a bit strained, a bit too forced, especially as your eyes hawked onto him. He felt like you were examining him, like a lab rat going through its initial trial and not knowing just what was to be expected.

“Six months?” you spoke, your gaze not leaving Kirishima’s own.

“Six months,” Kirishima agreed.

You hum, your head nodding. “Fine, six months tops unless the Lieutenant Colonel can apprehend these assholes faster.”

It had been ages since Kirishima had been called by his title, and for some reason, he found himself blushing. His mouth, for the first time this entire meeting, curled into a wolfish grin.

“You got it.”

The lawyer groaned, entirely aggravated and insulted. He stood up, “You’re asking to be murdered, Y/n. Don’t come haunting me when you end up dead and mutilated. You deserve all the shit you’re getting.”

Kirishima watched with his lips parted in a bewildered expression as the lawyer walked out of the room with a loud slam of the door.

You were unfazed, and Kimiko groaned, exhausted and embarrassed as she mumbled a weak, sullen, “I am so, so sorry, Toshinori-kun.”

“Ah, Kimiko-chan, it’s okay!” Toshinori shook his head and smiled knowingly. It wasn’t as if the long time famous bodyguard hadn’t seen his fair share of childish fights between clients. “Thank you for coming as always, and we’ll do our best to make sure that Y/n is in the best of hands.”

“Thank you… and so, the rest of the contract?”

“Ah, yes, let’s continue.”

So, the contract was discussed to full detail.

For six months, Kirishima would be attached to your side. He must always remain at most three meters away from you when there is no one around, and during fan interactions no more than one meter. He had a full say about your safety. If things got rough, you were to follow his every command. Your agency would pay for his room and lodging. He was to wear black pants and a black long-sleeved cotton tee. He would be working with every venue, every hotel, every conventions security team. He would lead them and never leave your side. He was to be awake an hour before you, rest when you were asleep so long as it was safe to do so. He was your guardian angel of sorts, and you would do nothing but adhere to him. 

Most importantly, according to Kimiko, there was one thing they were hoping for: Kirishima's help and discretion. For the next six months, they would be relying on Kirishima’s support to figure out who the group behind the assault was and who the mastermind was behind it all is.

Or so the contract said.

“Y/n!” Kirishima called when the papers were signed, and the day he was set to start was printed. He will begin tomorrow. “Wait!”

You stopped at the door, Kimiko and Toshinori chatting merrily between them as they exited the conference room, Toshinori’s booming voice asking if it was true that Kimiko was attending to a near forty clients to which she bashfully admitted to. You were dressed in a creme knit long-sleeved shirt, faded ripped jeans, and a pair of nude heels. The heels were big, undoubtedly giving you inches, but you still barely got to his shoulder.

“I-I’m looking forward to looking — I mean working with you!”

You looked at him closely, your eyes dragging to the top of his toes to the tallest spike in his hair before your lips pulled into a contemplative pout. You looked back to his eyes, and you steeled over, your head tilting to the side.

“I mean no offense, Sergeant, I thank you for doing your job, but I have no intention of looking forward to working with you. I don’t want you here, so do your best to ignore the contract and realize that I am the most important person, so you will follow my demands.”

Kirishima can do nothing but stare as you turn on your heel and leave.

Well, so much for a good case.

Date: 5/2 Time: 14:00 Location: Tokyo Music Stadium

If you would have told Kirishima Eijirou that he had been working for the grand, the perfect, the fantastic music idol Y/n for a month now, two months ago, he would have laughed so hard he’d cry. Not only would he have not believed it, but he would only think of a million and two scenarios where he would go the entire day flirting.

Now a month into knowing you, of being your bodyguard on a contract for six months, Kirishima could say that of that entire thought, the only thing he had been right about was that he was, in fact, crying. Not only has he never managed to speak an entire conversation with you despite being attached to your hip seven days a week, but despite your much shorter stature, you had managed to get away from him.

You always managed to sneak away from him.

Kirishima could admit that the no more than five meters rule had been wholly and utterly demolished.

And now, Kirishima was crying, not out of joy, but of pure manly fear as he raced through the backstages of the stadium, desperate to find your short-ass anywhere.

“Go, Kirishima!” someone yelled as Kirishima whizzed past him, “Find Y/n!”

“T-Thank you!” Kirishima screamed as he continued onward, the yellow-lit concrete hallway seemingly haunting the further he went into it. The earpiece in his left ear shrilled, the telling sign he was getting a call. Putting a finger to the circle in his ear, he answered the car. “Hello?!”

“Ah, Kirishima-san!” Kimiko’s voice chirped on the other side of the line. “Wonderful to hear your voice again! I’m calling to let you know that the tour bus is parked outside of the venue now. The concert was a smashing success, and she’s come out unharmed for the past month! To make matters even better, since your arrival, there have been no more assault attempts! Oh, um, sorry, where are you guys?”

“We’re just, um!” Kirishima tried not to pant into the microphone; he was still racing ahead, his head peeking into every door and room he passed. “Y/n needed to use the restroom?!”

“Oh, wonderful. Okay! Let me know when you two are on your way over!”

“Ya, okay, bye!”

“By—”

Kirishima hung up as he crashed through the doors at the end of the hallway.

It was night out right now, the full moon reflecting down on the dirty concrete with the same intensity as the streetlamps overhead. And in the middle of a crowd of around twenty people was the person Kirishima was trying to find: you.

You were still dressed in the final costume change of your concert. Even from a distance, Kirishima could see the glitter and highlight on the tip of your nose and the curve of your cheekbones. The crowd around you was clearly not hostile. Each face was bright with broad smiles and sparkling with fresh tears, each voice high and pitchy as if they were talking with some goddess and not you. 

There was a slight longing in Kirishima’s chest at the sight of you interacting with your fans, your smile was so beautiful, and he wished just for a moment that he was the one that it was directed towards. If he had met you as a fan, and only a fan, he wonders if you would look at him as you did the others. Would he see the pure joy in the depths in your eyes, the love, wonder, and pride as they asked you questions and answered your own?

He wanted to be just a fan.

“Y/n, the tour bus is here,” Kirishima finally found his voice, the tenor of his voice spreading through the narrow alleyway. “Say your goodbyes.”

He had to ignore the way you stiffened immediately, the unsolicited joy in your face breaking and becoming bleak as you met his gaze. Kirishima absolutely did not feel pressure behind his eyes when you rolled your eyes and began to say your goodbyes; he did not!

The group of fans waved goodbye as you walked backward toward Kirishima; you didn’t stop waving and continuing your parting conversations with the group until the metal doors of the stadium doors closed behind the two of you. Kirishima let out a sigh, his eyes closing for a brief moment before looking down at you. You were expressionless, eyes cold as you looked dead ahead.

“You’re not supposed to run away like that.”

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t tell me what to do, Sergeant.”

“You know I can’t do that it’s not—”

“Part of your contract. Yeah, I know, but that’s your contract, not mine.”

“Oh, okay. Um, Kimiko? ...yeah, we’re heading out now. Five minutes, till.”

And then there’s only silence.

Neither Kirishima nor you bother talking the entire walk towards the tour bus, and you ignore Kimiko’s call that your lawyer would be meeting briefly before tomorrow's fan signing event. You walk into the bus and go directly to the beds, throwing yourself into the terribly padded bunk and passing out without so much as a sound.

Kirishima sinks into his own bed, it’s too small for him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Sleep overcomes him easily these days; he’s always way too exhausted in chasing you down like some spoiled toddler you’re behaving like to dream. But that’s okay, he thinks as the comfort of sleep begins to dig its skeleton fingers into his side, at least the exhaustion stops the night terrors.

Date: 5/3 Time: 10:00 Location: Tokyo Music Tower

Now, Kirishima knew that it was a common belief and a nearly proven theory that when you met your idols, you should never ever have your expectations high on who they are as a person. Celebrities were out of touch, cruel, rude, nearly jaded. They weren’t exactly the common folk. With people willing to forget things like them being human beings themselves or the common thread of celebrities being too rich to care, any type of famous person was cold, rude, and ruthless.

He knew that.

He also knew that you weren’t like the nearly proven theory.

You were kind, sweet, a practical angel to anyone who dared to approach you. You were the exception to the rule, an outlier to them all. You spoke politely to all your fans, domestic and foreign, and you treated each fan like the most special person in the world.

You were a good person.

But Kirishima knew, just as you reacted to any cruel person you encountered, you had an edge. Your words were as vicious as your name was known. He genuinely enjoyed watching you put assholes into place, but he sulked, knowing he was always at the receiving end of the sharp, bitter tongue of yours.

For a month and a day now, he had been the number target of your bitter words and scorching hate, but he admitted that he enjoyed it when it wasn’t directed at him, if but a little bit.

“I’m not renegotiating my contract!” you groan, your palms slamming into the depths of your eyes. “I already told you that I don’t need all that money!”

“And I’m telling you that you need to increase the wages that you pay the rest of your team instead of all those charities or else people will begin dropping you!” the lawyer countered with similar fire, his scowl angry enough that Kirishima felt like he had to tear his gaze away from this horrible battle. “You won’t be the best of the best forever, y/n, get over your stupid savior act and look over the changes!”

Kirishima looked over at you, his eyebrows pinching as he watched you fold your arms, your cheeks pushed out to a puff as you looked at the stack of papers with the title page fully covered with the word Contract of Y/n and Co. on it. Well, it seemed that the rumor of you spending your paycheck on things that weren’t you was right, how entirely manly.

“Oh fuck off,” you growl, pushing out of the chair and storming away.

Kirishima glanced over at Kimiko, who was looking pale and exhausted, undoubtedly exhausted from the past thirty-minute battle between the lawyer and the idol that neither made a single step forward nor a step back. How you had the energy to fight so passionately was beyond him. Kimiko nodded minimally, her lips parting in a sigh as Kirishima stood up and followed after her.

“The only way that brat is going to listen is by force,” the lawyer sneered, his voice fading into the room that Kirishima exited. “If that’s how she wants to play, so be it.”

Fortunately for Kirishima, he catches up to you. There are tears of fury dripping down your cheeks, and he feels unable to speak as he discovers a new layer to you.

...how interesting.

“It’s my money,” you speak, but Kirishima is unsure if those words are meant for him or for the void, the earth that you would much rather converse with than him. “I already pay them all a much greater paycheck than they should be getting considering their client pool. Why do I have to bend to their stupid will when I’m the one making the money.”

Kirishima blinks, wondering just what people might want to raise with their contracts. But, he knew you were right. By her account, Kimiko had a client list of many successful individuals, and he may not know anything about the lawyer, but if he worked with Y/n, his name must be good. Guess they weren’t like you.

“People are selfish assholes,” was the only thing that Kirishima could think of, and was something he spoke before he could stop himself.

But you stop in your storm, the anger that clouded you somewhat dissipating, clearing just enough for you to turn to him, your sharp, beautiful eyes for the first time filled with rage that was not pointed at him, and an emotion that made him think of… amusement?

“Yeah,” you agree, a half-smile cracking onto your face, and Kirishima feels his soul begin leaving his very body. “People are selfish assholes, huh?”

“Very much.”

There’s a calm, a snorted chuckle, and Kirishima finds himself stumbling further into the abyss of his feelings for you.

The next ten hours seem to pass in a blur, Kirishima feeling like he was on Cloud Nine as he stood behind you, three meters as he watched fan after fan approach you. Signatures were made, pictures were taken, and Kirishima found that he never once had to approach.

Maybe, he thinks, just perhaps, the two of you can overcome this.

Ten minutes after the official signing is done, Kirishima can’t find you, and he curses loudly into the echoing floor.

So much for change.

Date: 5/17 Time: 23:00 Location: The Parking Lot - Mt. Lady Studios

Kirishima was, for the lack of better words, completely fucking done with you.

Don’t get it wrong, he still was a complete and massive fan of yours. He would never once betray his loyalty to you and your musical career, but he was slowly starting to realize just why the lawyer was set to dying of a heart attack any time soon. Despite your early entrance to stardom and the stuff of legends, you had kept your fiery, stubborn individualism.

Kirishima thought it was absolutely hot and sexy at times, especially the times where you strut around in revealing clothes because ‘this is your body,’ or the lingerie campaign you completed two days ago as part of some fundraising event. There were significant perks to your strong handle and claim to keeping your indestructible personality, but it came back to rub them all back in the worst of ways when once again, you escaped from Kirishima’s side.

To be fair, most of the time, Kirishima was a very level headed individual; he was near impossible to rile up despite popular initial belief. I mean, he was good friends with Bakugou Katsuki, who riled up just about anyone he talked to! He needed to have steel calm emotions, or at the very least portray that he does. But even the unbreakable after tireless attempts can, at times, be broken.

It had been a hard morning.

Kirishima had woken up in a panic, the sweat of his night terror soaking through the sheets of his bed, and his head felt like lead. They had been in the tour bus for the entire day because you were going from the tip of Japan to the bottom of it, thus meaning that you couldn’t run away from him, concluding that when he went to bed that night, he was merely tired, not exhausted.

“K...Kiri...shima?” the voice whispered in his ears when he bolted from his bed and tumbled to the ground, his chest heaving in his panic as he cried.

He only slept for four hours that night, the ghost of his comrade haunting him too much for him to ever drift back to sleep. The only thing he was grateful for when he stumbled down to the hotel lobby for breakfast was that he had an attack while in his own room and not in a tour bus with ten others.

But the lack of sleep and the twisting of his guts from his still unburied memories meant that his exhaustion was dialed up larger than he thought was capable. Today was an interview day plus a miniconcert at said interview.

That meant that for an hour before your interview and two hours afterward, Kirishima lost you and had to hunt you down. You weren’t making it easy on him and had started moving with the crowd you gathered to evade him.

But today, Kirishima was exhausted.

Today, Kirishima wanted to sleep.

Today… Kirishima broke.

“Let’s go,” Kirishima spoke in a low, commanding voice. His eyes were hooded as he looked down at you, the crowd of fans parting like the red sea as he stands behind you, larger than life, imposing.

You ignore him.

“We’re leaving, now.”

“Aw, did you make that just for me?! This beading is gorgeous!”

To be fair, Kirishima isn’t really sure if he’s crying right now or if steam is protruding from his ears like some stupid cartoon. The only thing he knows is that it's been a bit longer than a month, and his client is the most perfect person in the world except to him and some lawyer. All he knows is that he has been continuously mocked, shamed, and disrespected by his client, and at this moment, with his mind and body aching with the memories of the morning, he can no longer stop the tsunami of emotions and thoughts that shove out of him.

He grabs your wrist and begins pulling you away.

“We’re leaving now, sorry to disrupt your time. Come see Y/n another day.”

Kirishima isn’t even aware of your screams, the banging of your small fist against his back as his hand encompasses your bicep easily. He walks and walks and walks until he stops, his mind slightly put back into place.

“—FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?! LET GO OF ME, SERGEANT!”

Oh, right.

He lets go of you immediately and nearly snorts at how you stumble into his back. So small, so delicate, and so completely weak.

“You want to know my problem, y/l/n?” he asks, voice eerily calm, much calmer than he actually is. “My fucking problem is that I signed onto this case with a single rule: keep you in sight and protect you. It’s simple, almost too easy, isn’t it? But easy and simple is everything that this assignment is!”

Your face contorted into a flash of anger and embarrassment, your nose scrunching as you found your footing, “And I told you that I don’t give a crap about that contract! I didn’t want it in the first place, but no one listens to me!”

Kirishima snorts, his body shifting so that he can look at you properly; your face is seething, your teeth bared and eyes wild, but Kirishima has faced worse.

“It’s not in my contract to listen to you, unfortunately,” Kirishima points out, his eyes narrowing. “I would have a better time listening to you, trying to find an agreement that worked if you used that brain of yours and figured out a way to compromise with me.”

“Compromises aren’t—”

“You think I wouldn’t?” Kirishima almost whines, his voice tight with emotions, fingers fisting in his hair, “You really fucking think that after a month and how many days of me spending stupid hours trying to find your ass, most of the time never knowing if you’re dead or not, I wouldn’t want a better solution?!”

“Like hell they’ll kill me! And if they do, I don’t fucking care!” you stubbornly insist, finger buried against the swell of your chest.

“Oh my god,” Kirishima can’t stop the bitter laugh from escaping, “you’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous?! I’m not the ridiculous one here!” you cry, your eyes bursting with unshed, bitter tears. “So what that I run away from you? Can you imagine living the past ten years of your life trying to be something that the media wants you to be? No! You can’t, Sergeant! Those times where I’m running away isn’t to be some dick, but to give me time to be me!”

“You’re a goddamn idiot!” Kirishima barks, his anger curdling in his chest like a raging fire. “If you had looked at my damn file correctly, instead of focusing on the stupid shit like me not being able to fire my gun correctly, you would be more than aware of the fact that you are one of my favorite artists!”

“Wh-”

“I am one of the best in my company! I am easy to get along with, personal, manageable, flexible even, but from the very first moment you laid eyes on me, you’ve hated me! You talk down on me, you shit on me, my job, the reason I’m here! Listen, I would fucking love to be anywhere but here right now. I have literally never hated my job before, but you just made that a reality. But the worst part of this all is the fact that you seem to think I would have kept you away, prohibited you from doing things that I already know you love! You stand there and tell me that I would try to force you to do shit you don’t want when I have merely been asking for you to take me there with you! I don’t care if I have to stand away and watch, but I want to be there! I’m supposed to be protecting you, but you’re being nothing more than a stubborn brat who refuses to see the efforts I’m trying to make, and frankly, I’m done.”

Kirishima’s chest is burning with the lack of oxygen, his eyes narrowed and filled with raging fire as he stares down at you, his neck craned so that he could be closer, more daunting, intimidating.

“Fuck o-off,” you snap suddenly, a lone tear, your voice tight and shoulders tense as you storm off.

“So predictable,” Kirishima calls after you, but it’s not filled with the previous anger he had but the sinking misery and regret.

And for a moment, it’s quiet.

Until a single name is screamed.

“SERGEANT!”

And then the all too familiar sound of a fist colliding with skin.

The anger in Kirishima’s blood evaporates immediately, and horror sinks in as he turns towards where you had stormed off. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

The parking lot is filled with an ugly yellow light that seems to set the stage for what was to come down. His footsteps crashing down against the black pavement were mute in his ears, and his eyes were focused on your limp body slung over somebody's shoulder. There was one person behind him, the other one already hopping into a van; Kirishima was the devil on their heels.

“Come on! Let’s go!” the one in the van screamed, his voice full of gruff apprehension and fear.

The van turns on.

Kirishima grunts, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sidesteps the man who was lingering behind the one carrying you and quickly slams his shoulder into the man's sternum, knocking him out the moment he collapses onto the ground. 

He lets out a roar of such, his eyes glowing with anger and a single mind track to take down the person who held you, ready to throw your unconscious body into the back of the van.

Kirishima doesn’t even know when he manages to get to the man's side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on you, and with the strength and anger of a million fighting warriors, he ripped you from his hold and sent him stumbling into the trunk. Your shallow breathing brushes against his neck, and Kirishima is hyper-aware of the cursing men who chose to abandon their unconscious comrade on the floor. 

With his arms filled by your unconscious body, Kirishima can only watch the van scurry out of the lot, the license plate immediately burning into his mind.

T082-23

When the man on the floor finally wakes up, he’s in police custody, and you’re just waking up. There's a bruise on your cheek, and you begin crying immediately.

Kirishima watches from the distance, his heart aching and guilt climbing up his throat as he watches Kimiko hold you close, her arms warm and tight.

Well, shit.

So much for the month of no attacks.

Kirishima sits in a waiting room, his head relaxed against the wall as he waits for your discharge from the hospital. They suspect a concussion, and they’re running some tests right now. The police are there too, trying to get information from you on the failed kidnapping attempt as well as beginning the initial trials of interrogation of the abandoned kidnapper with a broken sternum, ruptured spleen, and three cracked ribs.

He was not surprised when the police officers came to talk to him, and he gave them the license plate.

But they also gave him an essential piece of information.

(“Well, when we asked for a motive, it seemed that it wasn’t his idea,” the detective admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “His boss said that, and I quote, Y/n will end up dead and mutilated as is deserved. She deserves all the shit she has coming her way, end quote. Any ideas of who it could be”

Kirishima rubbed a hand across his face, the words striking a bit too familiarly to him, but from where. He shook his head, his eyes focusing on his bouncing knee.

“Thank you,” Kirishima said, his tone pointed in a clear indicator that this conversation was now over. The detective nodded, his frown slight as he left. The moment he was gone, Kirishima pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Kimiko? Yeah, I think we might have our first suspect.”)

For now, he was waiting for you.

An hour passed before you shuffled into the waiting room. There was a bandage on your swollen cheek, but besides the obvious attack, your eyes looked strong, and it seemed like there was no concussion.

“I should be fine,” you speak first, your jaw tensing as if it physically pained you to speak (whether it was because you hated talking to him or because of the injury, Kirishima had no idea). “I will be fine; I just need some sleep.”

Kirishima nodded, his body completely exhausted, and his mind filled with nothing but regrets on how he handled his anger earlier. He needed to apologize. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he had definitely crossed a few too many lines.

“Should we go?”

You chewed on your lip, your eyes looking down at the white tiled floors of the hospital — so bleak, so anxiety driving.

“I actually wanted to talk before we left.”

Oh?

“Of what, if I may ask?”

Your eyes raise back up before looking away again, “the contract.”

Kirishima finds himself nodding, his hand gesturing towards the empty seat in front of him.

“Sure.”

And with a heaving sigh that sounds like you were on the verge of tears, you sit before him.

The contract was then discussed.

It was decided that you could continue to interact with fans as you wish, so long as you took Kirishima with you. He didn’t care about the long hours, the manic fans, or the impending doom of a group of people who meant business. He needed to be there.

Everything else stayed the same, but Kirishima looked at you one last time that night in the hospital, his body leaning towards you as he did his best to keep his face void of emotion and any lingering teasing.

“I’ll only accept this new negotiation on one term.”

“W-What?!” you pause, thinking. “Fine, say it.”

“From here on out, I think we should be friends, yeah? I’m on your side, after all, it’s a bit weird if we stay just acquaintances.”

The tension and horror leave your body, and Kirishima, for the first time ever, bears witness to the most relaxed, meaningful smile he has ever seen you give. It had been one hell of a shitty night, but at that very moment when the seventh turned into the eighth, Kirishima felt a new warmth flood through his chest, his heart racing at the sight of your glorious smile.

“Of course, Kirishima.”

“Oh, and y/n?” 

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about all that I said. It was unmanly of me and out of line.”

“It’s okay. To be fair, I was a bit of a self-absorbed brat, too.”

The next day, a picture of Kirishima holding you bridal style is trending.

Date: 6/12 Time: 19:00 Location: Hime Onsen

An Interview with Y/n | Vogue Japan 4.5 million views • Premiered 2 hours ago 874k [liked this] 12.3k [disliked this] Timestamp: 05:32 / 10:33

[Interviewer]: Now, Y/n, we must congratulate you on your latest achievement! Your latest self-titled album, ‘Y/N,’ has been nominated for a record high of twelve awards for the upcoming Japan Record Awards, which will be coming up in about a month! Tell us how you feel about this?

[You]: It was quite a surprise actually! I didn’t realize that it would have done so well in the critic's eyes to get this type of award. I am proud of myself and am excited to see all the other amazing artists and musicians who were nominated as well.

[Interviewer]: Now, your album is all about staying true to yourself, whether that be in love or war. It depicts your own highs and lows while also highlighting beautifully universal things many of us face. Without question, you have always been adamant on staying connected with your fans and keeping a simple rule: no bodyguards.

[Y/n]: Oh, (laughs) yes! That is definitely a new thing, huh?

[Interviewer]: A new thing and a beautiful thing at that, too! Look here!

[captioner notes: interviewer displays many photos of Y/n’s bodyguard, including the most famous one where he’s holding y/n after the failed kidnapped attempt]

[Interviewer]: This is a beautiful — don’t giggle! — a beautiful man, Y/n! What do you have to say for yourself?! Did you finally succumb to keeping untrue to yourself for this beautiful man?! If so, it is perfectly acceptable. By chance, is your contract with him done? I would personally love to have this man on my team.

[Y/n]: (laughing) By all means, take him! (Y/n looks behind her, her bodyguard is there) I’m kidding, I’m kidding! (pauses) No, actually, sorry. Kirishima is an outstanding bodyguard, and I have no intentions of leaving him so soon. Uh, while I did say I had no wish or intentions to have a bodyguard, obviously that was not the best solution, so I hired Kirishima. He is a wonderful addition to my team and still allows me to be authentically me, so it’s still all good.

[Interviewer]: Ah, okay, well, Kirishima-kun, if you ever need a new client, call me. But moving on, yes! Would you like to discuss the series of increasingly concerning attacks?

Kirishima stood in the softly lit hallways of a sauna.

Today was one of the last remaining days you had off, and in celebration of your upcoming award season, you had decided that it was mandatory to visit the hot springs. Everyone on your team — the backup dancers, band, and hair and makeup — were ecstatic to learn that they were being involved with it too.

This high-end resort had accommodated your entire team to receive their own private spring with an all-inclusive menu too. 

It was thanks from the owner for the free PR and, of course, because they were some of your biggest fans. So, in thanks, everyone got to enjoy the springs.

Well, everyone but Kirishima, that was.

As of the past month, things between Kirishima and you had improved a lot.

With Kirishima no longer needing to run a marathon daily to find where you were, he would find himself walking at your side. He no longer felt like you hated him. There was respect and actual friendship between the two of you. You joked with him, showed him memes and TikTok, sent him snapchat streaks, and invited him to watch weird shows with you. You even complained to him about the things that annoyed you, namely Kimiko’s attention being stolen by other clients and the rude conversations you would have with the lawyer.

It made Kirishima’s chest warm up knowing that you were friends now.

A stressful month had passed into a friendlier one.

But there were some things that Kirishima would not have expected to… arise.

Namely you growing to be comfortable enough to walk around with nothing but a thin pair of panties and a large shirt. You curling into his side whenever you watched a show together in the bus, the way your lips brushed against his neck when he leaned down to hug you, or the very so not obvious teasing you would do when you changed in front of him. It was as if you were watching his every reaction, enjoying the way that his eyes horribly tore away, or the silent hitch in his throat whenever you speed his heart up.

The biggest surprise arose the night after the failed kidnapping attempt:

You had come to his room, hours after you were supposed to have fallen asleep.

Your eyes were sunken, still a bit tired, and the bruise on your cheek was looking bad. In your arms was a white binder undoubtedly filled with the introductory packet you had received at your initial meeting. Kirishima had opened the door in his sleepy state in nothing but gym shorts. He had barely started dozing off, his mind wouldn’t stop thinking of what could have happened if you hadn’t managed to scream, and so he kept tossing and turning.

Seeing you outside of his room, his head dropped down to look at you properly, and his fist rubbing at his eye fell, “Y/n?”

“Did I wake you?” you asked, your face filled with a shocked, near uncomfortable, and embarrassed expression he doesn’t recall ever seeing on you. “I’m so sorry! I’ll wait until—”

“No,” Kirishima grunts while he shakes his head, his voice raspy and dry from his lack of use. “I’ve been tossing and turning, um, what is it? Do you want to come in?”

“I-If that’s okay?”

Kirishima breathes out a bit, his shoulders relaxing as he smiles softly, “Come on, let’s talk about what’s on your mind.”

The door clicked behind your tentative steps with an echo, and Kirishima watched as you walked into the hotel room with wariness and caution.

“Would you like some tea?” Kirishima offered, picking up a shirt from his dresser and pulling it over his body. The fabric was tight against his chest and shoulders, but felt more appropriate to wear around you.

“No, I’m okay,” you politely decline.

You stood in the center of the room, unsure of where to sit, stand, or lay.

“Go ahead and make the bed,” Kirishima offered, taking the chair by the desk. “I promise it’s still clean.”

You laugh slightly, smile strained but grateful as you sit at the edge of the bed, binder resting on your lap.

“Thanks, I wouldn’t want to sit on a dirty bed,” you joke, but it sounds weak to Kirishima’s ears.

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Hm?”

“You have my portfolio,” he shrugs, leaning forward so that his forearms rest on his knees. “I have a feeling you have some questions.”

“Oh, right,” you whisper, your eyebrows scrunching as you open the binder to the first page, but your eyes are focused on the desk. “What’s the medication for?”

Kirishima turns his head to follow your gaze and comes across the yellow tinted medicine containers.

“My PTSD,” Kirishima answers honestly, his voice soft with emotion, but there was no shame in it. “My service had a difficult end.”

“That’s actually… that’s what I came to talk about,” you rush, your hands slamming the binder closed. “If you don’t want to talk about it, obviously I won’t push it! God, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s okay,” Kirishima interrupted, his smile sad, but he stood up, his body a tower in front of yours as he urged you to sit back down. “It’s okay; I don’t mind talking about it.”

“B-But what if I say something that makes it all worse?”

A pause.

“Then I’ll tell you that it’s too much.”

A nod.

“Are you… are you still experiencing a lot of symptoms?” you ask, your fingers tightening and untightening around the binder.

“Some days are worse than others,” Kirishima admits, his shoulders shrugging. “I don’t experience much anxiety while in crowds anymore; I don’t have many flashbacks to those days anymore, not since February at least. I do still get… I still get night terrors and dream of that day. It’s nowhere near as bad as the first few months after the accident, but it’s still here.”

“What happened?” you asked after a bit, morbidly curious.

The file had all the details that proved Kirishima to be a master of firearms during his entire time on the force. He was a powerful combatist, and his ranking was a clear indicator of the respect and skills he had. Still, it was the quick honorable discharge, the near year-long hospitalization, and the current inability to use a firearm that concerned you.

What had happened?

“I was involved in a grenade explosion on my last day on tour. I was the only one who managed to survive the blast,” Kirishima easily stated, his voice quiet.

“Oh my god, I… holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’s all good. There were only two others around, and one of them was already dead.”

“Was that um, Major—”

“We called him Crimson Riot, actually,” Kirishima smiled, a chuckle light on his tongue as he leaned back onto the chair, nodding. “Yeah, that was him.”

“Crimson Riot,” you repeat, nodding. “Did you watch him… watch him die?”

Kirishima presses his lips tightly together, and for a moment, you’re unsure if he’s going to cry, answer you, or tell you to leave. There’s a whirlwind of emotions on your optimistic and typically jubilant bodyguard despite your asshole tendencies that make your stomach twist.

“Yes,” Kirishima finally answers, and you nod.

It’s hours into the morning before you finally depart back to your room, the horrors of Kirishima’s past still pounding into your ears. Kirishima wouldn’t notice, and neither would you, but on his shirt and yours, there’s a few drops of tears the both of you shed when you said goodnight.

Sergeant Kirishima Eijirou, while on an active warzone, had accidentally struck and killed his superior officer, his friend, his role model Crimson Riot, thinking that he was nothing more than an enemy target as he sat wounded behind a wall. He died on his lap, and as someone came to help, a grenade landed two meters away before detonating.

“K...Kiri...shima?” Crimson Riot had whispered as he fell to his knees, blood gushing and seeping through his clothes, spilling onto Kirishima’s lap. “I’ll be okay.”

For whatever reason, since that night, Kirishima felt something in him shift. He still took his medication, still had his virtual therapy sessions when he could fit them in, and even had painful night terrors of that moment, but it was becoming less frequent.

He wasn’t made of glass.

There had been more instances after the kidnapping attempt, but unlike the last times, Kirishima was prepared. He had stopped each one, keeping you safe and sound. As of one week ago, he had officially been given a firearm to keep strapped to his thigh at all times now.

It was an unfamiliar weight, one that still twisted his stomach and made him nervous, but he knew the reason why it was needed. Since the gun had been added to his gear, the attacks stopped. He was definitely not ready to be firing it anytime soon, but it had deterred the attackers for the time being.

Kirishima paused when he heard his earpiece ring, and he dropped his phone where he had been watching your interview despite being there himself.

“Talk to me,” Kirishima answered, his finger pressing the accept button.

“Kirishima!” came the distressed voice of Kimiko, “We just got a tip!”

Kirishima stilled, his eyes scanning the empty hallways that stretched throughout the private hot springs.

“I don’t know, but a person with connections with this mastermind said something about how there were two more events he was staging. Today is one of them!”

Kirishima’s eyes widened, his lips parting to answer Kimiko when instead there was a large, loud crash in the water from inside your room. He assumed the worst.

“Y/n!” Kirishima shouted, hands throwing open the sliding door and racing through the storage room, the shower, and exited out into the hot spring.

Steam curled through the wind, the white wisps of steam feeling warm and light against Kirishima’s skin, and Kirishima panicked when he couldn’t see your shadow or figure in the hot springs.

“Where is she?! Is she alright?!” Kimiko panicked, her voice panicking already. “I’ll call the—”

Kirishima turned on his heel, ready to complete a full sweep of the outdoor hot spring when he crashed into something smaller than he was… smaller, softer, and definitely the shape of a woman. Kirishima felt his entire body stiffen when his rough palms felt the undeniable feeling of wet, warm skin.

“Oh my god,” he heard you shriek. “KIRISHIMA!”

“She’s all good, Kimiko,” Kirishima stifled out, his voice tight, his head slamming backward so that his eyes were concentrated on the starry night sky.

“...sorry… uh aha! Another client of mine is calling, goodbye!” Kimiko’s apology was meek and small before she hung up.

Kirishima’s mind was racing a mile a minute, but his body was frozen, unmoving like a rock when he realized that pressing to his stomach was, without a doubt, your breasts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What are you doing in here, pervert?!” you splutter, your hands pressing to his stomach as you step away. “Are you a pervert or something?!”

“I, no! No! Of course not! Fuck, shit, I’m so sorry! I’ll go! There was a tip that something was going to happen right now, and there was a crash and—”

“What are you looking at?” you exclaim, squeaky frustration heavy on your tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with the sky! Look me in the eyes? Have you never been to a co-ed hot spring before?!”

“Y-Yes, sorry!” Kirishima apologized, bowing slightly in apology before he peered down. Still, his face bursted in a flame as he watched the way your jaw dropped in disbelief, the dewy wetness of the hot spring clinging to your body. You were, obviously, soaked, and Kirishima bit his tongue as hard as he could to keep the whimper from expelling past his lips when he saw the light gleaming off your breasts. But he watched your face shift between a million emotions, each one appearing too fast for him to read, too fast to register, but he saw the way a single-arm wrap around your breast and the other shoving into his stomach.

“PERVERT!”

“What?!”

“That was a test! This is my private room! I have the right to not be willing to be looked at right now!” you shrieked as Kirishima spun around, allowing you the complete privacy of his gaze.

“You told me to look at you!” he squawked. “Y-You told me, and I listened because of our contract!”

Kirishima could feel his body trembling, his mind reeling in disbelief that he definitely saw you in your entire nakedness, and if the swirling heat in his stomach had anything to say about it, he liked it. Fuck.

There was a soft laugh and the sound of sloshing water as you probably (he wouldn’t know because he wasn’t looking) reentered the spring.

“I know, I was teasing,” you sing, and he can tell the water is gliding around your body. “Turn around, Kiri, let’s talk.”

“Haha, um, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Kirishima admits, although sitting in this steam-filled space with just you sounds so very nice. 

“Why not?” you asked, voice sounding a bit upset.

“I’m supposed to be outside, doing my job?”

“Augh, but these private springs are so boring alone,” your voice whines; the water sloshes, and Kirishima winces at the slight throb on his tongue as he continues to look at not your direction. “Turn around, Kiri.”

Not too long ago, you had taken to calling him Kiri, a subtle change, a not unusual nickname people gave him. But just because it was you, his stomach flipped and twisted, and now with the image of your tits in mind, his dick throbbed. 

Gulping, Kirishima turned, his gaze bashfully looking down at you before glancing away. You were chest-deep in the hot springs, tendrils of your wet hair sticking to your neck. Was he dead? Maybe dreaming?

No, his dreams were never like this.

“Do you want to come in?” you continued to ask, your body moving towards him in the water until you reached the edge of the pool, arms testing into the black rocks. “You’re the only one not in one, and since I hate being in these alone, I figured you’d like to join.”

Kirishima wanted to join. More than anything, he wanted to take his clothes off and jump into the springs with you, for you, but that would be unprofessional. Entirely and utterly unprofessional.

“Please?” you ask softly, pleadingly, and Kirishima makes the mistake of locking his gaze with yours. 

“...fine, but I’ll be on the other side of the spring,” he concedes, his steps near clumsy and oafish as he stumbles backward to the shower and closet.

“Such a gentleman pervert,” you tease, fingers curling as you wave at him until Kirishima finally closes the door behind him.

The empty room is nearly deafening in its silence and the future as Kirishima slumps against the sliding door, excited apprehension rippling through every cell of his skin as a smile spreads across his face. He walks to the storage room, and despite it being a private room, there were two closets. The closet not already occupying your clothes had the things needed for him, and thankfully, it fit. 

He undressed slowly, folding his clothes and placing them into the cubbies. Fully naked, he approached the showers, and under the lukewarm showerhead, he cleaned his body of any grime, dirt, and sweat. 

Feeling refreshed and clean, Kirishima began his descent to the hot spring, his heart hammering when his fingers grabbed the handle of the door.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, a healthy amount of fear, excitement, and heat drumming through him.

“I’ll keep my virgin eyes away from your body, don’t worry,” came your slow tease, and Kirishima snorted softly.

Kirishima stepped back out to the hot spring.

Just like the first time, the entrance to the spring was warm, the steam seeming thicker than last time, clouding the outdoor room and his sight. You were at the furthest out part of the pool, your back towards them as you worked your fingers through your scalp.

Discarding his slippers at the edge, Kirishima climbed into the pool.

The pool only went as far as his thigh, and he sank into the warm water. It felt wonderful on his body, relaxing his muscles just enough for him to wonder when was the last time he had managed to visit a hot spring.

“I’m in,” Kirishima said, his arms rising up out of the water, resting onto the black stone. “You can turn around now.”

“God, took you long enough,” you tease, your body twisting so that you were facing him again.

To Kirishima’s complete and utter surprise, you stilled, eyes dragging up and down his exposed chest, eyes locked on the series of tattoos all over his right pectoral, and trailed down his right arm. His lips felt dry as your eyes shifted back to his face, to his arm, and back to him. The smile on your face felt weak, but it sent a spiral of dizzying heat through Kirishima when he noticed the hushed lust.

For a while, the two of you remained at opposite ends of the hot spring. Eyes closed, hummed melodies passing through the song. You asked Kirishima about how he felt, if his medication was due for refills, if therapy was okay (he was doing better, a refill was due in two weeks, and therapy was going the same). He asked you about your relationship with Kimiko, with the lawyer, and if you had any real friends within the music industry (Kimiko was like an older cousin to you, the lawyer was a pain to deal with at times, and surprisingly, you did meet some genuine friends). You questioned how his friends were doing, if he had any contact with them despite their busy schedules. 

So Kirishima found himself retelling stories of his coworkers turned close friends. Each story he told left both of you with sore stomachs from laughter, and tears at the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard. 

“Was the tip story true?” you asked once the quiet overcame and grew old. You shift through the water, getting a bit closer to Kirishima.

Kirishima coughed, suddenly feeling a tad bit shy about his posture, but decided to keep from moving.

“You honestly think I would have barged into here just because I wanted to see you?”

Truthfully, had Kirishima been a man without morals, chivalry, or disrespect for you, he would have. Definitely would have.

“Let a girl dream,” you smile, like a luring siren as you wander closer by just a step. “It would go against everything I know about you, but it’s fun to tease.”

“You’re a bigger brat than I thought you would be,” Kirishima smiles back, trying his best to not show the way goosebumps were bursting against his skin, his eyes locked on yours, trying to not get distracted by the way your wet skin made his mind spin.

“I don’t think I’m a brat,” you counter, getting close enough that he could feel the currents of the water with your movement. But you were far enough that Kirishima felt like pointing out the fact you disregarded his keep apart rule would be a mistake. “How am I a brat?”

The sound of the water rippling through the springs along with the growing noises of the bugs began a melody around the two of you, and all Kirishima could do was stare at the way you blinked your eyes slowly — like a feline stalking a prey.

“A lot of ways, really,” Kirishima breathes, his heart rising up to his throat as he felt your hands gingerly place themselves on his knees.

“Yeah?” you ask, parting through his naked legs, and Kirishima felt his breathing stop when your exposed chest pressed against his. Your lips were ghosting so far from his but tantalizingly close enough that he felt drunk off your sweet breath. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Kirishima sucked in air, his arms resisting movement, and his eyes glanced down at the way your mouth was millimeters from his. His dick was very much interested in what he could do about it, and when your hands grazed up his thigh and onto his chest, Kirishima could feel something rumble in his chest.

He moved to eliminate the space, but there was a crash in the following spring, pushing you away from him long before he could claim your mouth.

“FUCK!” the person in the opposite spring screamed, and Kirishima’s eyes closed in his muted annoyance as you sighed.

His eyes dropped to the water, giving you the privacy to rise out of the water and make your way over to the wall.

“Jenny, are you okay?” you called.

“Give me a warning the next time you try fucking your hot bodyguard in the middle of a private onsen!”

“We weren’t fucking you prude!”

And with that, Kirishima took this as his embarrassed cue to leave.

He stood at the entrance of your private spring for about twenty minutes, entirely uncomfortable with the still hard dick in his pants, rubbing and chaffing against his jeans as he stood there. Eventually, you exited the hot spring, face glowing from the steam and eyes avoiding his gaze as you walked back to your room. Your robe was tight on your body, the hair on the nape of your neck pressed to your skin.

Kirishima sighed as he watched you enter your room, your smile short as you nodded a simple goodnight before letting the door slam shut behind you.

Rubbing his face, Kirishima listened to the voices in his intercom talk about how nothing had happened tonight. An attempted unwelcome visitor tried to get into your room, but they had stopped him. They didn’t fight, but they had run away the moment they caught on to the fact that they weren’t exactly authentic.

Kirishima sighed as he slumped into his room, collapsing on the too small bed as he found himself looking at the ceiling in deep concentration.

What was he going to do now?

That was undeniably sexual, his still semi-hard dick damning evidence to the known fact that he wanted you. By god did he want you. Wanted you beneath him, over him, splitting yourself down onto his cock while you gripped your arms and legs around him, fucking down onto his driving cock. 

Kirishima groaned low in his chest, guilt blooming in the back of his throat as his palm rubbed his pulsing cock.

Bad, Kirishima, bad.

“Kirishima-san?” a voice broke through his earpiece, and Kirishima nearly jumped out of his skin. “Are you there?”

“Hi Kimiko,” Kirishima sighed, his dick deflating instantly. “Everything all right?”

“Ah, yes! Sorry about earlier, the false tip and the sudden abandonment!” Kimiko embarrassingly apologized. “My client was ringing for the fourth time, and while I care deeply for y/n, I had to take it!”

“Mm, no worries, Kimiko,” Kirishima smiled politely despite the lack of visual contact. “How can I help you?”

“Ah, yes,” Kimiko asserted, her tone changing from apology to one of formality. “So, about the visitor incident I’m sure you were brought attention to, it seems that the vehicle they came in was with the driver's plate: T082-23. Does that sound familiar?”

“Not currently,” Kirishima sighed, his body stretching into a sitting up position. “Does it to you?”

“No…” Kimiko admitted, and Kirishima could feel the worried frown on her face. “Well, I just wanted to call and give you that information. It was passed along to me, and they mentioned they hadn’t told you. And since I was going to give you the schedule for the upcoming JRA’s award day, I figured I’d let you know!”

“No problem! Let’s go over the schedule now?”

“Yes! I have a client meeting in America right after this! Can you believe it? An American celebrity wants my help?!”

“That sounds amazing, Kimiko!”

“Okay, so this is how the day’s going to go!”

Date: 7/10 Time: 18:00 Location: Tokyo Hotel Room 101

Kirishima watched as an entire team was getting you dressed up.

Two people were doing your hair, three people doing your nails, one person doing your makeup, and five getting one of your three outfits for the night ready.

According to you, as you had strutted around in these outfits nearly two weeks ago were your red carpet and beginning of the award show outfit, your performance outfit, and of course, the after-party outfit. Each one was different, yet when adorned on your body was a perfect replica of who you were.

Most importantly, the two of you had decided to ignore every single instance of tremendous sexual energy and desire that basically leaked from both of your pores. It was for the best to ignore it. There was no point in pursuing it, especially when there was a known hunt for you, and Kirishima was the last line of defense between you and whoever it was.

Whoever it was, pfft.

Kirishima was willing to bet on who it was already.

Since the night of the initial kidnapping that finally closed the gap between you and Kirishima, there was something that the caught criminal said that stuck with him.

Everything you had coming your way, you deserved, he had said in bitter spite.

The interesting thing was that it was the lawyer who had said that, multiple times at that. The lawyer seemed to have everything to fuel him to rage against you. Everything you said or tried, the lawyer was on your heel, barking at you that it was wrong. Kirishima had also seen the contracts between you and the lawyer, and the amount that he was paid to be your attorney was not large at all.

The mass majority of the funds you earned were always funneled towards charities and organizations you trusted to help people in need — in fact, it was almost 80% of your total earnings. A meek, barely larger than 20% was split between you, your lawyer, Kimiko, your music crew, and any other unforeseen expenses. The lawyer was also in a situation where he was not in demand with clients, and if you weren’t heeding his expensive tag, he needed a new contract with you.

A contract he was always demanding to discuss with you that you denied to change.

Attacks tended to happen days after you and the lawyer tumbled, not enough to rouse suspicion if you weren’t looking, but Kirishima was. He just needed damning evidence now.

Something.

Anything.

And for some reason, his gut was screaming at him that something big was going to happen tonight, that tonight was going to be the last attack—the one to end everything.

So he had told everyone about it. Kimiko, the security at the JRA’s, even you. It made him nervous.

It made his hand sweat, the gun strapped to his thigh feeling like hot iron as he stood about as you laughed with your makeup crew.

Kirishima swore, promised, and vowed he would protect you.

He was going to.

And when the gold dress was tied to your body, fitting you beautifully, Kirishima found himself unable to look away like strands of your hair framed your temples.

“What do you think, Kiri? Will I be on the Best Dressed List?” you asked, tearing Kirishima’s attention away from the bodice and skirt of the dress. Your eyes were bright, hopeful, yearning for a positive reaction from him.

“How could you not be?” Kirishima admitted, his grin toothy, and he shifted against the wall.

“You’ll make me blush,” you grin back, eyes batting just a bit as you clasp your hands together. It takes everything in Kirishima to keep from striding across the space between the two of you and kissing you silly. “Are we ready to go?”

Kirishima wet his lips, unwillingly tearing his gaze from you, and whispers into the intercom.

“Ready to move out?”

“We’re all clear.”

Straightening back up, Kirishima smiled at you, his head motioning towards the door.

“Alright, y/n, let’s see you make some history?”

“Damn right I will.”

Kirishima smiled as he exited first, carving the path for you. 

Paparazzi were on you immediately, the lights flashing and terribly bright as he helped you through the throngs of them. His hand pressed to your back as they screamed demands, most of which you complied with until Kirishima stated that you would be late. You, unfortunately, couldn’t be late to the awards show.

Ushering you into the limousine, Kirishima follows in shortly after you, scrunching up in his seat as he sits opposite of you. However, your typical light and bright demeanor are gone; instead, you seem almost anxious as you open your handbag.

“You okay there?” Kirishima asks as he realizes you pulled out a distinctly obvious metal flask.

“Awards make me nervous,” you painfully admit; you're weakly smiling as you knock back a shot of the drink. “I hate winning and losing; the alcohol makes me less… of a wreck. Do you want some? I think it’s apple soju, I don’t know, a good luck gift from Kimiko.”

Kirishima grins, his eyes rolling as he decides to decline the drink. “Sorry, love, I think that I need to be completely sober for today.”

You scrunch your nose, obviously displeased, “Lame, who shows up to these awards sober?”

“Me,” Kirishima laughed, his head tilting back and scraping against the ceiling of the limousine. 

“Such a prude, sober, pervert,” you sigh, taking yet another swig before putting the flask back into your bag. 

“Such a brat.”

Just like every previous instance, your eyes seem to glow in glee at that name, your lips curling into a pleased smirk as you shrug. It's a sight that makes Kirishima’s mouth dry and heart racing. Fuck, he should not be thinking about fucking you in the limousine right now.

But before the heat in the limousine could simmer to one of undeniable boiling, you had arrived.

Kirishima cleared his throat, sending a quick wink your way as he exited the car first. The first stop was for him to join the lineup to guide you through all the different photo and interview sessions. No one wanted pictures of him emerging from the limo after all. 

There's a moment where after Kirishima closes the door, your eyes filled with worry and excitement as he winked goodbye, that things changed. He stood up, his eyes already scanning the area for anything suspicious, when he saw the all too familiar van.

T082-23.

His eyes widened, his head looking around for anyone else, but there was no one to help. No one could do anything as the car continued to drive away, disappearing from Kirishima’s line of sight. His heart hammered in his chest, and his hands instinctively went to his thigh. He had his firearm… he had it.

With nothing but a quick report to the head of security via his com, Kirishima pushed on ahead, waiting for your descent down the red carpet.

When you eventually emerged from the limousine, Kirishima found that at this moment, the entire world faded away as a gloved hand assisted you out of the vehicle. You were elegant, stunning, a realistic vibrant portrait within his world of greys. As you took photos for the cameras, he was by your side a few strides away as you talked to reporters.

You really came to life right now.

You were beautiful.

“For all the pain in the world that she is, she’s quite charming from a distance, huh?” a voice spoke to his side, and Kirishima froze. His eyes widened completely when he noticed that standing beside him was none other than the lawyer.

The lawyer was dressed in a nice suit, glasses perched on his nose, and for the first time Kirishima had seen, the scowl was not quite so hard.

He was here.

Every warning bell sounded in Kirishima’s head.

This was the man he was so sure was the reason behind your every attack. A man fueled by insufficient funding, a need for a new contract that would never be approved without your signature.

“What are you doing here?” Kirishima asked, subtlety never being something he was ever good with. “I’ve never seen you anywhere except to argue with Y/n about contracts. This doesn’t seem like the appropriate time to be discussing it.”

“Kimiko wanted me to give her a new contract proposal to give to y/n. However, to be fair, it’s quite easy for anything to come down to an argument with y/n,” he shrugs, and Kirishima watches a cloud of emotions pass between the man’s eyes. “At least between her and me, we’ve never gotten along, but I suppose that’s how it is for any type of family who works together.”

Wait.

“What?! Family member?!”

“Yes, I know it’s strange to believe. I am quite ugly, and she is not, but we’re family.”

Kirishima’s mind was racing now. It didn’t make sense. If he was family, why would he be in such pursuit of potentially murdering you? If you were family, he was sure that you would help out? If he needed a raise like he thought, wouldn’t you have helped?

There was no way you wouldn’t.

Was he wrong?

Who was it?

“Kiri!” your voice broke into his mind and tore him back to reality. You waved at him, then passed a stuck-out tongue to the lawyer in a teasing fashion. “Let’s go in?”

Kirishima looked over at the lawyer who greeted a woman, who was also walking down the red carpet, a celebrity he could name no less, with a warm kiss. 

Oh fuck.

He needed to call Kimiko; he was so very wrong.

You had won two awards so far, and at this very moment, Kirishima was being ushered back to his seat in the audience as you were being escorted to the main stage to perform your latest song. You had removed your gold dress for a black, sleek gown. Your lipstick changed to a dark red, and your hands trembled in the white lace gloves you wore.

“Oh, Kiri,” you wheezed almost, your hands shaking as the announcers on stage were announcing the last awards before your performance. “I’m getting nervous. What if I mess up or sing off-key? I’d be the laughing stock!”

Kirishima laughed gently, his hands easily encompassing your waist as he stilled your frantic moves. “Y/l/n y/n, if there is anything I know for sure about you is that you are one hell of a singer and a performer. The awards you’re nominated for tonight speak for themselves! You never fail at your performances, and even if you somehow manage to sing off-key, I’m sure that no one would notice! Your biggest fan in the world won’t notice, at least.”

Not more than seven days ago, when you had cried about the impending nerves of being an artist, Kirishima had come to claim the title of being your biggest fan in the world. It had made you chuckle through your tears before coming near a hysterical laugh as the two of you held each other close.

“You’re a nut, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, hands resting on his lower ribs, but your smile was bright, warm. You paused a bit, fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll sing just for you then, but I think I should take another swig of that soju.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Could you tell that Takeyama is completely drunk off her ass?”

“...she’s drunk?!”

“Exactly, I’ll be fine,” you breathe, taking a new smaller flask from the purse Kirishima was holding for you and taking the final swig. Your face contorts at the bitter liquid. “Ew, Kimiko really fucked me over with this one. Why is it blue?! Have you ever seen blue apple soju?!”

“No?” Kirishima startled, his eyes looking at the indeed splash of blue liquid tainting a small part of your gloves. “Who gave you that one? What happened with the other flask of yours?”

“Oh, Kimiko sent it along after I lost my other one; it’s her own flask,” you said before the backstage crew whisked you away to begin your set, and without you, Kirishima was sent to the audience.

Kirishima felt trapped as he was ushered into his seat, his eyes scanning the entire audience for something suspicious, a familiar face perhaps. His broad shoulders continued to bump into his neighbors, their disgruntled noises doing nothing to stop his worry.

“And now, Y/n,” came the strong voice of the male announcer, and the light dimmed.

Kirishima watched as the spotlight came down upon you, a golden halo of colors against your darkened gown as the instrumentals began to play in the background. And he saw you take a step forward, the building motifs suddenly silencing when you finally sang the first note.

Despite the panic arising in Kirishima, the unknown of who was behind it all, what was going to happen, he stilled at the unmatched strength and ambiance of your voice.

You sang as you did at every stage, to every audience.

There was a reason why you were considered a legend.

And then, with one last sound, one last melody, and your hand holding your microphone dropped. Your chest heaving, tears falling down your face, and the roar of the audience was silent. You looked through the audience, unable to see, but for some reason, you just knew where Kirishima was.

You smile.

But as the looming sounds begin to fill your ear again, you find that the world is hazy.

You swallow, eyes unfocused as you bowed, hurrying to leave the stage.

Kirishima watched as you took a final stumbling step off the stage, something he felt was going to be written off as you stepped on your dress. But his mind whirled.

The lawyer felt like a setup; the contracts made no sense, the blue soju.

How were they related?

What connected them?

“Oh, fuck,” Kirishima whispered, horrified, and immediately his finger pressed to his earpiece. “Find Y/n! Now!”

Kirishima was racing through the back of the venue, the announcers' voices still ringing through the dirty, bleak hallways. You had just won but was written off as being somewhere backstage; after all, the show must go on.

Voices screamed in his earpiece, each declining to have found you. No one had seen you after you stepped off the stage. No one knew who had taken you.

Kirishima noticed the doors closing at the end of the hallway, and with a dreading sense of doom, Kirishima removed the gun from his harness. And with the devil on his heels, he ran.

Kirishima panted as he looked before him.

You were passed out, draped limp, confused, and woozy against Kimiko’s body, and two men knocked unconscious beside them. To anyone else, it looked as if Kimiko had saved you, some guardian angel within this world, but if Kirishima’s gut meant anything, he knew better.

“Kirishima-san!’ Kimiko squeaked as Kirishima raised his gun, his body tense, unwilling to take a chance on her. “I don’t know what those two were doing! I was saving her, I swear!”

“Don’t do this, Kimiko,” Kirishima whispered, his head shaking. “I figured it out.”

There was a shift in Kimiko’s face at that; the scared unknowing hero melted into one of anger, resentment, one of someone who knew they had been outed.

“So, you figured it out,” she bitterly spoke, her arms that were supporting you from behind revealing to be a firearm of your own. “I didn’t expect you to.”

“I can’t say I figured out your reasoning; honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me, but I felt like it was you,” Kirishima carefully states, his heart roaring at the implied danger of the firearm against your chin. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kimiko.”

Kimiko stares, her lips forming a small o before changing into one of a large, near unattached grin.

“Anything stupid? If anyone is doing anything stupid, it's this selfish prick!” Kimiko spits, her arms tightening around you, making you whimper ever so gently in pain. “She thinks she’s so great, so rich, so smart! Just because she wastes most of her money on stupid shit like charity! Everyone thinks working for her is a dream, but they’re all blind idiots!”

Kirishima’s eyes widen as he notices the glazed, unfocused of your eyes as you shift your attention over to him. Were you listening?

“What’s wrong with the contract?” he asks, a small attempt to diffuse the situation.

“The fact she pays me next to nothing, and yet she works me half to death!”

“You have multiple clients, don’t you?” Kirishima splutters, unsure as to what was wrong. “Why is this one contract so important you wanted to frame her lawyer?!”

Kimiko laughs; it’s pitchy, almost hysterical as she bends over, your body slumping further onto the floor. “That was a lie! All a fucking lie! Do you know that I knew no one when I first started? Y/n is a name everyone wants. I don’t need to do anything to get her things! The world wants her! But the other clients? None of them stayed, none of them wanted me past a month! The salary was okay when she was a snot-nosed brat, but ten years later?! NO! She won’t fucking listen. She never fucking listens to anything but herself! So she has the option to give me the eighty percent, or fucking die here!”

Suddenly the gun in Kirishima’s hand feels like a ton, the skin on the back of his neck crawling and slicking with sweat.

“You know how much those charities mean to her,” Kirishima whispers. “She won’t do it.”

Kimiko trembles for a second, her arm holding the firearm lowering as she looks at the wall, shaking.

“Oh my god… you’re right,” Kimiko realizes, horror and uncertainty flashing across her face. “I guess… she has to die, oh my god, she has to die.”

At that moment, the world slowed down, and Kirishima swore he could see the atoms, the electricity flowing through the space between them. Kimiko’s arm holding the gun raising back up to your temple, her smile detached, horrific yet gleeful.

His body trembled as he doubted himself, his mind unsure if the finger on the trigger was going to be strong enough to fire away. Could he do it?

Was he ready?

Actually ready?

Save her, his past whispered.

Save her, his nightmares screamed.

Save her, his heart yelled.

Kirishima raised his arm, his focus blaring, his past just for a moment, forgotten.

BANG!

“The effects of the rohypnol have already worn out. Thankfully she wasn’t given a whole pill. If she experiences any nausea or throws up, please bring her back, should anything else happen, she’ll be okay.”

The words of the doctor rang in Kirishima’s ears. For tonight, they were going to be discharging you to him. Thankfully, it was all happening in Tokyo, so Kirishima’s apartment was near, and if Bakugou was true to his word, it was clean.

With the help of hospital security, he had managed to get your tuxedo concealed body into a car, and the two of you rode off to his apartment. You’ve been silent the entire time, eyes downcasted as you sit pressed to his side, feeling like a small child compared to him. You knew that he was much larger than you, a near two feet taller, but this felt unmatched. 

Kirishima’s jacket was warm around you, it’s sheer largeness another dress on your body, and despite the horrific turn of events, you were feeling warm. You couldn’t remember much of what transpired after stumbling off stage, but you did remember Kirishima bursting through the doors, a look of anger and fear blistering off his person in such a way that made you whimper when you remembered.

You remembered the onsen basically every night, cursing your stupid makeup team for interrupting a night that definitely would have ended with you fucking Kirishima. You cursed yourself for being a coward and not just saying fuck it and fucking him afterward despite the brief awkwardness.

He wanted you, it was clear as day, and you wanted him as well.

Tonight.

“Sorry about how small my apartment is, or if it’s messy, I don’t actually know if my friends have been keeping up with it,” Kirishima apologized, guiding you into the apartment by the small of your back. “You’ll be safe here tonight, and I promise we can get back to your own place tomorrow!”

“Oh, don’t apologize, it’s okay,” you smile, feeling flushed as you cross the entryway to the apartment. His apartment, despite not being home in so long, is clean. The halls aren’t messy, and a hint of lavender is saturated to the air. The dim hallway lights were barely bright enough to cause you to squint as it was dark out. “Thank you for having me tonight, especially after everything.”

At the hospital, you had been given a pair of sweats and a cotton t-shirt. The change in outfit from your event dress was definitely needed, and even though you were sure your makeup was streaked down your face, you felt good hidden in the depths of Kirishima’s jacket.

“Are you hungry?” Kirishima asked, handing over his guest slippers, which you gratefully accepted. “I might have some microwaveable food leftover.”

“Ramen doesn’t sound too bad,” you admit as Kirishima unbuttons the first few buttons on his white dress shirt. You were instantly captivated by the movement, your eyes shifting back to his face when he began to walk off towards the kitchen.

Kirishima talked warmly, keeping the conversation going merrily and bright throughout the entire time in the kitchen. He undoubtedly knew you weren’t entirely okay, and at moments like this, you were entirely grateful for his sweet personality. 

To be fair, you knew that you had been quite unfair to Kirishima in the beginning. Looking back at the first entire month of knowing him, you were horrified and impressed that Kirishima didn’t demand to be dropped. You had been selfish, stubborn, a bottom line brat, and he took it day after day. It wasn’t that you disliked him back then; hell, you had been in a near state of delirium when he entered the door during your first meeting because you had no idea such huge men existed to the caliber of his hotness.

But you resisted and might have been harsher than needed.

It was okay now; after all, if he was genuinely bitter about that entire month still, the onsen said otherwise.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to be filled with warm broth, soft boiled eggs, and ramen noodles. Kirishima did, in fact, have ramen, fresh eggs, and some vegetables. In a grand act of preparing you the most sufficient dinner he could, Kirishima presented this under budget ramen and laughed when you said it was terrific.

But it was growing late.

The two of you still sat at his table that was full of a card game, your empty ramen bowls, and cups of water. The clock on the oven read 23:38, and the city lights were slowly dying.

“Are you ready for bed?” Kirishima eventually asked you. 

You looked up from your joined hands; your fingers had been playing with his thick and long fingers for some time now. The apartment grew steadily quieter as you studied and attempted to memorize each callous and scar on his hands. They were definitely marked and nicked, the sign of the warrior he once was.

“Depends on the bed,” you tease, lips rising into a small smile as you compare your much tinier hands than his. Your fingertips barely passed the edge of his palm. “What does a big guy like you sleep in? A twin? Tatami mat?”

Kirishima laughed, his hands twisting in yours, wrapping it around so that he raised your hands up to press a kiss to the center of your palms. 

“A futon, brat,” Kirishima explained, his smile small but sharp with his humor. “Let’s get you to bed?”

You frown. 

“Where will you be sleeping then?”

“My couch is just fine.”

“I’m sure your stuffing in a trash bag had holes in it.”

“That’s okay,” Kirishima laughed, standing up and quickly taking you to your feet as well. “It’s just for a night, I’ll live.”

Your face warmed immediately as he guided you down the hallway of his apartment before finally coming into what was definitely his room.

Kirishima’s scent was faint in this room, cinnamon, wood, and warm spices. It made your eyes flutter as you observed his room from the entryway as he began to set up the room. 

His eye for interior decoration was quite… different. You smiled brightly as you glanced around; the diverse and rather boyish decorations around the room warmed your heart. It seemed exactly like what you would think of for Kirishima. 

“Well, that’s all!” Kirishima exclaimed, his hands landing on his hips in triumph as he looked around. “The bathroom is the next door over, and I’ll leave a toothbrush out for you. I also left out a new t-shirt of mine if you want to change!”

You nod some more, watching as Kirishima seems unsure of what to do next. He looks around, coughs a bit before nodding.

“Okay, I’ll be leaving—”

“Um, can we talk?” you interrupt, arms wrapping around your body. “I have some things I want to say.”

“Oh, sure!”

“You can sit,” you say, motioning toward the bed. “I have a few things to get off my chest.”

Kirishima pauses for a bit, his eyes looking you over before he eventually nods, and he sits down. The bed slightly creaks under his weight, and you feel your body warm-up at the sound. You want to hear the bed creak more, to rock under the weight of you and him pressed against the sheets as you cried his name.

“What is it?” he asks gently, observing you.

“I just…” you huff, words failing you, your tongue feeling heavy. “I wanted to say thank you for saving me.”

“It was my job to do that,” Kirishima smiled warmly, his arms crossing again.

He was relaxed.

“I mean, I can’t even begin to believe that it was Kimiko who was behind all that, even though we know it was… I know it was,” you trail off, shivering slightly as you remember your ex-managers demented laugh in your ear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Nothing would’ve happened to you,” Kirishima spoke with finality. “I promised to myself at the first meeting I was going to protect you, hell the entire world would. You’re not going to be taken down by pathetic people like that, not you.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

“I feel like I should repay you in some way, though,” you rub the back of your neck, eyes fluttering just the slightest bit flirtatious. Kirishima looked at you with full mooned eyes, his arms unfolding and his palms resting onto the bedspread.

“You repay me plenty already,” came his whispered answer, so quiet, so pure you almost smiled. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Your tongue pushes past your lip, wetting the drying skin as you take a step toward him. The shoulders of the jacket slowly fall from your own shoulders, pooling just above your elbows as you stop before him, hands resting daintily on his broad shoulders.

“And what if I want something?” you ask, finding yourself stemming with energy as his legs part, allowing you closer access to him. 

You step in closer and closer until your outer thighs are ghosting against the inner part of his.

“I think it’s in our contract for me to do everything that you request if I remember correctly,” Kirishima whispers, his bright clear red eyes turning a burnt shade: dark and ever consuming. 

“And if I want you to finish what you started over at the onsen?” you press, fingers curling against the muscles of his shoulders before locking behind his neck.

His nose was brushing against yours, cold yet burning against your own skin.

“I’ll gladly show you what I wanted to do that night,” he grunts, eyes deadly, and for the first time, his hands held your waist.

You took a second to recover, your skin sparking with the electricity of his touch, and you suppressed a shiver as you opened your eyes.

“Do it,” you cement your fates, “coward.”

And just like that, in a movement so euphoric, Kirishima’s mouth crashed against yours.

His mouth was hot, dangerous against yours -- a live wire sparking with uncontrollable energy and heat as your mouths danced. Hot puffs of air were passed between your mouths, your fingers shaking with an undeniable release of tension and want. 

The kiss was sloppy, desperate, so needy with unspoken frantic determination to fuck each other until the other could no longer move. 

Kirishima’s hand removed the jacket from your arms, letting the expensive material fall onto the floor with a heavy thud. Despite the lack of warmth the clothing provided, the feeling of Kirishima’s hands rubbing against your bare arms sent your mind spiraling.

“Get on the bed,” Kirishima commands against your mouth. “Let me fuck you.”

The words were nearly embarrassingly desperate, but the tone of his voice spoke of the absolute domination he wished to assert on you. He wanted you in one exact way, and you had a feeling you knew what it was. But if he had been paying attention, Kirishima should already know that getting you to listen was not easy.

“No,” you grin against his mouth.

Kirishima pulls away instantly, his lips red and swollen as he replays your word in his head. He looks frazzled, absolutely delirious already at the simple, passion-filled makeout. As soon as his eyes clear away the fog, your grin drops, and instead, you look at him with fierce determination and defiance. 

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” you confirm.

Your chest feels light, your head spinning as the hands on your waist tighten, and his eyes flash dangerously. The tip of his tongue pushes past his lips before quickly disappearing again. 

“Of course, you’re a brat in bed too, such a fucking princess,” Kirishima shakes his head, but his mouth curving into a shark-like grin. 

Menacing, promising, sending chilling shivers down your spine.

The world spins faster than you can keep up, your mouth opening to shriek as Kirishima easily lifts you up, and has you lying against his lap. 

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, princess,” Kirishima begins, his large fingers hooking into the waistband of the sweats you have on and the panties you’re wearing. “My princess gets rewards for being good. If she can behave properly, she gets to be fucked with dick, her pussy gets to be fucked just the way she pleases.”

You can’t help but stifle a moan that threatens to spill out with his words and the way his hands move down the curve of your ass, exposing the naked skin to him. The waistband of both your panties and sweats stay high up your thighs, and it’s almost embarrassing to know you’re still so clothed despite what’s to come.

“And just what does the Sergeant do to bad girls?” you ask, unable to keep your tongue down, your hips rolling against his lap in undeserved friction.

Unexpectedly, abruptly, a hand comes down harshly onto your bare ass.

The contact is rough, stinging against your ass as you cry out in slight pain.

The hand not currently rubbing a warning circle into your ass twists the hair at the top of your head, lifting your head up so that your ear could near his mouth.

“Bad girls get punishments. They get what I want to give them. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Holy shit,” you whimper, heat flaring between your thighs at the thought of Kirishima doing anything to you regardless of if you were good or bad. You rut your ass back against his hand, longing for a heavier touch, a plea for something more.

“What does the princess want?”

“Nothing,” you bite, and the crashing smack of another spank has you moaning loudly at the stinging pleasure-filled pain. 

“You moaning like a whore at a simple spank says otherwise,” Kirishima chuckles darkly, his fingers pinching your stinging ass as your body bucks against him. He spanks you again, again, and again. Each slap is intentful, powerful, wanting to get you to admit what you want, and you cry against your hands each time, your eyes fluttering as the pain feels good. 

“Of course, a slut like you would be getting off on this,” Kirishima seems amused, his thick finger pressing to the slit of your cunt, spreading your dripping essence against your cunt. He presses against your entrance with just the tip of his finger, and you shriek in a sound for more, your hips jerking backward to get his finger into you, to fuck you with those thick fingers to do something about the growing desperate heat. 

“Kirishima!” you scream, your body sweating and twisting on his lap, desperate to find some way to get him to finger fuck you. 

“Ah, there we go,” he sighs in delight as his fingers swirl at your entrance, increasing the teasing and making your mind spin. “Tell me what you want, brat.”

“You!” you wail, two of his fingers carting between your wet, sloppy heated lips. They graze your clit, stimulating you further as you can do nothing but instinctively jerk against his hold, trying to get him to give you the needed pleasure to build up to an orgasm. “I want you to fuck me so good! Please, Sergeant, please, I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember anything but your name.”

“But you haven’t proven to be a good princess,” Kirishima tuts, his hands disappearing from your pussy despite your crying pleas. His hand grabs your ass, though, massaging the abused skin, grasping it tightly.

You moan, embarrassed at the sensation of his massive hand easily cupping your ass cheek, your fingers fisting into the fabric of his pants as you shake your head.

“Are you going to prove that you’re good?” he asks you, his tone like that of a parent chastising a child. “Gonna prove to me that you can be good?”

You shake pathetically against his legs, but you can’t keep yourself from shaking your head. You can’t prove to him that you would be.

“I can’t!” you whimper loudly, your body twisting on his lap to look up at him, your eyes filled with tears and pleading need. Kirishima looked down at you with lust filled eyes and an undeniable need to be followed.

“You can’t?” he repeats, his head tilting, eyes narrowing, and his fingers dug into your ass. “Or you won’t?”

You tremble on top of him, unable to answer because you weren’t ready to hand over the reins just yet. You didn’t want to submit so fast, you wanted to make his own head dizzy with need but the stubbornness to continue punishing you the way he was promising.

“I won’t,” you gasp, eyes fluttering at the way he finally drops your head.

You gasp loudly as you find him shoving you off his lap, and with your panties and sweats sitting so awkwardly high on your legs, you find yourself tumbling off his lap and onto the floor.

“Guess if you don’t want to behave, I’ll treat you like some fucking pussy pocket and dispose of you once I’m done,” Kirishima easily breathes, and you look up at the now standing man as he tears his shirt off.

Your mouth waters, your cunt throbbing at the sight of the rippling muscles and dark lines of his tattoos on his upper body. You watch fascinated, like one does to a masterpiece, as he undresses until he’s in nothing but his socks. And at the sight of his dick, you can feel at once all the blood in your flushed face drop directly into your throbbing cunt.

He was fucking enormous, his girth barely fitting into his hand, and the angry red head spilled its precum against his abs. A black happy trail connecting Kirishima’s abs to his vein throbbing cock.

Holy fuck, he could quickly kill you with that.

Kirishima doesn’t ask any questions as he watches your awkwardly dressed state of a body on the floor. His head is tilted upwards, a small pleased smile on his face as he looks down on you, his hand slowly, leisurely fisting his cock as you can do nothing but stare.

You make some insane noise at the back of your throat at this sight, your thighs trembling with need, and you're pushing off your side, your ass burning, and your balance off as you open your mouth, offering all you could to him.

And thankfully, Kirishima allows it.

He’s much too tall for you to suck him off on your knees, so he sits back down onto the bed, letting you scamper between his legs, mouth open wide like some needy pet.

“Such a good little slut,” Kirishima sighs, sinking his cock into your wet, hot mouth. “Such a fucking cockwhore, all it took was a single glance for you to lose your will.”

You whine against his dick, your jaw tight with the stretch, your tongue lapping so desperately around the cock that was no more than halfway in yet couldn’t go in any further.

“Suck me right, and I’ll reward you by fucking that pretty little pussy of yours,” Kirishima grunts, his fingers pressing into the side of your neck as he ruts his hips up into your mouth, shoving his cock even further into your mouth. “And don’t you dare look away from me while you suck me off.”

It feels like fire.

His cock driving down your throat hurts, the taste of his salty pre-cum slathering all over your tongue and dripping out of your mouth with the saliva you can’t control. His cock hits the back of your throat, and you continue to bob your head, continue to fuck him with your throat as animalistic, praiseworthy noises begin spilling from Kirishima’s mouth.

You whimper at the sight of his head dipping back, and you nearly whine when he shoves the fingers he had gathered your juices on into his mouth. He moans at the contact and with his pleasure with your actions so obvious as you choke against his girth. That was hot, holy fuck, you wanted him to fuck you, please fuck you. 

Your eyes close as he begins to fuck faster into your mouth, his delight in hearing you choke around him his driving force. Tears start pouring from your eyes despite your best efforts, your throat and inner thighs burning with lust and need as Kirishima groans, his cock twitching deep in your throat.

Slap!

“Hey!”

Slap!

You gag harshly as your cheeks sting with his heavy slap, your teeth grazing underneath his cock, right against a thick, twisting vein.

“Did I tell you to close your eyes?” Kirishima practically growls, his hands grasping the back of your neck, the other one slapping you across the face yet again. “No. I said… fuck… I said, keep your eyes on me!”

Tears weep down your face, your eyes struggling to keep focus on him as he continued to fuck deep and intensely into your mouth, shoving himself further into you until you could feel his thighs grazing your chin. Oxygen wasn’t flowing anymore; your gags and chokes the only time the burning element could manage to flow through you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to care. He seems to delight in the way you are, despite it all, are moaning and looking at him in a pleading way for more.

More, you plead.

And he delivers. 

Kirishima pulls his still hard, not yet cummed, dick out of your mouth and stands. 

You splutter with the sudden intake of oxygen to your lungs, burning you from the inside out as you splutter on the ground.

“W-What’s going on?” you hoarsely stammer, your jaw and throat aching from its prolonged abuse. “E-Ei?”

However, Kirishima seems dead set on getting you naked, and you squeal in flustered excitement as he rips the shirt off of you and his mouth pressing against yours again. His mouth crashes against yours, and you moan into his mouth immediately.

His tongue curls into your mouth and your tongues press and rub against each other. Each passing second growing more desperate, needier, more intense as your clothes are ripped one by one off your body.

“Holy fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Kirishima nearly whines, his mouth trailing down your neck, biting and sucking against every centimeter of skin he passed. “Wanted to fuck you against the wall, in my bed, and now I get to do that.”

“Please, please, fuck me, please,” you beg, your voice bordering a wail as your arms wrap around his neck, letting him lift you up off the floor. Despite you being so much smaller than him that when he held you to him, your cunt wasn’t pressed to his angry leaking cock, you continued to desperately roll your hips against his abs, the friction welcomed and easing the building pressure. It was an action conveying just what you wanted. “I need you in me, Sergeant!”

“Just cuz… holy fuck,” Kirishima breathes ragged, his body twisting around, and you cried when the cold sheets pressed into your back. “Imma fuck you, Imma… god, just fucking watch.”

Your head thrashed back onto the pillow as Kirishima’s teeth sunk into your collarbone, then captured your sensitive nipples, his fingers dancing against your clit and teasing your center. 

“Now!” you cry, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Put it in!”

This time, Kirishima didn’t need to be told twice.

His larger body was suddenly pressed entirely against yours, dwarfing you immediately as your arms wrapped around his back as his cock slammed into you. You screamed at the sudden intrusion, your pussy stretched beyond its typical limits by his girth, his size, his power.

Your cunt throbbed around him, your face buried within his pecs as you, despite the searing pain, shove your hips up towards him. Fucking into him, sucking him further into you.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima groans, “you’re amazing.”

“Talk less, fuck me more!” you screech, your body spasming, twitching so hard from the splitting pleasure and the lava pit in your stomach, and Kirishima does that exactly.

His hips begin to meet yours in equaled power, slamming into you so that the bed creaked beneath you. He fucked you until he had to hold a hand on your hip so you could stay there, and you kept a hand on the wall to continue to push yourself down onto his cock.

You screamed with pleasure, cried for more, Kirishima’s shark-like smirk getting bolder, darker, hotter with every slam of his hips until his tattooed right arm shot down. His hand wrapped around your throat, choking you.

“You’re so loud, princess,” Kirishima moans, clearly liking your loud noises, “but you’re going to wake everyone in Tokyo.”

His hand around your throat is enough to have your legs trembling around his waist, your choked and muffled moans and splutters drowning out even more as he pressed a kiss onto you. He kissed you, licking your mouth, and devouring your every word and thought. Your core twisted, tightened, and burned. It throbbed and clenched with it’s impending orgasm, and your body began to tense to the heavens as his cock throbbed deep within you.

“Who saved you?”

“E-Ei did,” you garble.

“Who’s fucking you?”

“E-Ei is!”

“Who’s going to fucking cum when I tell her to?”

“Me! Fuck, me!”

Kirishima laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist, and in one final, fleeting burst of strength, fucks into you with his own power, needs, and desire, and you can only take it. “Cum, princess,” he whispered almost sweetly against the top of your head, and it was all over. Your teeth sink into his chest as you scream, a blinding white light erupting through your vision as you cum around his cock.

Kirishima whimpers, his cock still pushing deep into your cunt, until you can feel the warm spill of his seed in your womb.

He collapses to the side of you, taking you with him so that you were resting on his sweaty chest.

“Holy shit,” Kirishima whispered after a bit, your body already warm and too lethargic to notice the star-like tone to his voice. “That was fucking… holy shit.”

“Does this mean you like me?” you half tease, half wonder.

There’s a pause, a silence, and you wonder if maybe he had fallen asleep.

But he didn’t.

“I’ve been in love with you for some time now, I think,” he admits, his hand beginning to rub small circles into your back.

You find that despite the exhaustion, warmth floods your cheeks.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to have to discuss a more… permanent and maybe different contract tomorrow morning, huh?”

Kirishima chuckles, and you find yourself smiling into his chest.

“I think we do.”

[moxfirefly]

I have to thank @southernblossoms for this one, she got evil!Leo in my brain and he hasn’t left ever since.

TW: Violence, Gore, Blood, NSFW content below

Rated Explicit (18+ years)

“She said I'm looking like a bad man, smooth criminal

She said my spirit doesn't move like it did before

She said that I don't look like me no more, no more

I said I'm just tired”

Leonardo always knew there was an inch inside of him that was darkness.

If left alone and unchecked, it would spread. Fester like some disease and he feared that someday he’d allow it to course through his body so freely.

And let it win.

It seemed today would be that unfortunate day. A night like any other, just more bloodshed than necessary. But hey, who said they should go and kill his father? Torture him to such an extent and string up his body for his brothers and him to find.

In that very moment that inch had grown in his soul to a degree that it blinded him. All he knew was to destroy, to hurt and erase those who had done this. He felt so cold, hands cupping his fathers motionless bloodied feet, the gentle tapping of blood and the cries of his brothers echoing in his ears.

So when Leo stood, bloodied (not bathed in his own), holding the head of the monster responsible, how could he regain peace? This had only brought a momentary second of reprieve and it was so fleeting. He looked into Shredder’s lifeless eyes, numbness spreading but a need that had started out as an inch. A need to kill everyone who had been part of this, directly or indirectly.

They all deserved so much worse.

They all deserved death.

Slow and torturous.

He had disappeared after that night. His brothers knew that this was the end of their leader, of their beloved brother who wanted to believe that good in this world could prevail.

For them they never imagined that Leo would just let the darkness take hold of him, nestle him with such a loving embrace. For him to embrace it right back felt justified, for his brothers it painted the gory picture of things to come.

They never expected to meet him in the opposition. To view him as foe and not family. Leonardo had quickly taken hold of the scum of the earth. He had molded the darkness to serve him.

Raphael thought Shredder was their worst enemy.

He never expected to have Leo claim that spot in a matter of months.

The Foot had fallen under his ruling, and he wasted no time in setting examples, and the bloody path those examples left behind never seized to churn the brothers stomachs.

There was no means of bringing him back, and perhaps it’s for the better.

Because whatever has eaten away inside of Leonardo cannot simply be flushed out of his body, nor ripped from his very soul. The body counts too high by now as he strays further and further away from what he was taught.

From what his father taught him...

_______________

You run with the unsavories. An eat or be eaten mentality that has caused you to survive years and years of gang wars and mutant freaks. Not like you’d throw about that last bit, much less when you’re standing single file, close to pissing yourself because he’s there.

And Christ he’s a sight to behold.

A rumor, a legend, a monster.

You tell him you’ve got valuable info, you know where to follow the trail that’ll lead to success. Even when your partner tries to push his chin up in front of Leonardo, you’re already wincing at what his demise will be shaped in.

Leo really loves cutting heads off.

A strong emphasis on loves.

You swallow, eyes flying anywhere but the rapidly growing puddle of blood that approaches your feet. Even then, your eyes stray towards the newest leader of the Foot, Leo punctures his katana into the head, a crude skewer as he lifts it and examines the severed body part as if answers lie in the gush of blood that falls. Those dark blue eyes move on you, you swallow.

He walks over to you, blade in hand, blood tap tapping onto the ground “Your information” Leo’s voice is weightless, bored almost. You motion towards your pocket, the crumpled up note with a poorly drawn map the key to your salvation. Leo reaches his hand in and you’re still, stiff and frightened by the intrusive touch and his proximity.

He pulls the note out and examines, the ghastly expression of horror on the decapitated head so close you can smell the coppery scent. “Can you get more of this? The coordinantes?” You crane your neck to look at him, his stature imposing. “Yeah, I’m your girl for that shit, swear on it” He flicks the blade and the sound of the head rolling makes your stomach flip flop along with it.

You feel the tip of a bloodied katana on your chin.

“Don’t make me cut off such a pretty head, hm?” You want to nod but the blade digs and Leo’s mouth twitches in something akin to a smirk. The small cut to your chin stings, but you wonder why other parts of you vibrate.

The danger, the adrenaline, Leonardo.

_____________

Your next meeting doesn’t quell your nervousness. Leonardo is an impressive sight as always and it’s imposible to ignore that maybe you won’t make it out alive every time you both meet. Unless proven useful, which you take to heart. You bring all sorts of information, names, rumors, possible gangs wanting to take him on, the police. Any word you heard in regards to him.

“It’s possible they might try to meet you half way, catch you off guard” The warehouse is chilly, that fall weather starting to hit but Leo’s unfazed, the black tails of his mask move with the gust of winds. “Stupid of them to assume that” The second floor of the warehouse seems to be his own, leaving the rest of the crew bellow. He sits on the windowsill, cloth running up his katana, it had been bloody when you were brought in.

“I’m just repeating what I heard, I’m sure you’re more than adept to take them on” You stick your hands in the pockets of your jacket, you’d been frisked not like you were stupid enough to bring a weapon to this.

But then again, the more he polished that sword, the more you wished you had something.

“What else have you heard? Any word on Karai?” The woman in question had appeared to have disappeared into thin air after Shredder’s death and Leo taking command of the Foot soldiers. Wether she planned to reclaim what was hers or if she had simply quit was beyond you and anybody else. “Nothing on her, she might’ve skipped town or the country” You offered, eyes following the sword as Leo placed it on a nearby table.

“She strike you as the type? A coward?” He walked over towards you, his expression so eerily unreadable.

Yet, your eyes wandered over him. Over muscle and scales. Overs scars and bruises. That illogical part of your brain making you wonder and fantasize, because fear could be exciting.

There was something exciting about Leonardo.

“Well?” He was in front of you, looking down at you. It hits you how minuscule you must look to him.

“Probably plotting? You did murder her dad” You find his eyes, you swallow.

“Well he murdered mine. Eye for an eye...” He spoke gently almost.

“Makes the whole world go blind” You finished for him, and maybe that was stepping on a line but you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch up. For a brief second you catch his eyes scan yours, move across your face and settle at your lips.

Passed your neck, towards your breasts.

He turns around and grabs his sword.

“One week, find more info on her, your pay is downstairs” You’re dismissed and before you process anything a Foot soldier is ushering you downstairs and shoving an envelope in your hands.

That night you dream about what your lips might feel like against reptilian scales.

—————————

Karai’s whereabouts are practically unheard off. If there was a trail it had run cold months back and judging from the word of mouth being passed around there wasn’t anything sustainable. You dig up anything and everybody. Every dirt bag with an agenda, ex Foot soldiers, opposing gangs, the mob and just about anybody you have in your radar.

It yields nothing.

You can’t return to Leo with nothing.

Rubbing a hand across your tired face, you make your way through the back alleys of the city. Your one week was coming up and all you had were weak possibilities and baseless assumptions. In your line of business enough information to create doubt can go a long way, but this was conspiracy levels bad.

So you thought and you thought quick.

Pulling out your phone you called him first. Perhaps a dumb move but at the same time you figured it showed that you were trying. You asked if the two of you could meet, the line briefly went quiet before your text tone startled you. He hung up and you were met with the address of a building in Brooklyn and to go up to the roof.

To say you were scared was to put it lightly.

You were shitting yourself.

The roof of the building had a green house which seemed unused but it looked like it was being kept up with the vegetation still green and alive. Your hand made for the door knob but something you could only name as a sixth sense made you freeze.

Leo was there, the shift in the atmosphere was impossible to deny. Your turned and blinked.

Wherever he had been, it must’ve been worse. There was blood on him, a fresh gash by his arm and the steady drip drip of blood hitting the concrete. “Jesus are you...?” You knew he was ok, but whomever had been on the receiving end of this had it by far much worse.

“Inside, go inside” He motioned for the green house and you did. Your eyes scanned around hoping to find something to help with. There was a nest of sorts in a corner, several blankets and cushions, a table and a chair amidst the plants. You found what you were looking for near the bonsais, a shelf with a box of first aid. Leo went towards a counter with a basin and a jar of water, he went about cleaning the gash on his arm.

You approached him with the box of first aid, blue eyes were cautious as you took out antiseptic and gauze. Leo had turned to face you, giving you more room to work on his arm as you bandaged it. “You alright?” Your voice held hesitation, Leo’s questioning gaze turned to amusement. “I’m fine, what I want to know is why you wanted to meet” You finished bandaging him and took a step back.

Pick your words wisely, you thought with a slight shutter.

“Listen I’ve spoken with any and everyone who might have any clue but Karai is off the radar”Swallowing a lump in your throat you shrugged off your jacket, worry manifesting in heat. “I know this isn’t what you wanted and I’m really fucking good at my job but this bitch is either underground or who knows! Dead for all I know!” The exasperation and worry was clear as day, he either took this the right way or the wrong way.

Wrong way being you end up pushed off this very building, at best ironically enough.

Leo swallowed the information, clearly bouncing it around his head. The dry specks of blood scattered across his green flesh. An odd silence fell amongst you both and even when he rose in all his imposing glory you kept your eyes focused on him. Getting a read on that cold calculated gaze of his was hard enough.

Your throat feels painfully dry once he has you backed up against the wall. Something about dying alone with not even an audience to witness it didn’t sit too right with you.

But then again, Leo’s large hand gripped your neck, nothing too tight but enough to alert you to its presence. Those blue eyes looked haunted but just beneath that laid something you couldn’t just place your finger on. The tips of his fingers lightly caressed you, one of them fascinated with your quickened pulse. You can’t blink, unsure what may happen and when he dips down your adrenaline makes you flinch.

Leo halts his movement, his blood feels like it’s pumping loudly enough for you to hear. Wide eyed you lean up instead and ghost your lips against his, Leo sighs through his nostrils and it stays that way. A pull but not enough of a push because there’s still fear in your blood and a hesitation that you can’t put a name to from Leonardo.

Your phone going off startles you, nearly making you jump out of your skin and to a fraction of your dismay Leo takes a step away. One of your contacts name flashed on the screen which meant there could still be some good news. Your turned away to speak, pulling a marker from your pocket you write down some information on your forearm. It’s a quick conversation and once done you turn to see Leo putting together his gear again.

You bit your lip, whatever was about to happen would just have to take a back seat. ‘Fucking coward’ you can’t help but think about yourself.

“One of my guys says he might have it on good authority that Karai is still here” You watch him turn his head to listen, even if he’s got his back/shell to you. “Well?” He pushes while adjusting his swords.

“He says she might’ve just met up with...with one of your brothers” Tense doesn’t even begin to explain what his body did, the mear mention of his family was a sore subject and you had been warned to not even attempt to open that can of worms. Swallowing and feeling your throat stick from how dry it felt you see him pull out a key and toss it to you. “Send me that address, you’ll get your money at the warehouse” You barely manage to catch the key to the greenhouse, but still you raise a brow at the offering.

“Come back here when you’re ready” Is all he says about it, confusion is painted on your face but when he moved to leave he takes a moment to hold your chin. “Don’t make me regret this” He says and before you can attempt to ask he’s gone.

You stay there, twenty minutes or so in nothing but your thoughts and his words swimming around your mind.

Feeling heat between your legs and a lick of frustration consuming you.

_____________

Two weeks you contemplate the key in your pocket.

Two weeks you let your thumb hover over his number but never press down.

For two weeks you find your pillow between your legs, trying to reach the sensation he managed with just his body close to yours.

But nothing.

It’s not enough.

New York is covered in rain as you make your way through the sea of people. Regardless of the many umbrellas you still get soaked and by the time you’re up on that roof, hand digging out the key to the green house you’re drenched.

Inside you shake off the excess and remove your jacket. The cold hits you and you can’t help but feel silly that you’re here, maybe this is his way of taking you out, you’re not needed anymore by now you assume.

You turn on the few lanterns that are scattered through the room. Kicking off your boots you rub your arms and shiver, flesh breaking out into goosebumps as the door creaks open once more.

Leo’s equally drenched when he steps through, the black tails of his mask sticking to him. The two of you just stare at one another, steady drips of water and the rain outside picking up more strengh.

Carefully you watch him begin take apart his gear, leaving his katanas by the door. He’s trying to keep your apprehension at low levels, his steps slow and soft. You let your arms fall to your sides and as your heart tries to hammer out of your chest you don’t flinch this time, even as his hands go for the hem of your long sleeve. You take a deep breath as his eyes wander across your now exposed flesh. The fascination goes straight to your core, feeling yourself warm up as his hands rest on your stomach.

With trembling hands you unbutton your jeans and step out of them and the inhale Leo takes as he closes his eyes makes you reach for him. He holds you against him and sighs, large frame shuddering at the feel of your skin against his reptilian one. He buries his snout against your neck, breathing harder as his hands run all over your back and rear. Leo grips and kneads the flesh and a groan escapes against your ear that makes your wrap your arms around his neck. He feels the softness of your breasts against his chest, he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t been dreaming about them for months now.

You can’t wrap your head around it but he feels just as you fantasized about him. The roughness of his flesh, the edges of his shell and god his teeth nip at your neck with a growl. Wiggling out of his hold you start to undo whatever else needs to be taken off and Leo can’t help but smirk at your frenzied movements. He allows you to undress him, he’s gutted when your hands land on his waist as you start to kneel before him.

“No, no, kiss me first” He cups your face and presses his mouth against yours and that’s it, you’re done for, you’re hooked and can’t go back now. His kiss is possessive, forceful and it drowns every thought in your brain.

You pressed against one of the tables with the many Bonsais when Leo’a tongue slithers into your awaiting mouth. He sits you down on the table and nudges your legs apart to fit himself in between them, you crane your neck up losing yourself in his kiss. He can taste rain water, feels the sweat and rain mingle on your skin. God he wants to run his tongue all over you, eat you whole if he could.

It feels like forever when he pulls away, reluctance in his body. Blue eyes search into your e/c eyes, he wants to see something maybe your fear so he denies himself falling into this rabbit hole. Your hands press against his plastron and gently you run your nails down the hard plates, you shake your head fascinated by the texture. He’s rough but strong, a marvel of a species.

With some difficulty you managed to push your underwear off and spread yourself again for his viewing pleasure. “I want you,” You nodded, eyes falling to the hard length between his legs. Leo wraps a large hand around it and pumps slowly, body shivering at the sensation. “God I fucking want you so bad” You feel him come back to you, mouth on yours in yet another harsh kiss.

The tip of his cock nudges against your wet heat and he bites your lip at the sensation. Leo pushes into you so frustratingly slow, even as his girth stretches you to a point you’ve never been before. You want him inside of you now, and Leo couldn’t agree more. He bottoms out inside of you with a lengthy groan, head thrown back in ecstasy. “You feel... so fucking good” He growls out through gritted teeth, hips picking up speed as you wantonly take him in. You press your lips to his chest and moan with each slow but pronounced thrust of his hips.

His hand finds itself at the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to keep your gaze on his. The slight tug burns so good and you can’t help but keep your pleasure filled gaze on his own. Lips parted you let him rock into you steadily until his thrust start to slam into you. The sensation spreads all over your body, little shocks of pleasure rocking your body.

“Mine, you’re going to be mine and only mine” He voices lowly, a threat laced in his passion. You’re too far gone to speak, nodding aimlessly at his every word, moans falling from your lips. “Nobody will own you like I do, nobody will touch you, Y/N? You understand? I’m making you mine” He pressed his forehead to yours, lost in this feeling.

“Fuck yes, yours, I’m gonna be all yours” You lick his lips and when he reaches a hand between both your bodies your mind goes blank. A vicious shudder overtakes you as you muffle a scream against his jaw. He fills you up so good and so warm with a strange vibration that sounds like an endless growl. Each rope he pumps into you making his eyes roll back. You’re shattered against, limp and raw throat from the scream that leaves your mouth.

He watches your come down, hand against your cheek, thumb running across your lips. When he pulls out just enough to watch his essence cascade out of your pretty little hole, he pumps himself back into you. His eyes say it all, from here on out whatever your life was up to this point is over and done with. Leo nuzzles you still lazily pumping himself in you, blissful to the little tremors your cunt produces around his member making him harden once again. Picking you up, bodies still joined, he makes his way to the nest of blankets on the floor.

You hold onto him, all you can do is hold onto him.

____________

It’s rather odd to be in this position. With an entire year that’s passed it never seems to feel normal, not that you’re complaining though.

Being in a position of power by proxy has its fucking fun rewards.

For example nobody in this city will ever contemplate taking you out. Unless they want a very pissed off Foot Leader to set fire to the city and maybe even the world. From opposite points to now standing at his side. No one is to address you as below them, or touch you or let alone breath the same air you do.

You can still hear the bones that were cracked when one particularly unruly Foot soldier made snide comment about you. Each crack of the mans arm being slowly twisted until his arm broke still rang in your ears to this day. Leo hadn’t flinched, hadn’t even scowled even as the twist turned to pulling the limb off.

He did in fact fuck you hard against the glass windows of the hotel suite he had you both in. The copper scent lingering on his scales, but enraptured with the heat enveloping his cock.

With the city at war everyone had began to run amok to do their own barbaric things. Each part of the city divided between gangs, mobs, mutants, police and civilians. You were out on active Foot duties, you were still free to do as you pleased but with protection and Leo demanded your whereabouts on the hour due to possibilities of abduction.

He knew you were a weakness.

But did he give a shit? Of course not. Let them try, he hasn’t needed an excuse for his tyrannical acts thus far, but if harm did ever befall you, you only wished you could witness what his methods would be to exact his revenge.

And he was so familiar with revenge after all.

You admire yourself in the full length mirror, examining the body that training under Leo has provided you. The mutant terrapin in question comes up from behind you and wraps his strong sculpted arms around your waist. You can’t help but smirk as he rest his chin a top your head. “We’re heading out in half an hour” He mumbles against your hair, enjoying the scent. You watch through the mirror as his hands rub up and cup your breast, with a sigh you rest against his strong build. “What’s on the agenda tonight? Purple dragons?” You feel him shake his head, fingers dipping inside the cups of your bra. “Mob,” Is his sole reply.

You bite your lip, gripping his wrists. “We’ll be late” You try to muffle a moan as he tweaks a nipple, he grinds against your backside. “I’m killing them regardless, and I much rather have the scent of your cunt on my hands while I listen to their boring excuses for parley” Your knees buckled when you felt his hand slither inside your underwear, finger already parting your lips and humming as he feels how wet you already are.

You feel his other hand wrap around your neck, keeping you upright and your gaze on the mirror as his finger dips into your welcoming heat.

He engulfs your every thought, every sensation; and what’s the fate of the world when you’ve got him? He chose you just as much as you chose him. You’ve never considered yourself good, scumbag street rat who just happened to make a living amongst the other scumbags. But this? With Leonardo and the trail of bloodied heads he’s left behind, it’s hard not to be excited to see gasoline be poured on the city. He trails his lips to the shell of your ear and you can’t help but grin.

“Mine” He says.

Burn everything.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Fury of Their Scales

m.yoongi / reader

genre: dragon!au, wyvern!yoongi, human/herbalist!reader,

warning(s)!!: isolation/alienation, mentions of war, injuries/blood/violence, dragon boy yoongles is stuck in a trap bc he’s dumb, y/n is so sO pure, protective dragon yoonyoon, villagers physically bully y/n a lot :(, unfair situations, y/n takes so much shit like a champ she deserves an award, dragon boy is a dragon for the first half of this (sorry, not sorry), don’t be scared there's actual humor and wholesome stuff too :D, slow burn (kinda)?  

w.count: 17.7k

Series | One-shot | Two-shot | Drabble | [Rated: T]

synopsis: a world of dragons, demons, devils, gods and ghouls- humans were of small number. you’ve lived on the outskirts of your human village in the woods ever since you could remember. living alone in a small cabin with nothing but woodland trees, ponds, lakes and animals was like a small paradise- with the occasional bump in the road. as someone who’s studied and experimented with nature to make all sorts of concoctions- your home was ideal. it didn’t matter that your village didn’t like it or that they rejected your life of medicine. what did matter, however, was the dragon stuck in a trap not too far from your home that you just discovered.

a/n: i literally haven’t sat down to write fanfiction in over a month bc my brain was fried and i got sucked balls deep into a fandom of an anime i dont even watch (yet). It took me three hours to edit this bc i pass tf out, pls be easy on me LOL

A shrill whine echoed through the woodland area. Bouncing off trees, echoing in caves, spooking off wildlife of rodents and critters that crept along the ground with far too many spindly legs.  Rustling in the wind, entangling with the leaves that blew and then erupting when a campfire crackled, settling in it’s burning pit of wood and stone.  

-x-x-x-

You shot awake in bed, the morning light peeking in through your bedroom window that was covered in a beginning to tear curtain.  You breathed out a heavy sigh as you flopped back down onto your mattress that squeaked at your movement.  You really should be getting a new bed sometime soon. This one was old and did nothing for your pressure points or back while you slept.  What was the point of a good night rest when you wake up feeling like you just wrestled a bear and lost? 

You looked at the small streaks of light that soaked into your wooden home as you closed your eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again before getting out of bed.  You threw your covers off, your nightdress coming down to your knees as you started to stretch.  Your arms reached above your head as you stifled a yawn. 

You could hear the birds outside and from the way the sun angled into the room through the drapes, you assumed it was still fairly early.  You hated that you could never seem to sleep until later into the morning, but you couldn’t help the fact that when you're up, you're up for the day unless you’re ill. 

Walking to your window, you drew open the curtains and immediately shut your eyes. Peeling them open slowly in a squint, the morning light was brilliant until you finally adjusted to the sudden light difference.  Letting the morning sun warm your room with sunspots, you started to change.  

Tossing away your nightdress, you changed into your everyday- not at all flattering- attire.  

A dress of a faded moss green skirt and a stretched, overly used leather corset around your waist that tucked around the white top half of your dress. Tying your hair back you slipped on some socks. 

Leaving your room, you immediately dashed to your fire place where a kettle of day old water hung from the single hook inside the top of the pit.  Striking a match, you ignited the wood that had not yet been completely burnt and noted to refill the kettle with fresh water later on- too lazy to do it right off the bat. 

You walked around your small, cabin home jumping place to place with small tasks or chores that took a mere few seconds to complete to start your day off waiting for your kettle to whistle with hot water.  When it finally did, you carefully took your kettle with a cloth wrapped around your hand and set it on your countertop. Grabbing a clay mug from your cupboard (that you made on your own to your pride), you dropped in a few leaves from a box of herbs you had and poured the steaming hot water over them.  

“Alright,” you assured yourself as you left your kettle to cool off again. After a handful of minutes, you took your mug and sat yourself at your small table that was made for two- but only occupied by yourself. You lifted open your window and let out a breathy sigh at the fresh air.  You placed a small plate of grain and food on the open window seal and soon enough, birds were flocking to it to grab something. 

“Good morning you guys,” you chuckled as you basked in the small moment of peace before the day ahead.  You weren’t sure how long you were sitting there in your spot of sunlight and birds with the occasional squirrel, but after the sun had shifted just enough to get you to notice, you deemed it long enough. 

Getting up, you set your mug into your sink and took the plate that was previously filled on the widow as you walked to your door.  Grabbing a white cloak to tie around your shoulders, a small gathering basket and placing a pair of worn down, brown boots on, you were leaving your home.  Grabbing the key that hung on a nail beside the door, you locked your cabin door behind you and placed the key around your neck. 

Taking a list from beneath the small cloth in your basket, you started reading aloud to none other than yourself.  You kept yourself company, that’s the only way you stayed somewhat entertained in your lonesome cabin. 

You lived on the outskirts of your village, having been born in this cabin and growing up in it even when your parents left you there as a child.  You found out quickly how to grow and live independently and by now it was just second nature.  Sure, you had your rough days of work and weather, but it was manageable.  At least you didn’t have neighbors that stressed you out- only the occasional bird, bat or squirrel that got stuck in your chimney that you had to chase out. 

“I need to find some goldenrod for sure,” you muttered.  “I’ll need to make sure not to grab yarrow in its place; although, I guess it wouldn’t be all that bad if I did.” Your knowledge and interest in medicine was also another reason why you never branched further into the village as a person.  All they did was ridicule you for not following the status quo. “I need honey too, but I’d have to go to the village for that unless some merchant runs into me while I’m out.” You sighed, “I doubt it. I’m never that lucky.” 

You started your way off, passing by the small well in your front yard and bypassing the small station of firewood you had yet to cut and move.  A pile of logs sat sliced into thirds under a tarp beside your front door. The hardest part of your life was building the muscle and stamina to cut your own firewood, not to mention swinging and actually hitting the wood with your axe instead of magnificently missing it and getting the blade stuck in the stump you used to chop on. 

As you walked away from your cabin, the trees becoming thicker as you followed the dirt trail further into the woods, you started looking around.  Scanning for any signs of any herb that you may want to snag along the search for the days main goal: goldenrod.  You started off the path and began walking between trees and away from small holes from rabbits and moles so you don’t jeopardize your ankles and fall. 

You were searching for a while as you were knelt into the grass, scanning leaves and flower petals to identify what was what when you thought you heard something.  From somewhere beyond the trees, past the wall of foliage, you though you heard a sort of... whining? Or maybe howl?  

A sense of deja-vu washed over you. Had you heard this whining somewhere before? Was it a wolf cub or maybe a bear? No, it sounded too rough to be either of those.  A cry echoed after a moment of silence and then the whines from before returned shortly after.  

A part of you wanted to forget about it and leave the area immediately.  Something about the way it seemed to bend and mold the air around you with it’s unfamiliar cry made your skin crawl.  However, the bigger part of your heart that knew that the cries you were hearing were cries for help made you think otherwise.  

Rising to your feet, you tucked your basket to your side closer in a pitiful sense of self-comfort as you made your way towards the cries. The trees became less dense and soon you were approaching a small opening.  You could hear the sounds of metal clanking together along with the loud cries and whines.  Perhaps an animal had gotten snagged in a trap?  If that were the case, you wondered if you should free it or not. 

Although you felt bad for the animals in the moment, you knew that they were someone else's food source or something important to help somehow; whether it be a pelt for warmth or their claws for weaponry. You had no right to free an animal that wasn’t your prey- so you decided that if it was an animal you’d leave no matter how much your heart ached.  

When you could see the clearing ahead, you slowed your footsteps and slowly crept up behind a tree to peer around it.  As you did so, your breath caught in your throat as you gasped and slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from choking and making a sound.  You spun around, nearly dropping your basket from your arm as you hid behind the tree you had peered around and pressed your back firmly to it’s trunk. 

Your breath shuttered, shook, halted and repeated.  You couldn’t remember how to breathe properly as you tried to be as quiet as possible.  Around that tree trunk and indeed caught in a metal trap was no animal. 

It was a dragon. 

You racked your brain trying to be reasonable.  Perhaps it was just a trick of the mind? A hallucination? Maybe the leaves you boiled earlier that morning were hallucinogenic and you were simply too careless about what you were brewing in your morning daze? 

You peered one more time around the tree trunk to verify and your entire body ceased up again at the same dragon from the first time you saw it.  You didn’t hide immediately this time.  You stayed hidden, tucked away but examined the situation the best you could; even if every orifice of your body was telling you to run. 

You weren’t too well versed on the dragon race, but this particular dragon you had read about before in a book once- but only briefly.  A wyvern you think it was called. 

The creature was large, as tall as the trees- one not quiet fully grown yet you imagined. Or maybe it was because the creature was folded in on itself, crouched to the ground as it tugged on it’s trapped legs- so it appeared smaller en masse. 

A large bear trap had sunk it’s sharp metal teeth into the scaled leg of the mighty creature.  With nowhere near enough space to try and fly away- trap attached or not- and no room to try and back away, shake it off or even break the chain that held the trap in place, the dragon was ultimately stuck in whining pain. 

It’s scales were that of ashen red; the color of a fine blush, but rough to the texture like brick. It’s arms were large and folded inwards, the talons of one digging into the earth to steady itself and the other crawling at the trap futility. It’s long tail was curled around it’s back and the length of it disappeared behind the tree line where you suspected it was barbed at the end.  It’s head was long, thin and had three horns- one on the end of its nose and two on either side of it’s head. 

Needless to say, it was a wonder to witness.  A dangerous wonder, but a wonder no less. 

Dragons were a very rare sight around human territory.  They hated the human race and for reasons that you couldn’t blame them for.  Years ago, you had read about a war- if you could call it that- that took place between human and dragon.  

The humans in their invincible high from all sorts of discoveries and conquering of other places had decided to set their sights on the dragons.  If they could tame the mighty beasts of the skies and elements and use them as war creatures- the people would reign over all. That’s what they had assumed. 

They had no idea just what they had signed themselves up for when they marched into Dragon Country. The doom that took place was instantaneous for the first brave and foolish group of marchers and it only got worse.

A group of nearly 400 men were slaughtered at the hands of just a few dragons who were the first to be approached as mere animals.  Burned alive, crushed, eaten, slashed into ribbons- the humans stood no chance in hell. 

Then, the dragon’s returned the favor.  If the humans wanted war, so be it.  The dragon race was smart, far smarter than the average genius human being.  With magic on their side along with their mighty strength and numbers, they took to the Humanlands and burned it to the ground. 

This pathetic war lasted no longer than a week and nearly one-third of the human population was blown away from the very beasts they had wanted to tame and use.  

The two had long since left each other alone, no one wanting to repeat the past.  Humans fear dragons due to the stories- that was unavoidable. However, dragons live long and hate even longer.  They can hold a grudge longer than that of a devil or demon.  

That is what shook you to your core as you gazed at this one single dragon caught in the woods of the Humanslands. Why was it so far from Dragon Country? Had it wandered here because of boredom? Perhaps it was banished by the king of dragons you had known about.  Or maybe this dragon was just foolish. You weren’t sure and you less sure if you’d stick around long to find out. 

The creature was a terror and the snarls and whines and cries that came from it were something that would surely haunt you in the middle of the night when you hear the wind howl. Regardless of that however, you felt pity for this dragon.  

As of the moment, it had hurt no one and you had heard no word of any dragon attacks.  It was just stuck, injured and helpless.  Before you could muster up the conscience to quietly leave, you stepped forwards just an inch and knocked a small rock from its place on a tree root.  

The dragon’s head whipped up, it’s sensitive nose finally catching a whiff of a different scent that wasn’t of Woodland descent now that it wasn’t as preoccupied with the stupid bear trap. 

It’s black coal eyes narrowed as it’s mouth opened to show its rows of white fangs that could easily devour you. A violent shiver ran through your entire body as your eyes connected with its own.  You were discovered and there was no going back down. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat felt like a massive stone was lodged inside. You took a few more shaky steps forward, showing your entire body to the beast.  It’s winged arms lifted in defensive as it’s head lowered; it’s chin becoming level with the ground and still growling.  You could see plumes of steam coming from its mouth due to it’s hot breath. 

It was clear this particular creature wanted nothing to do with you- a human- and you couldn’t blame it.  You didn’t want to be here either. This situation could end with you getting killed, but your morality and ability to sympathize with the weak or injured was larger than the risk of your safety. 

Lifting your arms to show you had nothing on you, you started to enter the small clearing.  

“Easy,” you hushed softly as the dragon snapped it’s jaw just one time in warning. You gulped again, daring to take another stupid and foolish step. “I want to help,” you said.  Earning another growl in response didn’t shock you. 

It took several minutes, a handful of snaps to stay away, constant growls and steam filled breaths for you to even get within arms reach of the trap.  You were sure that if you made one wrong move the creature would bite you in half- but you had to take a chance.  

You think the dragon knew this too.  You were the closest thing to an escape it would probably find that wasn’t going to go and tell other humans to capture or kill it. It would cooperate until it was free, you were sure of that- but after? You could only imagine. 

It’s winged arms were around you, shading you from the sunlight that the tree’s didn’t cover as your fingers brushed the cool metal of the trap. As you eyed it you wondered why someone would make such a large trap in the first place.  It seemed far too large and frankly a bit overkill for a just a bear trap.  

You look over your shoulder to see the head of the dragon that was the size of your body staring down at you just above your head. You swallowed for the nth time that morning in nervousness. 

“I’m going to try and release it,” you say. “It’s going to hurt.” 

You carefully pulled the sleeves of your dress up as you curled your fingers around the thick metal teeth.  The scales of the dragon were broken and destroyed as the trap dug into it’s reptilian-like skin. 

Blood had already begun to stain the metal. The trap’s teeth were warm- warmer than the rest of the trap due to the dragon's blood being so much hotter than an average animal or human.  It’s hot, like steamed bathwater, and it steamed the metal to warm your hands almost uncomfortably. 

You took a breath before you started to pull your arms away, fingers aching from pulling on the teeth to try and open the trap.  You had been thankful in the moment that you did indeed chop your own firewood because it built up some bit of muscle in the grand scheme of things.  The trap began to give and slowly creaked open bit by bit.  The dragon’s coal black eyes widened a fraction as it started to wriggle it’s leg. 

“Stop moving,” you hissed instinctively. If it thrashed too much, you could loose your grip and then it would just clamp down on it’s leg again. With a whining and grunting mixture of sounds, you soon pried it open enough to where you were almost certain the creature could free itself.  “Okay,” you huffed in endurance as you held it open, “move!” 

The dragon was quick to rip it’s leg out of the trap and send it, and you, off the ground.  The rapid motion tore you away from the trap, the metal scratching your fingers as you fell to your ass and then onto your back in the dirt as the trap snapped shut again away from you.  It fell to the Woodland floors empty and bloody as you hissed on your back. 

You pain and breathlessness were soon replaced by fear and anxiety when you felt the dragon you had just freed hover over you.  It’s taloned, long, winged arms were on other side of your body and it’s hind legs- one of them being the proffered injured one that still bled over it’s brick colored scales- were perched like it was ready to pounce.  

It’s nostrils were hovering above your chin as it’s eyes bore dangerously into your own.  

This was it.  You were going to die, you were almost certain of it now.  

The dragon huffed as it opened its mouth.  Small licks of fire fanned across it’s tongue in the dark cavern of it’s fang lined mouth and steam pushed from it’s nostrils like a chimney that hadn’t been opened to let out the smoke of the fire in it’s hearth.  

You were petrified, frozen in fear and weren’t even capable of breathing.  All of your senses were focused on the threat of death inches away from you and you knew that no one would know that you died.  No one would find it odd that you weren’t in the village like you were every few weeks or so. They wouldn't find it strange that your cabin was abandoned. And you were certain that they would not conduct a search for you- you didn’t matter to them in the long run. 

You were going to die and you were going to do so alone and your body would stay alone until the earth reclaimed it in it’s soil. 

The dragon only then opened its mouth further, roared into your face and then sprung off you.  It plunged into the tree line, knocking down and busting through the trees and tearing up the soil beneath its claws and talons as it escaped. Running from you and leaving you alive. 

“What,” you breathed as you soon let out a strong, almost painful, burst of air that had been held and contained in your chest.  Your heart beat strong like it would burst straight from your chest into the sky.  You weren’t sure how long you lay in the dirt just trying to regain control of your body that had been previously paralyzed. 

When you did manage to pick yourself up- albeit pathetically- you grabbed your discarded basket once again and rushed home.  

“No more outside,” you declared to yourself in the clearing of trees and the one bloody trap left behind. 

-x-x-x-

Despite the events of the day behind you, once your heart calmed itself and you were able to finally rationally think again instead of assuming you were at death’s door, your mind would flutter back to the dragon and it’s injury. 

As you carried in buckets of water from your well or logs of wood for your fireplace, you worried.  You felt silly worrying over such a mighty and strong being, but you couldn't stop that cloud from covering your mind. You wondered how it was doing or if it made its way out of the Woodlands- only briefly thinking about the damaged and torn or uprooted trees in its wake. 

You went to bed that night far earlier than usual. The blanket of black had not yet completely enveloped the sky of deep orange and red.  However, maybe the early bedtime hadn’t been a bad idea, considering you were awoken in the middle of the night anyway. 

It was a small noise in the distance.  A sound like the padding of paws of a dog running on wood or horse clops on cobblestone.  Small and forgettable, but almost irritating and grinding on the nerves of the listener.  

Crawling out of bed almost at zero energy levels from your previous encounters, you shook your head to try and shake the sleepiness away. Trudging to your door, you cracked it open to try and see if it was some foxes scraping in the glory of midnight or maybe some critter getting into trouble. Instead, when your door opened, the sounds of an eerily familiar growl filtered through the air. 

All tiredness from before flew away as you shut the door harshly and grabbed your cloak to throw over your nightdress. You rushed to your table to grab your glass covered lantern and lit it before blowing out the match and tossing it. Going back to your door you threw it open again and ran out of it.  You didn’t even bother locking it, the key still hanging on it’s key as it flopped against the wall from the air of the forcefully shut door.  

You ran through the woods, trying your best not to trip on any rocks or sticks. You let out an occasional wince from your bare feet scraping too hard on the dirt or catching on the rough end of a stone. You were going down hill when you saw in the shadows a series of trees uprooted or knocked in two with claw marks on the trunks.  

You tried skidding to a stop when the hill started to level out steadily, but there was a fat chance of that happening.  You threw open your arms and snagged a tree trunk to forcefully stop yourself from going further.  Your legs flew out in front of you far too dramatically for a spontaneous run in the woodlands at midnight as your lantern nearly flew out of your grasp.  

You huffed as you heard the same growls you had heard before echo around you.  You could hardly see, but you could tell the outline of the dragon in the darkness.  You looked around as your lantern had lost it’s flame.  

You dug in the pocket you had sewn into your nightdress and struck another match, lighting it again as the fire dimly lit up your face.  You were now fully aware you were seen- even though you knew it already to begin with.  

The dragon had previously been nipping and lapping at it’s wound with it’s split tongue before you had interrupted it’s silence.

“I knew it,” you whispered as you saw the same dragon from before.  You slowly approached it, somehow feeling a little more confident than earlier even though it still growled at you.  “Hey,” you soothe, “you know me. Just let me see,” you said as you walked around it’s curled body to it’s injured leg.  Lifting your lantern up to see better, you weren’t shocked to see the scales still wet with troves of blood.  Just how much blood did dragons have? 

If a human bled this much for this long, you were sure they’d be long dead by now. 

You carefully set your lantern aside and worked around your neck to remove your white cloak from your shoulders. “Hold still,” you instructed as you started to rather sloppily wrap the wound. You couldn’t let it just keep bleeding and it wasn’t like you had anything else to try and wrap it in- you’d just have to sew a new cloak or buy a new one in the village. 

You didn’t even take the time to be shocked that the dragon once again let you do as you pleased in aiding it’s unfortunate situation. In fact, it was silent.  There was no growling or snarling, just the sound of hissing when you brushed against the wound or wrapped your cloak around it too tight. 

When you finished, you almost pouted at the sight of your cloak already starting to dot with the dragon’s hot blood seeping through the fabric.  A loss, yes, but you felt like it was worth it from the relief you felt in your chest at the dragon’s ease of tension. 

“If you stay put,” you started, grabbing your lantern again and looking up at the dark eyes of the dragon you were becoming almost familiar with, “I can come back in the morning with something to help you.” The dragon showed no sign of obeying or denying you and you weren’t going to stick around and press the issue.  

At the end of the day, it could still very well tear you apart. 

You soon left the dragon’s side, the fire of your lantern lighting your way back home. You’d come back just as you said you would and if the dragon was still there, then you’d try and help further so that it can eventually go back home.  Even you knew that it had a home somewhere and you were sure that home was missed to some degree. 

When you returned to your cabin, you breathed a small sigh of relief when you saw that in your haste of not locking your door behind you- no nightcrawler had snuck in and wrecked your home or stole anything.  You walked inside, shutting and tightly locking up behind you as you set your lantern on your table.  

Wincing at your sore feet, you wrapped them in cloth and a paste of herbs you had in a jar to help soothe aches and pain before you tucked yourself back into bed. Hopefully, you could stay asleep until the sun rises this time. 

-x-x-x-

You were pleased to see that when you opened your eyes again, you could hear the birds and see the sunlight of what looked like late morning.  At least you managed to get some decent sleep- although you weren’t all too surprised looking back on the last 24 hours.  A lot had happened and to say it was taxing was an understatement. 

You were slow moving this morning; another thing you weren’t shocked about.  

Trudging around your cabin, you walked around in your nightdress gathering small jars of salves and ointments that could be useful to the dragon in the woods that may or may not still be there with your- no doubt- beyond salvaging cloak. 

When you finally got changed, you threw on a dress of a fairly unflattering shade of brown since you may be kneeling on the ground or thrown into the dirt again from the dragon. You wrapped up a new layer of paste for your still sore feet before pulling them into your boots. You grabbed your basket with your half-hazardly thrown together first aid treatments and left your cabin- actually locking the door this time. 

It was all a blur on what direction you rushed to last night in your sleepy, adrenaline pumped haze, but you were able to clearly see where your footsteps pressed into the soil. Following your own trail, you carefully descended the hill you flew down the night before and when it all leveled out, you smiled at seeing the dragon sleeping peacefully in the same spot you left it.  

“Good,” you breathed happily.  You were glad it stayed put- whether it was because you asked or not didn’t matter.  You would be able to help more now and nothing filled your chest with more glee than being of use to someone, or rather something in this way.  Healing was your passion after all. 

You slowly padded up to the sleeping dragon and decided against working on it while it slept.  It could spring to life and attack you out of instinct for all you knew. You sat a good distance from its body and in view of it’s line sight for when it woke up you wouldn’t be hidden. You sat on the ground, you're back against the trunk of a tree as you started digging around your basket for the folded and wrapped up herbs you had. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat in the tree shaded morning sun plucking, grinding and mixing different herbs together in a cloth draw pouched you had with you. Eventually you started to hear groans from the dragon ahead of you.  You figured that if the first thing the creature sees when waking up was you staring at it, then you’d push away any future idea of treating its leg. So, you kept yourself occupied with your herbs until it made a noise of awareness. 

A handful of minutes pass when you feel a warm wind push towards you. Instinctively, you look up to see the dragon’s dark eyes looking at you. You smile at the mighty beast, the polar opposite of yesterday’s fear stricken paralysis. 

You finished grinding a handful of mint smelling herbs between your palms to sprinkle into an oil you had with you as you swashed it around in it’s cork plugged jar.  It was odd, doing your everyday tasks with a dragon for an audience.  

When you finished, you stood up after placing the jar back under the cloth of your basket and brushed off your dress’s skirt.  You fumbled around to grab the small oval container of salve before you started to approach the dragon. 

It didn’t growl and it didn’t snarl.  It extended it’s winged arms as it’s head dropped to the ground and it’s leg that was wound with your cloak that was now a deep shade of red was pushed out further for you to inspect.  You didn’t want to let it get to your head that maybe, just maybe, this dragon was learning to trust you. 

You knew that dragon’s had to have good instincts, so maybe it just realized that you weren’t a threat. 

You carefully unwound your awfully tied cloak as you tossed it to the ground in a heap. You were glad to see that the hot blood that had been continuously seeping through brick red scales had finally stopped.  You twisted open the container and began to smear the salve over and between the thick scales to the broken skin beneath. 

You had expected them to be cooler to the touch like a lizard’s skin, but the scales and skin of the beast was warm like a freshly doused warm towel. 

The dragon let you work in peace as it watched you without disruptions or growls.  It didn’t even twitch if you touched a particularly pain-sensitive area. 

When you finished, you placed the cap back over the salve and looked up at the dragon to address it. “The bleeding looks to be done, but we should cover it with something.” You looked down at your soiled cloak. “We can’t reuse that, it’s already used and we can’t put dried blood back on a wound.” You started to walk away to your basket to place the salve back and maybe take your cloth in your basket to try and at least tuck it into it’s scales or something when something snagged your dress skirt. 

Yelping, you spun around and took a moment to process that the dragon had moved it’s winged talon to step on your dress to keep you from moving.  Looking up to its face, you saw it looked at you with a calm expression flitting through its eyes and it shook its head.  

“What?” You asked more to yourself than the dragon.  “You don’t want it to be wrapped?” The dragon only moved it’s head back to look at it’s leg before lifting it’s arm back up and freeing you.  You trotted back to the dragon’s leg and squinted at it like he was trying to tell you to. 

You gasped at seeing how the wound already looked way better than it had just twenty minutes ago.  You saw the damaged scales start to repair themselves as the skin below it’s scaled armor pulled itself back together and became covered again. You looked back to the dragon’s face, relief evident in your expression as you breathed out a sigh of happiness with a hand on your chest like a weight had been lifted off you. 

“Oh, thank goodness. I’m glad that the rumors of a dragon’s healing potential are true at least.” You went back to your basket, dropping the container of salve inside as you lifted it back into your arms. “I’m going to be on my way then,” you said. You felt a little bad for leaving so soon, but you had hardly gotten anything down yesterday because of your meeting with the beast, so you were already behind on your own personal tasks.  

You still needed to find some goldenrod and if you were honest, plucking some stuff to replace the amount of salve you used on the dragon’s leg wouldn’t be so bad either.  

As you left into the thick Woodland, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched.  You peered over your shoulder several times and from somewhere you could almost tell that the dragon was watching you from beyond the trees.  Dragons had eyesight far stronger than human eyes, so when you felt a stare on your back, you didn’t doubt it. 

It was obvious that it couldn’t travel through the Woodlands like you could without plowing down trees in its wake and it wasn’t exactly spacious enough to spread its wings and take off in this section of the woods. 

When you left a location you could feel the eyes following you and even heard stomping in the distance of the dragon moving so it could keep you in it’s sights.  You wondered briefly why it would be following you around if not for it wanting to eat you, but you just shrugged it off.  

It was just past midday when you had finally started to depart back to your cabin. As you unloaded your basket inside your cabin and began to put everything away, you went back outside to gather a bucket of water from your well and you nearly jumped out of your skin from the sounds rustling behind your home. 

If the glimpse of horns and wings was anything to go by, you knew that the dragon had somehow squeezed around the trees and followed you back to your cabin. Even closer to human territory.  You crept around the cabin and met the dragon face to face for yet another time as you just smiled at it. It seemed relaxed and at ease to your surprise. 

“Are you going to follow me around now?” You playfully asked as all it did was let out a small huff.  “I know you can understand me,” you teased as you looked it up and down.  You felt bad mentally referred to it as ‘it’ all this time, but you had no idea how to tell what this wyvern was.  “If you’re going to follow me around girl-” your sentence was stopped short at a small growl.  You perched your brow up at the dragon as it glared down at you. “Boy?” You corrected as the unpleasant look left his eyes.  

You ticked your head a bit, nodding to yourself.  

“Okay, that settles that.” 

Throughout your day, you had the company of a dragon sitting in your yard watching you work. When you were inside, you kept the front door propped open with a piece of wood at the bottom and the windows were open so the dragon could still see you and you could still talk to him. 

You rambled- a lot.  It felt silly to be having a one-sided conversation with a dragon, but you couldn’t help it.  You didn’t want him to feel left out- as odd as it was to say in terms of the beast- so you talked about a lot of things.  Your hobbies, the process of making an ointment or what herbs to crush and mix with something to get the smell of berries.  How you cooked and what it was; you even offered him a loaf of bread; he denied it (which you were glad for because that would have been an expensive sacrifice). 

“I actually live here alone,” you speak aloud from the inside of your house so he could hear you through the open window his head rested next to on the ground outside.  “I’ve lived here all my life practicing medicine and plants. I take care of myself decently well considering I live in the Woodlands.” You paused, mixing some broth with a pot of steamed vegetables and spices you had been boiling. “My village doesn’t exactly like me or my studies all that much, so my life here works out in the long run.”

You wondered if he found your babbling annoying since he was just stuck listening to you ramble on about whatever came to mind to keep him somewhat entertained. Spilling your life story wasn’t a thrilling tale, but it was a silence filler. You figured he didn’t mind as much as you may think since he stuck around.  

When the day was ending, he made a sound of disgruntled groaning that wasn’t exactly a growl, but a sound of attention. He was apparently announcing his departure.  You waved the dragon off through the open window as he left back into the Woodlands and you assumed that this would be the final time you met him. 

You would be wrong. 

Because that following day as the sun was high at just past midday, there he was again. Steadily, he was visiting you often and he became a normal part of your life.  

-x-x-x- 

“Hey, Suga,” you called when the dragon came into view from your window as you read in the morning light.  You had started calling him by the name weeks ago when you caught him sniffing through your window at whatever you were baking at the time and accidentally sucked a bag of sugar up his nostril.  You would have called him Sugar, but he just growled at the soft sounding name, so removing the R was the best deal you could cut him.  He didn’t indicate what his name actually was, but you couldn’t just keep calling him ‘dragon’ or ‘wyvern’.  

You had some decency. 

You shut your book, setting it in the open window as you got up and made your way out.  The leg that had been injured weeks ago had healed like it wasn’t hurt in the first place.  No scar left behind and no scale left tarnished- it pleased you in all honesty. 

Walking to him, he lowered his head to the ground with a small sigh through his nostrils as you brought you hand to run along the scales of his nose and head.  It was like having a giant lizard fawn over your touch- or rather that was exactly what it was. 

“Good morning, I haven’t seen you in a few days. Did you have a safe trip?” You asked as he just let out a small swooned dragon sound.  You had gotten good at deciphering what his sounds and noises meant to a certain degree.  

You had noted that every so often he would disappear for days on end and then return- be it a few days to a week or more later.  He would travel to Dragon Country and then return to check and visit with you, or so you highly assumed. You knew that was his country and his home, so it was no shock to you that he went back. The shock was that he kept coming back to your cabin in the Woodlands. 

You had read dragons were loyal, but this was astonishing.  If regular visits with a mighty dragon was your reward for treating and freeing him from a trap, you had no regrets in doing so.  

You stopped your ministrations on his head as you turned to go check off whatever chore you had left to do this morning off your to-do list when you felt his nose push into your back.  Shoving you playfully forwards, you stumbled on your feet as you turned around with a playful smile and lifted brows. 

“Oh you wanna play that way, huh?” You riled as he just huffed steam into your face.  Your hair and dress whipped behind you as you just scoffed and jumped at him.  The dragon shot to it’s legs and winged talons, skillfully dodging your puny, human lunges.  

When you snagged your foot on your dress skirt and was ready to take a tumbling, ungraceful fall to eat dirt, his nose shot under you and caught you before you even made it close to the ground.  Hooking your wasit with his horn, he nudged you back up to your feet as you just laughed at him and stroked his nose once again in gleeful thanks.  

Suga almost purred- if dragon’s could ever.

As you spent your day with your companion, the sky started to tell you that night was coming and Suga’s departure once again was near.  You were out in the yard, sitting on the grass with your basket beside you and all sorts of herbs, a grinding stone and jars and jugs to mix and create with.  Suga lay behind you, curled around you like a protective wall, lazing away silently, but not sleeping.  Just relaxed.  

“Will you be back tomorrow?” You asked as you sprinkled some flower petals into a bottle of clear oil. He whined- a signal for no.  “Going back to Dragon Country already, huh?” He huffed in agreeance as you chuckled.  He sounded so sulky.  “Will you be gone for a while this time?” He made no noise, but his head moved to affirm a yes.  Another handful of quiet, dragonless days were in your future it seemed. “Well, be safe on your way. Watch out for traps,” you teased as he moved his body back just a bit for you to teeter backward from where you were leaning against him. 

When he left you that night, his nose pressed against your torso as your arms wrapped around it in farewell.  He had only started doing that recently- after his last trip back to Dragon Country in fact.  

You always felt a little bit colder when he left you like that. 

Four days passed and on the morning of the fifth, you had walked out of your house early in the morning with a freshly sown cloak of brick red and an empty basket.  You dreaded going into the village for a great many reasons.  But you simply couldn’t push it off any further and you needed things that only the merchants and shops in town would have.  

It helped that when strangers would come into the woodlands and see your house, they would almost always knock on your door from curiosity and you’d always take any chance to sell something of your creation for a decent amount.  

Locking your cabin door, you started your trip. You sighed. Hopefully, you’d be able to get into town and then get out just as quickly. 

Suga had returned that day as he approached your cabin.  He heard nothing inside and saw no sign of you around.  Peering into our windows, you weren’t inside from what he could tell and he pouted at not seeing you.  He lay at the side of your cabin, his head lay by your front door as he waited for you to come back.  

A few hours passed and his ears picked up on the sound of your footsteps- he had familiarized himself with the sound and weight you put into your steps- as his eyes opened ready to greet you.  However, a growl slipped past his fangs as he saw you come from the dirt trail between the trees that lead further out of the Woodlands. 

You were shocked to see him back so soon as you wiped some sweat off your brow.  Sweat that was mixed with dirt and the smallest dried patch of blood. 

You had forgotten that Suga had never seen you go into and back from your village before, so the growl pulled from his throat made you shiver.  Your forehead had a small cut about the length of your knuckle and your lip had a split in it.  Your dress had grass strains in the knees and up the side of it as specks of dirt spotted your face and neck. 

You walked to your door, setting your basket down with a cloth over it, the items you had gotten covered as you walked to Suga and placed your hand on the horn at the end of his scaled nose.  

“What is it?” You ask, oblivious that it was your current state of disarray that made him fume with unease. He pulled his horn from your palm as he moved to nuzzle his nose into your torso. You stretched your arm to stroke under his eye as you soothed him.  “Suga?” It wasn’t until he refused to move that you realized he was wondering if you were well and then you realized. “Oh,” you breathed, “I’m alright.” 

He finally moved away from you and stared at you.  You moved to pat his horn once before your fingers went under his scaled chin to lazily rub there.  He almost hummed at the actions as you smiled with your split lip.  

“This happens every time I go down to the village. Don’t worry too much, Scaly Hide.” As you soothed him, you weren’t completely aware of just how your injures made his dragon blood boil hotter than usual.  You had been nothing but kind and vulnerable and truthful to him- a dragon- for no other reason than that’s just who you were as a person.  Seeing you all cut up because of others? He found it absolutely preposterous. 

As you rubbed beneath his chin, you started talking again.  Your voice taking on a small wave of emotion he hadn’t heard from you before. 

“I’m almost jealous of you,” you told him.  His barbed tail twitched at your words. “I don’t know what the world of dragons is like, so I can’t say whether or not you understand the scorn of others. The prospect of you not having to deal with other humans though is one to be envious of.” Your eyes had a far off look of sadness that riddled his scaled body with pain. 

He pulled his head from your hand and moved to nudge it behind you. He pushed your body against the giant wall of scales that is his own body as you started laughing at him.  It wasn’t hard to understand an awkward attempt of a dragon wanting to console you. You raised your arms, reaching around what you could as you hugged his neck while his head stayed pushed against your back over your shoulder.  

Suga didn’t understand how humans could do this to others of the same race.  Dragon’s weren’t just comrades in arms in battle, but they were kin.  They were branches of family, dear friends and reliant to each other in a way that didn’t just revolve around war and destruction. Of course, his race wasn’t perfect either with the occasional rouge or traitorous dragon, but those specific turncoats were always taken care of. 

He couldn’t understand why humans hurt you, and he didn’t want to understand why. He just wanted it to stop. 

When you finally stepped away from him and got back into his line of sight in front of him the look on your face made him feel better.  It looked like you were already recovering from all the bad emotions that plagued you earlier.  He blew a small huff of steam into your face playfully as you swatted at his horn. 

“I’ve been curious,” you started, “I read once that dragons have large quantities of magic and even have a second form they can change into.  A human form that is different with each species.  Do you have one?” His chin dipped as he let out a noise of confirmation.  He did have one, though it had been years, maybe even centuries since he last changed into it. He didn’t even remember what it looked like anymore- he had forgotten about it truthfully.  

Your eyes light up in excitement at the discovery.  

“You do! That’s so cool!” Your over-excitement almost startled the poor beast. You let out a small sigh of contentment as you turned back to head inside and put your things away and to wash off the grime of your injuries.  “I kind of want to see what it looks like,” you mutter, unable to realize that your thoughts slipped out in the form of words that were just loud enough for the dragon to hear. 

Suga was quiet as he stood guard outside your home for the rest of the afternoon. The only time you left was when you went down to the small lake nearby and washed up. He was a distance away to keep anything or anyone else from intruding on your privacy.  He seemed tense, but also not- even if it didn’t make sense.  You tried asking him what was wrong with him, but he just nuzzled his head into your chest without a sound.  

When you told him goodnight he left in the same silence he had been sitting in all day.  It took a little longer for you to go to sleep because of your worry. 

The next morning, you woke up and did what you always did.  Same old routine with the label of a different day. Though, when you left your home to go and grab a few pieces of cut up wood for your fireplace, you stopped short.  Outside your door, sleeping against the side of your house on the ground was a man. 

You hadn’t seen this man before in your life and you were shocked speechless as you looked him over.  He was dressed oddly, far different than the men in your village dressed. 

His body was lean and covered in small scars around his chest, as shown from the absences of a shirt.  A long, black cape hung at his back that he used to lounge on instead of the hard, dirt ground as the collar of it was covered in fur that covered his shoulders and brushed against his chin.  His pants were brown and baggy that wrapped around his ankles and displayed his bare feet that were no doubt covered in calluses.  Red gauntlets ran from his wrists to his elbows on both arms that were crossed against his bare chest.  

You were hesitant to wake him up, but this was your cabin and it was early in the morning.  If Suga came by to see another man here, he could get defensive and that was a scenario you really didn’t want to witness. 

You knelt at his side, the door to your cabin still open behind you just in case he was hostile and you had to retreat back inside in a rush.  You reached out and grabbed his shoulder- his skin was hot. You shook him once- nothing.  

“Excuse me?” You squeaked as you shook him again.  He groaned as his head nodded off to the side before his chin dipped and you saw his brows moving underneath the fridge of his black hair. You retracted your hand when you felt his shoulders move up and heard him take in a breath of awakening.  “Sir, are you alright?” 

Lifting his head, his eye were narrow and dazed in sleep as he looked up at you. They were beautiful.  They were dark, black and shining like obsidian jewels.  They were... familiar? You squinted at him as he opened his mouth. 

“Oh,” he lazily breathed out. His voice felt like a breeze of summer wind. “You finally woke up,” he told you as you just started inquisitively at him.  

“Isn’t that my line,” you quipped back.  “Do I,” you hesitated, “have we met before?” He didn’t answer you as he just sat up straighter and raised his hand to your face.  His warm hand ran along your jaw to your lip where he pushed against the scabbed over split in it.  You flinched away from his touch as you backed away from him, your eyes locked onto his without any will power to break the contact. 

“You said you wanted to see what my human form was like,” he point forwardly told you.  You looked him over one more time before returning to his eyes.  So that’s why they looked so familiar. 

“Suga?” You asked with a pitched voice.  

“My name is actually, Yoongi,” he smirked as an unfamiliar heat rose in your cheeks.  

-x-x-x-

Yoongi’s visits continued and he often stayed in his human form around you now. He would waltz into your home with you and even started helping you with chores around the cabin.  He’s taken to splitting your firewood (although he wouldn’t use your hatchet, he’d just rip the logs in half), and would carry things for you when you were moving to and fro. He’d watch you cook and learn if you offered to teach him something. 

You had to admit that having him walking and working around with you as a human instead of a wyvern was a lot more convenient. Plus, this way he was able to have actual conversations with you.  

The season’s started to change and the cool breath of autumn began to creep into the air. You would often wonder if Yoongi would stop coming to visit when the temperature drops.  

“Yoongi?” You called as he sat in the middle of your floor in front of the burning fire.  It was late in the afternoon as you were cooped up inside away from the chilly air.  He turned to look over his shoulder at you over his fur lined cape collar.  

“Hmm?” 

“When winter comes, will you still visit me?” You asked as you took a drink from your warm tea before setting it back down on the table with the book you had been reading before.  “I mean, you’re still technically a reptile in basic regards, so you must not like the cold that much.” 

“It’s true that I don't like the cold,” he said, “I hate it.  It makes my scales rough and then that makes it tough to move around.” You let out a small, nearly silent sigh.  “However, if you get lonely, I’ll still come see you.” You looked back at him as he was staring at you completely serious.  

The conversation died after that, you not having the heart to ask him to keep visiting. You couldn’t ask that of him if he disliked the cold that much.  Surely, you’d be okay without him by your side for a few months, right? Besides, you still had until the first snow to spend with him, autumn had just started after all. 

Another week passed and you had once more traveled into the village for some items you needed that you had run out of.  It was no shock seeing a trip to the village so soon after the last considering you had been feeding and caring for Yoongi when he came to your cabin. Supplies run a lot faster on two figures instead of just one.

Yoongi had been gone the last couple days, so you assumed he’d be popping by anytime now so you went as soon as you could.  To your misfortune, when you returned once again roughed up, Yoongi was sitting in front of your cabin door waiting for you.  You had half a mind to sneak in through your bedroom window and avoid him for a bit before you let him in to avoid him seeing your freshly beat body. 

Though, you spent just enough time in mental turmoil that he had seen you already. 

He jumped to his feet, his face an expression of shock as he ran to meet you half way as you walked to your cabin.  You greeted him with a smile just as you always did.  

“Good-”

“Hush,” he shushed you as he quickly took the basket from your arms and set it on the ground at your feet.  He took your chin between his fingers and started tilting and moving your head around in different angles looking you over.  Your cheeks flushed as he stared intently at you.  You knew it was just an inspection of your wounds, but it still made your heart pound in your chest.  “They hit you again,” he growled.  

“Yoongi, it’s alright.” 

“No,” he seethed, “it is not.” You swore you started to see small wisps of smoke seep from his nose as he breathed steam.  He must be really angry, you though.  “They cannot just keep treating you like this just because you’re you.” The hand that held your chin moved to rest on your cheek before gliding up to your forehead- pushing your hair back as his hand moved to rest on the back of your head.  “Human’s really are cruel,” he whispered.  

You couldn't argue with that. 

“I’m already used to their treatment,” you attempt to sooth. The physical pain may still occur with each lashing, but you had long since grown emotionally distant from them.  They couldn’t break you any further. 

“You shouldn’t be. You should be treated with respect and kindness.” 

“Like how you treat me,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.  Yoongi paused, his hand coming down to rest on the crook of your neck, his long nails running over your pulse point as his eye softened.  

“No,” he whispered.  “I’m the only one who can treat you this way.” 

“What?” You were confused. He treated you exceedingly well and he wanted other people to treat you better too, but not like him? “That doesn’t make much sense, Yoongi.” 

“It does to me.” 

“Well, then the argument is officially over, huh?” You chuckled as he brought his hand off you and reached for your basket.  He let a smirk grace his lips as he turned and led you back to your cabin so he could help you clean your injuries. 

As he helped treat and dress your wounds and even helped you make the daily meals, he would nit pick about you going into town.  He offered to start going with you, or at least waiting on the edge of the village so he wouldn’t make a fuss in human society with his less than human approach to things, but you denied him.  

He wanted to argue with you, to let him do as he wanted, but you just told him that you usually only went on days he wasn’t with you.  It was never planned, but things just always seemed to fall in that manner.  

In the end, he yielded on the subject; however, before he left that night, he presented you with something.  A flower-sized, brick red scale.  He placed it in your palm before he left you. 

“If something ever happens, you use that scale and call for me. I’ll come flying over as quickly as I can.” You laughed at his over protectiveness.  Dragon Country was miles off from here, so it would take him more than a handful of minutes to get to your cabin depending on where in the world of his kind he was at in the given situation.  You accepted the scale nonetheless, grateful for his tender gesture.  

Everything seemed fine again for time, until Yoongi came to your cabin and saw you prepping to go into the village yet again one morning.  He scowled as he watched you pull your red cloak over your shoulders and grab your basket as you pulled on your boots.  He hid behind the wall of your home as you locked the door and were on your way. 

Yoongi didn’t want you to know he was there following you.  He stayed behind you as you walked the Woodlands trail back to society and the entire way he pouted that you had once again not told him you were going.  

He stood on the outskirts of the village that brought you harm, sitting high up in a treetop to avoid being seen. He knew going into the village after you would get him caught and he knew that if someone even looked at you strangely, he’d probably snap. 

He sat there for a while, just waiting and watching until you finally showed up again, ready to head back home.  His back straightened as he almost smiled seeing you unharmed. He was going to jump down and greet you, fess up that he had followed you and let you scold him as he walked you back home, but before he could even begin moving, he stiffened. 

Knelt on the tree branch he hid behind the brown, red and yellow leaves that hadn’t fallen to the ground and the black of his cape as a group of boys not much older than yourself ran up behind you.  You were just at the tree line of the Woodlands when they had taken your basket from you and shoved you from behind, making you fall to your knees with a cry. 

He was technically in Woodland territory, he had no problem showing himself outside of your village.  

As you rolled onto your back, ready to shove your way to your basket and scurry away just as you had a million times before, something fell from the treetops behind you.  Twisting your body, you only saw a blur shoot past you before one of the three boys was on his ass in the dirt groaning.  

Turning back to your front, your mouth dropped open.  

“Yoongi?!” One boy had helped the other off the ground as the last was squaring up to start a scrap with this random guy who had popped out of the Woodlands.  You wanted to shoot up and tell them to stop it and leave Yoongi alone, but they froze before you could even warn them.  

The three of them swallowed as they started taking small steps backward in retreat.  

Yoongi had tensed his whole body, fingers curled with his claws out.  His face had scales trailing from his cheekbones to his chin as his eyes seeped with complete blackness.  It was like his hair was standing on end as he snarled and raised his lips to bare his fangs at the offenders.  He was daring them to try him.  

Anyone with two eyes, even one eye, could clearly see this man was a dragon and nothing short of a fierce one who didn’t know how to stand down.  Not willing to pick a fight with a being of that caliber and not being properly prepared to boot, the trio turned tail and ran back into the village.  

It was deathly silent as they retreated and Yoongi’s body seemed to relax as you started at his back. His still shoulders went slack as his squared and ready to pounce stance calmed and straightened back out.  His hair settled and the small growls you had heard before disappeared.  

“Uh, Yoongi?” You call softly, not knowing if he was going to whip around and start yelling at you or not.  

He did not.  

He calmly walked to the basket they had taken from you, picking it up and walked back to your side.  He set it down before he grabbed your arms gently and started to pull you off the ground.  Once you stood on your feet, he straightened out your cloak as you brushed off your dress skirt.  

“What are you doing out here?” You asked him, but he didn’t answer you. He just placed his hand on the small of your back, turning you around before he gently pushed you forward to start you off back into the Woodlands and back to your cabin.  

No matter how you tried to talk to him, he never answered the entire trip.  He was completely silent and he didn’t give you any facial ques on what his problem was either.  He stayed quiet, a still canvas  all the way into your cabin where he sat your basket on your table then sat himself in front of your fireplace that wasn’t even lit yet.  It was like the might dragon was pouting.

“Yoongi, please just come over here,” you plead.  You walk behind him as you see his shoulders slump in a silent sigh before he’s standing in front of you again.  He turns and looks down at you and instead of an angry look in his eyes like you were expecting, you see them shine with unshed tears. “Yoongi-” 

He pushes the words from your throat out of you as he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pushes you face into his warm, bare chest.  He lets out a small, shaky breath as his hold tightens around you.  The hand on the back of your head holding you to him felt desperate and sad. You reach around him and snag you hands on the inside of his fur lined cape behind his back. 

“I was worried about you,” he all but whimpers.  “I know I shouldn’t have followed you, but you didn’t tell me that you were going to that village again and I just couldn’t stop myself.  I was so relieved to see you unharmed as you were leaving, but then those scumbags,” he cut himself off with a harsh breath.  “Does that really always happen to you?” 

You nod and give a weak ‘yes’ in reply.  

“No more,” he tells you. “I won’t let it happen anymore. I’ll keep you safe and I’ll protect you from them.  Even when winter comes, I won’t stop visiting you. I’ll keep coming back, I promise.” You wanted to deny him, tell him not to worry about it since he can’t stand the cold.  But, you felt selfish and you wanted him to keep coming back.  You wanted him to dote on you and to keep you safe like he says. 

“I’ll be relying on you then,” was all you told him. When the moment is past, you pull away from his warm chest to look up at him with a playful grin. “You’re pretty pushy when it comes to my safety, it’s almost cute.” 

He shoves you at your jest as he tells you to sit down and go unpack your things.  He plops himself back in front of the fireplace, huffing a ball of fire to get it going in a hurry.  You weren’t sure if it was the light from the fire or not that painted his cheeks pink. 

-x-x-x-

You went without village harm for a month now.  Just as he said, Yoongi was at your side at least every other day instead of a few days away at a time.  He’d always ask if you were alright or anyone had given you any trouble. He knew when you were lying, he had gotten good at telling apart your quirks, so when you told him you were alright he was always relieved. 

The weather kept getting colder and you kept getting more concerned about Yoongi’s choice to go against the cold to come see you as often as possible.  You always thought about how to tell him to not come after the first winter snow to help his overall health; you just had to figure out a way to phrase it so that he’d actually listen. 

It was one of those nights where you hadn’t gotten to sleep very early with your thoughts, and you had just drifted to sleep.  You were somewhere between unconscious, yet aware as you briefly heard something in the distance.  You weren’t awake enough to care and you weren’t aware enough to think it was something other than the nighttime animals. 

A handful of minutes pass when you’re suddenly ripped from your sleep just as you were equally ripped from your bed.  A grip on the back of your nightdress yanked you from your side sleeping position and pulled the fabric against your neck as you choked out a surprised gasp. 

You kicked your legs in panic, your blanket hitting the floor of your room as you were pulled off your mattress and onto the floor.  Hands grasped your biceps and began to drag you backward. You finally found your voice in the form of small screams and protests. You stumbled from the balls of your feet to your heels as you were pulled backward through your cabin before you were through the front door and on the ground. 

Laying in the dirt and covered in goosebumps from the cold night air, you rolled to your back and propped yourself up with your elbows to see who just evicted you from your home.  You shouldn’t have been shocked to see a band of men from the village, yet you were. You instantly started trying to scoot backward on your elbows and heels.

They were covered in furs and boots with torches in hand to light their way through the darkness.  You looked at them in fear and confusion.  What were they doing this far from the village and why were they here at all? 

“What are you doing?!” You scream, your heels kicked into the dirt as your nails dig into the earth trying to back you away from one oncoming man, a blond one. You squirmed as one of his feet kicked at your wrist and pushed your back to the ground as he grabbed you by the collar of your nightdress.  You whined, grabbing his wrist as you grimaced with squeezed shut eyes.  

“You witch,” he accused as you peeked open your eyes. “We’ve let you live close to us, but you’ve gone and made a pact with a demon- a dragon!” Your eyes widened.  Is this because Yoongi just popped out of nowhere a month ago when he followed you? 

“You’re wrong!” You denied.  You had no pact with him.  He was just- you paused mentally. Was Yoongi a friend to you? You had been unconsciously thinking that for several weeks, but saying that out loud and admitting it to yourself as well as someone else- friendship didn’t feel like it did it justice.  Was the connection you had with the dragon you saved from that trap- the same dragon who snarled in your face and decided not to kill you all those weeks ago- really just a friend?  You swallowed.  

Your breath lurched in your throat when the grip of your collar was released in turn for the hand to now encase around your throat fully.  You gagged for a moment as the blond’s nails burned against your skin.  

“Ransack the place!” The man who held your throat shouted over his shoulder.  The two other men with him ran into your cabin and your squeezed shut eyes opened.  You shoved the man’s hand off you, your neck burning as you pushed against his chest.  He fell on the dirt as he groaned. 

“Don’t! Leave my cabin alone!” You cried as you scurried to your feet.  You didn’t get far before your ankle was grabbed and your leg yanked back.  You tumbled ungracefully onto your chest, your nightdress riding up your legs and bum as you felt a weight on your back.  The blond was sitting on you as you kicked.  He held one of your arms behind your back and his other hand pushed your cheek into the dirt, holding your head down.  “Stop it!” You cried into the earth as you heard sounds of destruction in your home.

Glass being thrown to the ground and broken, your shelves being pulled from the wall.  You heard doors of cabinets opening and slamming shut after everything was pulled from them.  The distant sounds of mess told you they were evening throwing things around in your room.  You weren’t sure what they were looking for- evidence? But for what? Your connection with Yoongi to use against you?

“Hey!” One called from inside.  “I found something!”  Footsteps came back outside and stopped above your head.  You were yanked up to sit on your knees- nightdress dirty and covered in small tears and frays of fabric- as the blond behind you snagged a hand in your hair pulling your head to look up.  You winced as your eyes instinctively shut in pain before your chin was grabbed in a new hand.  

A man stood in front of you, brown hair and accusatory eyes. In front of you, he dangled the scale of Yoongi’s he had given you that you had placed inside of a glass locket to keep it safe. You jolted in the blond’s grip, ripping your chin from the brunettes touch. 

“Don’t touch that!” You screamed. The blond restrained you tighter.  “Stop! That hurts!”  You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. 

You weren’t sure how long those men kept you outside your home as they continued to trash it. You were less sure how long you were out in the cold, pinned to the ground and jerked around like a toddlers ragdoll.  

Stomps to your legs to keep you from crawling or getting up and away.  Jabs to the stomach to subdue you just long enough to restraining you as you tried to get your breath back.  Knocks to the head to try and knock you out as you kept on fighting back.  The cold was starting to get to you, your fingers and toes going numb.  Scraps on your knees and elbows from the cold, autumn chilled dirt.  

You were on your back on the ground, the same blond over your, pushing your face down as your arms were trapped under his knees that pinned you on either side.  

You were close to giving up.  You were going to lose your home- you expected them to set it on fire- and you were going to no doubt end up losing your life if this kept up.  Would they take you back to the village and execute you?  Tears trailed down the side of your face as you chewed on your lip. 

This wasn’t fair.  

“Yoongi,” you whimpered as your palms pushed into the earth, the dirt and rocks pushing into your skin just painful enough to keep you conscious.  

It seemed instantaneous to you. It felt like a whirlwind just formed at the center of your small world as the gusts of wind blew around you.  The man above you was blown off as he rolled in the dirt away from your tired, weak, and beaten body.  Whimpers of terror rang in your ears from the other men as growling accompanied those whimpers. 

Stomping and rushes of heat surrounded you with ignited sparks in the night sky.  You managed to push yourself over to weakly roll onto your side and twist onto your stomach to look up at exactly what was happening.  You didn’t see anything in front of you other than your cabin and the three men all on the ground cowering from the sight of something. 

Your dazed eyes narrowed before you heard another growl and the feeling of something massive standing over you.  Coming to a stomping halt at either side of you with distance to spare and to not make you feel suffocated, your eyes widened.  You felt more awake now than the rest of the evening.  

Twisting to look up, you were met with the mighty, giant form of the wyvern you had freed from the metal trap of men.  Snarling with bared fangs and small puffs of fire on his tongue, Yoongi stood over you protectively.  

Tears ran down your shocked face without your control at seeing him really showing up at your side when you truly, desperately needed him with you. You felt weak, but before your body could slump onto the ground, something grabbed you.  

Another new body had looped their arms under yours to keep your chest off the ground and held you to them.  You didn't recognize this person as you looked up at them.  Another man, but this seemed far more mystic.  

Snow white eyes with no iris or pupils to sit in their seas of white.  Illuminated scales of white shone on their cheeks and their ears were pointed and finned.  Hair as silver as the moon and skin as tanned as cooper.  Was this another dragon?  You couldn’t tell anymore; all you knew was that you felt safe in this person’s arms with Yoongi above you. 

You slumped against them, your consciousness finally starting to fade on you with the adrenaline running low now that you felt a sense of safety.  You couldn’t lose it yet, however; you had to calm Yoongi down.  The men had stopped their attack in fear, so Yoongi didn’t need to instigate further. 

“Yoongi,” you called weakly against the second dragon’s chest.  “Don’t,” you pleaded.  There was a small hush before the wind picked up and the stomping that was present before was replaced with harsh footsteps. Yoongi had reverted back to human form as he ran at the blond man who had previously held you down. 

Yoongi’s long claws tore and pierced through the shirt fabric of the blond’s collar as he brought him up to his nose, snarling down at him.  His fists shook in rage as his body trembled with restraint in your presence.  Had you not been there, he was certain he would have killed all three of them without hesitation. 

He picked the blond off the ground just enough to make his toes leave the grass as he threw him at the other two. He huffed, steam blowing out of his nose as his face remained angry. 

“You ever come back here and I, as Y/n’s personal dragon, will tear you apart,” he threatened.  “Now, leave!” He roared as the three men scrambled embarrassingly to their feet and down the trail back to whatever hole they crawled out of. 

Yoongi huffed, breathless as he quickly heard your whimpers behind him.  He spun around, rushing back to your side as he knelt on the ground beside you and took you from the other dragon’s grasp.  He ran the back of his fingers along your cheek as you saw him.  His calm, worried face brought you a sense of peace as you knew the trouble had left.  

“Rest,” he whispered as you finally lost yourself to the unconsciousness that had been choking you around the throat.  

-x-x-x-

You groaned slightly as your eyes cracked open. You were on your back as your lidded eyes were blurred staring up at the ceiling of your room.  You were in a haze as you looked into nowhere.  Thoughts were muddled in your head as you were aware of nothing for a handful of minutes, still high from sleep and drowsiness.  

The sun shone through your open window as you heard the birds outside sing.  It was bright- far brighter than you were used to waking up to.  

It all came back to you all at once like a punch to the jaw.  Memories of being dragged out of your bed, your home, to outside and pummeled until you were weak in the dirt as your home was broken into and wrecked.  

Your arms shot up from under your blanket as they threw the covers off and you sat up straight as a rob.  You sucked in a deep breath that hitched in your throat from the sudden movement that clouded you with a wave of dizziness.  

Your palm moved to push into your forehead as your eyes squeezed shut and you hissed.  Cracking them open, you felt something burn into your side like someone staring at you.  Looking beside your bed, you weren’t wrong.  

Sat on a stool beside your bedroom door was that same unfamiliar dragon with snow white eyes from the night before. You stared back at the unmoving dragon.  Was he… sleeping?  His eyes were open, but his arms that were crossed didn’t even twitch and his body was still as a corpse.  He sat straight up and showed no signs of movement.  

Did some dragon’s sleep with their eyes open? Yoongi didn’t, but maybe other breeds did. 

“It is a relief to see you’ve awakened,” he suddenly spoke.  You squeaked in shock, not expecting him to do- much less say- anything. “It has been a handful of hours since you lost consciousness.”

You looked away from him as you looked down at your lap.  You scrunch your blanket in your palms, the same palms that you were finally starting to feel the stinging sensation of when you were thrown to the dirt.  The small cuts and scrapes on your knees and legs and arms all started to tingle with an indescribably unpleasant feeling.  

“So, that wasn’t just a nightmare after all,” you sulked to yourself.  

“It seems that Sire holds a great deal of worry about your condition.” 

Your brows drew close together in confusion.  

“Excuse me?” You asked, confusion painting around your eyes.  This dragon with no expression and no irises with the pure white eyes just stared at you. “Sire? Who are you talking about? No,” you cut yourself off, shaking your head. “Who are you?” You re-ask, wanting to know this stranger dragon first.  He was just sitting in your room watching over you, you figured an introduction wasn’t out of the question. 

The dragon brought a webbed hand up to their chest, lowering their head to you in a small bow.  You recoiled at such an action.  No one had bowed to you before in your life- that was reserved for royals and people of importance. Not someone like you, a Woodlands hermit. The action made a blush fan across your cheeks in embarrassment. 

“I am Navia. I work under Sire as the leader of the Dragon Guard of His Majesties palace.  I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. It is a pleasure, My Lady.” His voice was smooth like the surface of a peaceful lake surrounded by nature.  His usage of honorifics only made the embarrassing red cheeks of yours darken. 

“Y-you don’t need to address me like that!” You sputtered as you twisted on your bed to slide your legs out of your covers and hang them over the bedside.  “Just Y/n, is fine. I don’t need any titles,” your voice wavered in embarrassment as the white eyes of Navia returned to you. 

“I do not know if I will be able to address you so casually. It may displease him.” 

“You keep mentioning someone; Sire? Who is that exactly?” Navia never got a chance to answer when their was three knocks on your bedroom door before it was opened.  The redness in your cheeks was broken and a smile pulled on your lips on seeing Yoongi in your doorway.  “Yoongi!” You happily called as he quickly made his way to your bed, kneeling in front of you taking your hands into his own. 

“How long have you been awake? Are you in pain?” 

“I haven’t been up long, I was just talking to Navia and introducing ourselves. I don’t feel particularly good, but I don’t feel particularly bad either. Though, I feel better than I did if that’s anything to be accounted for.”

Yoongi’s eyes softened at your smile. You talked so easily and so soon after you were attacked so brutally.  He wondered where you found the strength to do so.  If he was in your position he’d be a pot of boiling rage, but he didn’t sense anything like that from you.  Yet, instead he could see the sorrow behind your eyes. 

“Navia,” he spoke as the dragon behind him stood at the call of his name. “Give us a moment,” Yoongi’s voice was stern with instruction. 

“As you wish, Sire.” You looked at Navia as he left. You looked back down to Yoongi who was already looking at you as if you were the only thing he wanted to look at for the remainder of his life.  

“Sire? So, he’s been talking about you?” You quirked your brow as Yoongi’s hand left yours and moved to cup around your cheek.  “Yoongi?” 

“There is a lot I haven’t told you and there are a lot of things we need to talk about. I didn't mean to lie- to keep it from you, but I just never had the chance to bring it up. Things about me I’ve kept from you.” You remained silent as he spoke no more.  You both sat in silence for a while as you gathered your bearing.  

Yoongi had taken to tending to you.  You showed him once how to properly wrap bandages around wounds, and so he did.  He wrapped any wound that seemed painful (which was many to his eyes) before he was helping you off your bed. 

“Yoongi, I’m not so hurt I can’t walk myself,” you chuckled as he wrapped his arm around your back to support you.  One of your arms clutched at the cape behind him as the other supported your balance on his chest.  He held you to his side as he was careful not to rush his steps and trip you up. 

“Still, you’re in no condition to be completely independent right now. Allow me to help you.” You almost scoffed at his aid as if you weren’t able to handle yourself, but you did appreciate it- especially when he didn’t need to offer such kindness.  

As he helped you out of your room, you were shocked to see not a trashed cabin like you expected, but it was almost completely clean aside from the broken cabinet doors that sat against the wall in a pile.  Whatever would have been broken was picked up and things were on the counter and on the table out of the way and where they belonged.  A fire was even lit in the hearth of the fireplace.  

You looked up to Yoongi. Did he clean it up? He helped you to the table where he sat you down on the chair by the window where you would normally drink something warm.  You felt a little bad you hadn’t set out a plate of feed for the birds and critters today- but allowed yourself a pass considering your situation. 

Navia was sitting by the fireplace as he watched the two of you.  Yoongi moved to sit on the table’s edge- as unmanneristic as it was, it somehow suited him.  He was in front of you against the wooden table, his fingers brushing along your cheek that had a patch over it to cover your cuts. 

“Where would you like me to start, Scale?” He asked you. Your face deepened when he addressed you like that.  Was that his form of a nickname? You shook the thought away as you opened your mouth. 

“My cabin, I guess?” You realize you didn’t give him much of a specific answer. “I mean, I was expecting it to be a nightmare, but it’s so clean?” 

“That is because I cleaned it up,” he softly told you with a small smile.  So, you were right.  “The times I have been here, I was familiar with the placements of most of your belongings.  Others I admit I guessed, but I couldn’t leave it like it was.  You have enough to worry about.” 

“Well, thank you for that,” you graciously tell him.  

“It was nothing.” You spent a good portion of that day talking to Yoongi where you were.  If you wanted to get up and move to take a break from the flood of answers to any question you had, he would help.  Navia would walk around and do small chores for you if you were kind enough to ask- or have Yoongi tell him to. The tanned dragon was awfully obedient, yet kind to a fault it seemed. 

The shortened days of winter were showing as the sky started to progressively darken.  You watched it from the window of the cabin you had been in all day.  It had been a long time since you spent all your time inside without much of anything to do. It was relaxing even if under unpleasant circumstances.  

Yoongi had handed you a mug of something warm for your throat as you thanked him and took small, cautious sips due to its heat.  Yoongi watched you as you watched outside, the occasional chuckles slipping past your lips when you saw birds or squirrels chase each other around. 

“Y/n,” Yoongi called as Navia had taken his place back by the fireplace.  He was, unsurprisingly, not fond of the cold so he had stuck to the fireplace like glue as often as he could. “Do you want to leave this cabin?” 

His question caught you off guard.  You lowered your mug to the table top as you looked at him. 

“What?” 

Yoongi’s mouth was pressed into a thin line as his eyes were narrowed in a veil of anxiousness.  In truth he didn’t want you to live here anymore.  What happened the night before could very well happen again and what if he didn’t get to you in time next time? What if next time they drag you off or even kill you? He couldn’t handle that.  He didn’t even want to think about it. 

“If I left,” you chuckled bitterly as you looked back outside, “where would I go? I can’t just live in a cave or in trees.” 

“You could come back with me.” There was silence in the cabin’s front room.  The sound of the fire crackling and the small sounds from outside your walls.  “Come back with me to Dragon Country and live there.” 

“That’s impossible,” you told him. “I am no dragon. How could I live there?” You half expected Navia from behind to slip into the conversation and throw in his opinion on the matter.  You, a human leaving the Woodlands and running off to live in Dragon Country? There was no way, it was preposterous. “Why take me back anyways?” 

“Dragon’s are only able to choose one being to become absolutely loyal to without fault in their lives.  We live for years, decades, centuries.  The oldest of dragon’s can live for hundreds of human lifetimes, so we are especially picky when it comes to our choice.”

“What does that have to do with me?” You asked. 

“I said so before, I am your dragon.” That’s right. You did remember him saying that in his rage the night before.  Something about being your personal dragon and threatening the men not to try another attack stunt again. 

“So, then-”

“I chose you,” he admitted. You felt your air leave you in silent waves.  “Out of all things I’ve met of my years alive, you were the first to treat me kindly without expecting anything in return.  You were my first in many things that warmed my being. That is why I want you to come back with me.” 

You opened your mouth then shut it again before you shook your head, trying to process his words.  You took a shaky breath and looked back to him again. 

“Say I agreed, isn’t it too dangerous? I mean, you might be with me, sure, but I’m still just a human woman. What could I possibly do so you wouldn’t have to protect me all the time? Wouldn’t I just be a constant risk?” 

“That would not be the case,” he told you sternly. “I would see to it that every dragon be made aware of who you are. Once they know, they wouldn’t dare lay a talon on you unless they’re turncoats.” Yoongi sounded so serious, you almost believed him. “They would treat you better than these humans ever have,” he promised. 

“How are you so sure?” You narrowed your eyes at him, challenging his word.  He sure sounded high and mighty for proposing something that sounded so risky. 

“Because I’m your dragon,” he repeated.  You almost groaned and rolled your eyes.  You felt like you were running in circles with him. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” So what? You get to boss around and rely on a dragon. As legitimately remarkable as that is, you didn’t seem to connect that to your safety in his country. 

“Because my Master in question- you- would be commanding the dragon in charge of Dragon Country.” There was a beat of silence. 

What. 

“So, you’re claiming to be what? The King of Dragon Country? Am I just supposed to believe that?” 

“Yes, you are.” He told you with a straight face.  There was no sign of lying or hesitation. He seemed so sure and serious of himself that you were questioning yourself of his truth.  

“But that’s-”

“If I may,” Navia spoke, cutting you off from behind you as Yoongi shot him a glare for interrupting you.  You turned to look at the white-eyed dragon as his tanned skin shone with the fire’s casted light. “It’s wise to know that the King detests liars and lies in general.” 

Your eyes widened as you whipped your head back to Yoongi who was still shooting the other dragon a look before he returned his sights back to you.  

“Oh my Gods, you’re serious.” 

The night concluded a long, well-rounded talk about just who Yoongi really was.  Finding out he was a king was one thing, but it was harder to understand that you were now in charge and in command of that king.  You felt simultaneously all powerful and powerless. 

In the end, you did agree to go back with him; however, under one condition. 

-x-x-x-

You sat at your desk in your room, scribbling line after line of ink on a piece of parchment.  It had been a week since your ‘unfortunate situation’ as you called it and you were healing well.  You fixed your cabin the best you could and moving around like normal again was easier by the day.  You could already almost chop firewood again- not that you actually were. You had no reason to stock up anymore.

On your bed was a bag.  One that was large and had the flap open to show the contents inside.  A few folded dresses and one of your leather corsets that wasn’t completely ruined.  Jars and bottles of salves, potions, crushed herbs, flowers, and sacks of roots and leaves.  Even your favorite cup and a knowledgeable book about medicine.  All neatly packed. 

You stretched as you leaned back in your chair and looked out the window to your room.  You smiled as a bittersweet feeling fluttered in your stomach.  

You looked down at the letter you had just finished as you folded it up and placed it inside of an envelope before writing the name of to whom it would be addressed on the front.  

Your windows rattled with a gust of wind outside. You smiled as you got up from your desk and grabbed your bag.  You tossed the flap of ti over the bag, the large button in the flap of it looping through a latch to close it securely.  You threw the long strap over your shoulder as you grabbed the letter from your desk and opened your bedroom door. 

You stopped, turning to look at the room once more.  It was clean, bed made and everything neat and tidy. You smiled sadly at your space before you said goodbye to it.  You felt silly saying farewell to a room. 

When you walked into the main room, Yoongi had already let himself in.  He smiled at you when he saw  you.  Just as you had asked him a week ago, he had left you alone for the last 7 days. That was your condition, even if he grumbled about it.  You wanted one last week on your own in your lifelong home- that was all. 

He walked to you and grabbed your arm gently before bending to softly push his lips against his cheek.  You jolted as you covered your skin with your hand. 

“What was that for?” You asked, flushed. 

“Simply, because.” 

“That is not an answer,” you scowled.  “Did Navia come with you?” You asked peering around his back to look.

“Of course he didn’t.  I don’t need an escort.” 

“Of course you don’t,” you giggle. You walked around your cabin, running your fingers over the surface of your counters, your fireplace’s bricks, your dining table and around the window frames.  You took everything into your memory even though this was the only home you ever had. Maybe that was why you felt like crying. 

“Are you unwell?” Yoongi asked, coming up behind you and placing his hands on your shoulders.  He could see how hard this was for you even without you looking at him directly.  He knew this was his selfish wish, but if you really wanted to stay he wouldn’t drag you away.  

“I feel like I'm homesick, but I haven’t even left yet,” you chuckle as your eyes stung.  One of Yoongi’s hands moved to rest on your head as he pushed his cheek against the top of his hand to lean against your head.  

“It will be alright,” he soothed.  

“I know,” you chocked.

You spent a little while longer in your lifelong home before you felt like you were finally as ready as you’d ever be to leave.  You feared if you stayed too much longer you’d root into your floorboard and then you’d never move again. As you walked out of the house, you took the key that hung on the inside of the door frame and took it out with you.  You didn’t lock the cabin door, instead you placed the key on the outside doorknob. 

This cabin would be welcoming to anyone who needed it, that was what the key hanging outside the space signified.  

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Yoongi asked for the umpteenth time, earning him an eye roll from you. 

“Yes, now take me away or else I’ll start ugly crying.” He chuckled before he was walking with you out of the Woodlands and when you reached the edge of the lands, he transformed into his wyvern form.  You climbed onto his neck just behind his head so you could clutch onto his horns (or his ears, whichever worked best with your grip) before he was flying off with you completely.  

Leaving that cabin, the humans and one single letter on the dining table addressed to ‘Villagers’ behind for good.  

-x-x-x-

“Father! Look, is this what you were talking about?” A small child cheered as he ran through the Woodlands and came across a small cabin that was covered in overgrowth.  The wood had been overrun with vines and moss. Small tree saplings sprung from the wood above on the roof and weeds overtook the ground that was once all dirt.  The trunk that had once been used to chop wood years and years ago had a sapling of a new tree ready to grow in the next hundred years. 

Nests of birds, holes and burrows of moles and squirrels littered the area. 

The child ran around the perimeter of the cabin, eyeing it up and down as small plumes of red smoke puffed through their nostrils in excitement.  

“I’ve never seen a human house before!” 

“Juilius, come back to me before you trip or get caught in a vine.” 

The child trotted back to his father who had come to the Woodlands simply to show his son what the home of a human looked like.  Although, times have changed and this is certainly not how humans lived anymore.  This cabin was long forgotten to time and nature had long since reclaimed it. 

The visit was short and sweet to a degree as the child was soon ushered to be ready to leave.  “Your mother wants you home at a reasonable time. We can’t keep her waiting.” 

“I’m coming,” the child cheered as he started leaving the Woodlands with his father’s hand in his own. “Will I get to fly part of the way back this time? I swear I can!” 

“Alright, you can until we hit the first mountain peak; but don’t tell your mother.”

“I won’t!” He promised.  

Landing peacefully in Dragon Country and arriving safely at the palace, the child giggled happily to himself on how well he was able to fly on his own and how his wings were getting stronger day by day.  

“Yes, but you still can’t retract your scales yet, now can you?” His father teased.  Juilius pouted as his brick red scales refused to fade in his human form.  

“Well,” a voice called to them in a happy tone. “You look just like your father when you pout like that with your scales out.” 

“Mother!” Juilius cheered as he ran to his mother’s arm, clinging to her as he was picked up and nuzzled into her neck.  “Father took me to the Woodlands today. He said that there was a cabin in the woods where you used to live, so he let me see it!” 

You blinked down at your blush-cheeked scaled child. “Oh did he? I hope he didn’t let you fly at that dangerous height.” 

“Nope!” The child grinned as innocent as can be- keeping his promise to his father in the small little white lie. 

“You always assume the worst of me. Don’t you, Scale?” Yoongi teased as he came to your side with your child on your chest as his legs kicked playfully on either side of your hips.  He was young, only a decade old. He was still a hatchling when it came right down to dragon ages. 

“I wouldn’t go that far.” 

“Mother, can you tell me about the humans?” 

“You’re always so curious about them. Why do you want to know, Hatchling?” 

“Well, you used to be one right? Father said you only got your scales and horns when you came here.” 

“Well, then that is going to be a long story. It’s only right if your father helps tell part of it too. It is his fault I became a dragon in the first place,” you looked at Yoongi as he cleared his throat. “Isn’t that right, Your Majesty.” 

“I really don’t know what you could be referring to,” he sheepishly retorted, looking away.  As Juilius tried annoying the answer out of his father, he just shushed him. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” 

“That’s not fair,” the child pouted. 

“My Lady,” your attention was called from Navia who had finally tracked you down. His white eyes glowing down the halls like nighttime fireflies as he approached.  “A new hatchling was born in the valley this morning and it’s mother asked if you would be gracious enough to name them.”

Your eyes shined. “I’d love to,” you said as you set Juilius down and kissed his forehead.  You moved to kiss Yoongi’s cheek as you allowed Navia to escort you away. The dragon child took his father’s hand.  

“So, what mother said about how she became a dragon; why do I need to wait until I grow up to know? Is it some kind of big dragon secret?” Yoongi’s face flushed as he cleared his throat again and was soon leading his son off somewhere else to clean up after his day out. 

“I already told you, not until you’re older.” 

Who knew that the exchanging of the blood and saliva of the king of dragons was able to gradually change humans into dragons? Yoongi certainly never knew until one morning you woke up with scales dusting your cheeks after a rather specific night.

To which would soon be the outcome of the pestering royal child, Juilius. 

-END-

[bokettochild]

Day 4 - Trust Fall

Went with the prompt 'taken hostage' for this one, and I'm quite pleased. I might follow it up from another prompt on the list, but I quite like how it ended.

Suffer :)

There are many people who hate the Hero of Warriors.

It was a well-known fact, and something that had haunted him since the ends of the war, but he couldn’t exactly blame the folks who did. After all, it was for lust of the hero that Cia had killed so many, and there were families all across Hyrule who had lost loved ones because the hero had refused the affections of one lonely, corrupted woman.

Zelda had tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but that changed nothing; people had still died because of Cia’s lust, and still more had died because of his own over-confidence. So, when he walked the streets of Castletown and the people who wanted to thank him faded to the background as a single soul would stand and spit insults loaded with venom more poisonous than a deku baba, he would take their words and let them speak, never once challenging them, even when his men would protest and beg for permission to reprimand his attacker. Zelda had pleaded for him to stop, claiming that he lowered the moral of the army by not carrying himself strongly and with honor, but how could he rob someone of their voice when he’d already robbed them of everything else?

There was one upside to it all though; when Warriors met Legend, there was nothing the younger hero could say that could truly hurt him. Legend would huff and complain and tease and jab, but his insults were a gentle nudge in comparison to the hearty shoves into boiling lava that he’d seen from his own people, and he welcomed the verbal sparring with the other hero. It was nice to be able to speak back without having guilt rise in his chest, and he enjoyed getting to tease and bother the veteran hero in return.

In that manner, an unlikely friendship had formed between a hero who hated soldiers and a soldier who hated being a hero.

He was close to all of the others of course; Sky, Wild and himself would spend hours discussing their worlds and the systems of knights and training and the like. Time and Wind, his boys and the pride of his heart, would mess around with him and it warmed him body and soul to offer them advice or comfort after a long day (and having the two of them cuddle up when they thought no one was looking was an extra warm bonus on multiple fronts).

Four was- well, there was no words for the relationship he shared with the smithy. It was a relationship of exchanged looks and mutual silence. One of two brothers who knew each other as well as if they’d actually been born to the same mother, and who could read the others actions as if they were reading their thoughts. It was them flopping over each other and Four climbing onto his shoulders to reach things, it was him throwing the smithy bodily up towards high places and leaning on the top of his head when he was drained or feeling playful.

Wild and Hyrule were his baby brothers, the chaotic ones who he was helping to bring up right, the boys who needed a guiding hand and a firm voice to push them and guide them, but who reveled in warm hugs and teasing or encouraging words.

And Twilight? Twilight was his sparring partner, his closest brother and the one he’d probably end up socking in the face one day. There was enough said on that front. Legend very nearly made the same rank, except...

Except Legend was, truth be told, as much a kid as the others and despite their verbal battles, he didn’t think he could actually ever hit the kid for real, no matter how often he cuffed the pink head or pushed the short vet over in jest, he didn’t think he could ever cause the younger hero harm. Yeah, yeah, so maybe it was the big brother and father in him that said he wouldn’t live with himself if he hurt the kid, but it was also the soldier and captain that saw a reflection of every cocky recruit he’d ever trained and a certain mask wearing child in the vet’s painfully rare smiles and much more common snarky comments.

And he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt a kid in the first place.

No matter how much of an ass they were being.

“Seriously though, how have you not died?” Legend was scoffing, but the vet’s arms were wrapped tight around himself as the kid rolled his eyes. “I mean, one bokoblin? How is that the first time an enemy has ever grabbed your scarf?”

Warriors would have laughed it off with a tease about the vet’s lack of leg protection, but he could see the worry shining in violet hues and feel the tender bruising that wrapped around his own neck. He hardly remembered the last battle, adrenalin and the concussion had seen to that, but legend had been weirdly snappish with him since, yet simultaneously clingy in a way that was painfully uncharacteristic of their salty veteran. “Most monsters are just dumb.” He’d shrugged off at last, but Legend hardly looked contented, picking at his tunic and scowling at his boots as if there was something more he wanted to complain about or say, but he lacked the words to say it.

Oh goddesses, the vet really was like Mask, wasn’t he? All bashful worry and fussing disguised as insults and annoyance, but underneath just a kid who desperately needed the assurance that the people around him weren’t seconds away from death.

“I’ll be fine, you grouchy little bumblebee.” He scoffed, tugging at one of the vet’s long ears, just as he did with Time when the now older hero was getting to wrapped up in his head. “We’re in my world anyway and the monsters here are dumber than rocks.” Usually he’d just say ‘dumb as rocks’ but they’d met a talus in Wild’s Hyrule and he couldn’t honestly think of that phrase the same way since.

“Black blood makes them smarter.” Legend huffed, batting his hands away with a scowl, nose wrinkling up in an almost adorable manner as he sidestepped a swipe at his hair. “And I just fixed that thing for you, I don’t want to have to do that again.”

So much like Time had been, did the vet see it? Just like his middle kid and it was messing with his brain in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. How upset would Sky be if he gathered Legend in amongst his boys as well? The Skyloftian wasn’t particularly possessive of his descendants and he might not mind sharing responsibility over the vet. He’d have to ask, but only once he was sure Legend was out of earshot, the kid was barely tolerant of Sky coddling him, and even then, usually only when he was sleepy or scared shitless.

“Are you listening, Captain? I’m not mending that scarf again this week, you ass.” Legend flicked his ears, irritation at being ignored coloring his face with a scowl that quickly faded into surprise as a blue heap of fabric settled over his head and shoulders. Of course, the surprise disappeared too once Legend’s face was covered with the tail end of the scarf, and he had to grab the back of the vet’s tunic to stop him from tumbling to the ground as he tripped over the rocky path.

“What the heck, Wars?!” The teen squeaked, fumbling with the fabric as the captain let a laugh rumble up through his chest into his throat.

“You keep fussing about the scarf, yeah? Well,” He reached out to tug the loose end down, chest thrumming with warmth as the pout on Legend’s face beneath the scarf and a fierce blush. “So how about you keep it safe for me, just for a bit.” He shifted the fabric again, arranging it to lay better around the veteran’s thin shoulders. “You can give it back after the next battle, yeah? Then you’ll know it’s not damaged.”

The pink-haired hero rolled his eyes at that comment, but Wars didn’t miss how the kid nestled in amidst the blue fabric with a soft hum.

Oh yeah, despite all the teasing, it was clear Legend liked the scarf as much as his other boys. He hoped Sun and Sky didn’t mind sharing too much, because there was no going back now.

“Dramatic arse.” Legend huffed, but despite the vet tugging the scarf up over his nose and mouth he still saw the grin the lay beneath.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear Time and Wind exchanging whispers while Twilight grumbled something exceedingly rude and fond all at once.

“Should we split up to find supplies then?” Sky asked, pointedly ignoring Twilight’s comment as he addressed the group as a whole, earning a thoughtful nod from Time.

“Probably best.” The man hummed out. “Groups of three, Hyrule and Wind, you’re with the vet, Four and Sky, you’re with Wars, Cub, Pup, I want you two with me, if something happens I want a responsible adult on every team, as well as someone who knows this Castletown well.”

Agreement thrummed over them as they split up, Wind catching his party members by their hands and pulling them off towards the tailor and apothecary shops so Legend could restock on thread and fabric and Hyrule could gather more healing supplies. Time’s group turned the opposite way, heading off into the main market square so Wild could restock on food stuffs and a new haversack for the traveler as Hyrule’s had had a hole worn in the corner that even Four doubted he could fix. Warriors himself led his team towards the fletchers and the forge, with the intent of buying more arrows and getting Four permission to repair a few of their weapons.

The chatter of the town was cheerier than usual, and to his surprise, not a single person spoke to him beyond the occasional inquiry about directions or an apology or insult after bumping into them. It was like he was invisible, or very nearly, and even those who made a point of calling out thanks or insults only waved cheerily to him as if he was just another passing soldier.

At the smithy, the Master Smithy, Gaepak, blinked in surprise for a good minute when Wars had approached to ask for use of the workroom. “Gen’ral? Is ‘at yew?”

He cocked a brow at the question. “Yes? Is there a problem?”

Gaepak boomed a nervous laugh, motioning to his own short neck with a faint flush on his face as his ears twitched lightly. “’Ard to tell you apart from yer men wit’out that scaaf of yers.” The man apologized, and the apprentice at the blacksmith’s side nodded nervously.

He couldn’t help back slip into a disarming smile (although he had to fight not to slip into their heavy accent as well when he spoke). “Quite alright, gentlemen. I’ve just let it out to one of-”

“Yer boys.” the smith nodded knowingly, earning a snigger from their own short-statured smithy and a light chuckle from Sky.

Warriors flushed slightly. Really, the people of Castletown knew him too well. “Yes, one of my boys.”

“An’ a moighty fine father ye are.” Gaepak drawled with a grin. “Use the forge ta yer ‘eart’s content.” The smith added, moving back to his own workstation with a cheery wink. “Jist moind ye clean it up when ya done.”

Four had shouted something of a reassurance before moving to the offered work station with shining hazel eyes and fingers already flitting over the available tools to familiarize himself with them. In the meantime, Sky had shot him a knowing smile, eyes twinkling as the captain had flushed softly.

Four was deep into his work and the two of them had already finished a lengthily talk and a trip to the fletchers when Wind and Hyrule had burst in, heavy breaths heaving through the two and a healthy flush over two sets of rounded cheeks as wild eyes had turned to the two adults.

“Wind, you can’t bust into a forge! Four shouted over the clang of metal. “It’s dang-”

“Legend was kidnapped.” Wind blurted out, voice strained and barely holding onto the collected and controlled report method Warriors had drilled into all of his soldiers during the war.   Four’s hammer froze mid-air as the three had whipped around to face the two younger heroes, both knights stiffening instinctively as all laughter left their faces.

“What happened.” Warriors demanded, stepping forwards, jaw set and eyes hard as he met the sailor’s wavering gaze.

The aura of peace faded in instants, and soldier met the eyes of soldier as Wind snapped a neat salute. Unnecessary, yes, but trained into the kid by the other soldiers and probably a comforting sort of habit to revert to in the moment (Warriors felt the same about standing at parade rest as he listened to the kid’s report). “We were just entering the apothecary when a couple of folks approached Legend outside the door. He waved us inside to do our business while they talked, and Hyrule and I did as he asked. We gathered the needed supplies- that doesn’t matter though- the point is, when we were at the counter ringing up-”

“There was shouting outside!” Hyrule interrupted, fingering the strap of his faded satchel. “We thought it was just Legend being Legend, you know how he is but-”

“But then there was something of a scuffle and some bangin-”

“- and when we finished at the counter, because the man wouldn’t hurry up and refused to let us leave ‘till we’d been rung up-”

“Legend was gone!” Wind exploded, eyes shining with near panic as they met his own.

“Where were you exactly?” Wars demanded, mind already flitting across the list of people who were likely to have taken the vet. There weren’t many people the kid would have interacted with here, especially not alone, and saving the soldiers he’d accidentally embarrassed a couple of switches back (kid needed to wear some pants if he didn’t want to mistook for a girl) there wasn’t anyone he could really think of that would have cause to try anything. Sure, Legend’s winning personality might earn him a blow to the face from some of the rowdier townsfolk, but at worst he’d be left on the street on in an alley with a bruised face and a fractured rib or two, not taken away entirely.

As he considered, Four was already tidying up behind him only to have Gaepak wave them off with a worried look. “Moi boys will see to this ‘ere mess, don’t botha. Yew got a kid missin’ you go fetch ‘im, goodness knows Gen’ral that yew don’t need to be suff’rin’ that again.”

It was a bitter reminder, but he’d nodded his thanks all the same and grabbed ahold of Wind’s hand as he led the charge back into the street, Hyrule and Sky tagging along as Four made arrangements to come back later for the still cooling weapons before scampering out after them.

Searching Castletown’s streets would take hours, but after they’d run into one of his men, Bav, he’d filled the soldier in on the situation, and hardly had the words ‘my kid’ been out of his mouth before the other was nodding and agreeing to get the rest of the squadron to search the town. They’d found the others not long after, and the trio had dropped everything (even Wild’s slate for a hot second) to come rushing after them, their now two groups weaving in and out of alleyways and streets.

“Your wife?” A painfully familiar farm-wife had tutted. “First your poor daughter and now your poor wife. I’m sorry, luv, but I haven’t seen a thing.” Wind had crooked a smile at the groan Warriors had barely stifled as he led their group away, Sky and Hyrule both staring at the duo in confusion as they pressed further into the crowd.

Continued asking had brought up nothing, and after hours of trotting through the streets in a growing panic, Sky at his side and Hyrule nearly fluttering along with them, they’d finally been pulled aside by one of the soldiers and made to sit down in a guard-station long enough to drink some water and be caught up on the soldiers’ findings.

“Nothing yet, General Link, but we’ll keep looking. Until then, you should take a rest-” He’d moved to protest only to be cut off by a frown from one of his mates. “You’ll be run ragged by the time we hear word, and if the scamps intend harm of any sort, you’ll be in no state to help.”

He’d had to agree after that, but it hadn’t stopped him pacing while Sky held the other two close, rocking them softly and humming soft reassurances to the two smaller heroes that he’d bundled in his cape. The other four joined shortly after, Time demanding that Bav tell him what was happening and Twilight bundling over to grab Hyrule from Sky and curl up around him, the rancher’s nose buried in Hyrule’s curls as Four had settled between him and Sky, the smithies callused hands gently rubbing both their arms as he murmured soft reassurances to the others.

It was Wild that pulled him down to rest, flinty blue eyes sparking dangerously as the kid pulled him down to the ground and thrust something edible into his hands. Vaguely, he processed eating it, but his mind was too lost in spinning to take note if it was hot or cold or even what it tasted like.

When word finally came, it was with Bav’s face drawn and the entire guard having had to leave the post in wake of the nervous energy that flowed out from the exhausted heroes.

“Well?” He’d snapped to his feet, jostling Wild on accident as he did so and making the kid nearly toppled over with his sudden movement.

“An ultimatum, General.” Bav replied, clipped and carefully emotionless, even if there was pain in his eyes. “It’s addressed to General Impa, but-”

The note was snatched from waiting fingers before the other soldier had a chance to finish, and he was already breaking the seal as the man stepped back with a shake of his head and a murmured ‘poor man’.

The text that stared up at him stank, copper assaulting his senses as looping crimson script stared mockingly up at him. “General Impa,” The note read. “We have in our possession your branded puppet; the ‘hero’ of the war. We write to you now with a warning; should Hyrule and her queen not repay the debt owed to those fallen and forgotten, he will not be the first to pay the price.

“Repay that which is due, and release the prisoners who you hold unjustly under the claim of treachery. If this is done, your ‘hero’ will meet a kinder fate, and we may even allow you access to the corpse.”

The note was left unsigned, save a spattering of blood over where the signature ought to have been.

“A threat.” He choked, furrowing his brow and shaking his head. “It’s only a threat.”

“I wish, sir.” Bav’s eyes were downcast. “But they sent this as well.” A bundle, already unwrapped by the soldiers was offered to him. “But based on your description, that kid- I'm sorry, Sir.”

Trembling fingers tore aside the stained brown paper as he stared at the contents within.

A blood-soaked blue scarf stared back up at him.

[xwing-baby]

Impulse: Part 1 (Javier Pena x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Pena as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: ANGST! Explicit drug and alcohol abuse from the beginning, depressive thinking/intrusive thoughts, swearing

Word Count: 4.8k

A/n: My first ever Javi fic, of course I had to make it the angstiest thing I’ve written in a long time!!  This is part one of the first part of the story which is also the end of the story... just had to make it confusing for you. 

Disclaimer: I do not have any experience with cocaine or addiction, all writing is based on my own research and is not a good representation of how it really is! Don’t do coke kids, it’s never good.

Part 2

---

Four in the morning, the sun was just above the horizon and you were stumbling home from yet another party. Enough tequila swam through your system that you didn’t really think about the wellbeing of your neighbor when you tapped on his door. You wanted to keep going. Javier, you decided, would make the perfect company. And maybe you could continue that kiss you had not stopped thinking about since it happened four months ago! You grinned devilishly at the thought and knocked harder on the door.

“Javi! Javier!” You rapped on the door. “Javier Peña, abra la puerta!” You sang, leaning all your weight on the door as your world span fast around you, “Javi,”

“What?” Javier opened the door suddenly, causing you to fall into him. You laughed as you caught yourself on his arm. You had woken him up, he was dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants with his hair bushy and wild. 

“Hola!” You grinned up at him, not hiding the way you checked him out. You were obviously drunk and high, eyes red and shining brightly even in the dim light of the apartment block hallway. Javi wrinkled his nose as the smell of you hitting him, tequila and cigar smoke clung to you.

“Again?” Javi sighed heavily. This was the third time this week you had woken him up, accidentally or on purpose, coming home drunk. He was starting to worry about you. 

“Si,” You grinned from ear to ear, You were in more of a state than last time. For one you were still speaking Spanish, something Javi had rarely ever heard you speak. You must have been with your local friends, he surmised. “No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido!”

“It’s not fun, you’re a mess. Get in here,” He pulled you by the arm into his apartment, shutting the door behind him.

“Eres enojado?” You asked, still grinning. You walked backwards into his apartment, tripping down the step and landing with a thud on his leather couch. You cackled with laughter.Javier frowned and put his hands on his hips, of course he was annoyed at you! It was four in the morning and you both had work the next morning. You dramatically flopped back on his couch and huffed at his grumpy attitude, “It’s only polite, Javi! They gave it to me!”

“It’s poison!! He exclaimed, “Why would you do that to yourself?” 

“It’s helping,” You proclaimed. 

“It’s not helping anyone, you’re gunna fuck up sooner or later.” Javi warned, as he had done many times before. 

“I got that list,” You protested, “That was helpful!”

“And what will you do when they work out that you stole it?” 

“No lo sé,” You shrugged. You reached into your pocket and grabbed the last of the coke you had been given. You wanted a little more. You pulled the tin out of your pocket and placed it on the coffee table at your feet.

“You-,” Javi started before he noticed what you were doing, instantly he was on you, “Para!” He exclaimed as he snatched the coke from your hand before you had time to open it. 

“Necesito!” You whined, pouting at him. You were lying, you didn’t need it. You wanted it, a lot. 

“No,” Javi snapped.

“Lo siento, Javi,” You pleaded with him, eyes locked onto the packet in his hand.

“You’re not though, are you? Fucking look at me!” He yelled. You startled and looked up at him as tears pricked your eyes. “Quit it. Now. You know what this shit does, stop it. Whatever you think you’re doing is not worth it, okay?”

“Pero-“

“No. Me vale!” He cut you off. “You’re better than this, Y/n,”

You sustained eye contact for a moment. The room was deathly quiet, he glared at you with fierce intensity. You had never seen him so angry, if you weren’t so drunk you would have instantly buckled under the pressure. The only thing your drunk brain could think of was how hot he looked, you wondered how rough he would be with you if he was this angry. You couldn’t help the snigger that crept up in your throat at that thought. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stop the laugh, Javi rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” You laughed, “It’s just you can’t look at me like that and not fuck me!” 

“Jesus christ,” Javier pinched the bridge of his nose. What little patience he had for you was running out fast. You continued to laugh. 

“Can I stay here?” You asked.

“Take the couch,” Javi waved you off, his back turned heading back to his bedroom. 

“I can’t sleep with you?” Your voice was laced with innuendo, he knew what you wanted. A part of him was tempted, your dress left very little to the imagination, but he knew he couldn’t do it.

“You’re drunk and high,” Javier said plainly, “and we’ve spoken about this before. No,” He was firm with you. He hated having to reject you for a second time but he wasn’t a complete monster. He wouldn’t sleep with you in this state. 

“Worth a try,” You laughed, thankfully giving up quickly. Javi shook his head and walked away again, “Muchos gracias, Javi,” You called after him. He shut the door. 

--

You woke up as the early morning sunlight pushed through the windows. You groaned and turned over, finding you were not in your bed but on a couch. Startled, you sat up and nearly screamed when you recognised the apartment as Javier’s. Luckily you were still fully dressed with your shoes still on, nothing had happened. Memories of how you got there were blurry, you remembered knocking on his door but had blacked out after that.

The clock on the wall said it was six am. You could go upstairs to your own bed clean up and hope that maybe Javi wouldn’t hear you and confront you about it. 

You stood up from the couch, trying not to think about all the things the man had done on it, and grabbed your jacket from the ground. As you stood up the strength of your hangover kicked in, you grumbled. That was when you noticed the discarded coke packet on the counter. You stopped. You knew you shouldn’t pick it up, you didn’t need it. But the taste caught at the back of your throat and you found yourself wanting it. It was undeniably addictive, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t take it this far but the foul substance had made its bed.

“Go home,” Javi’s voice broke you out of the trance. He was only wearing sweatpants, hair mussed up from sleep that you had most definitely disturbed more than once. He pulled the cocaine off the table and threw it into the trash before you could reach it. You gulped, shame rising like hot steam through your lungs. You grabbed your things and left, running straight upstairs to your own apartment.

It was still early but you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep again. Shame was swirling up in your throat. How ironic that a DEA agent was addicted to the thing she was meant to be stopping? But you weren’t addicted, you reasoned with yourself, you were fine. This was no different to when you lived off Redbull for a month during finals, it was a matter of changing some coping mechanisms. It was a reaction to the stress of being so close to Escobar yet so still so far. You could change it, you had control. 

You made a coffee, instant and black. It was bitter and disgusting but it would keep you awake. You collapsed onto your tired old couch and flicked on the tv to a telenovela rerun. You barely understood what was going on but the hilarious overplayed drama was light enough to stop you swimming into the depressing pool of thoughts currently threatening to drown you. 

Eight o’clock came and you were ready to go to work. You were used to this routine now, hungover and tired, you knew you weren’t at your best but until this morning nobody knew about your slow descent into chaos. You weren’t surprised to find Javi’s truck gone without you. All you could remember from last night as how mad he was, and his face this morning only proved it. You dreaded seeing him. 

Luckily, you were spared the hassle of public transport by Steve who trundled down the stairs after you and offered you a ride. The conversation was light and everything seemed normal for a moment. You got to work, Steve ran off after a call from Javier leaving you with a mountain of paperwork to hunt through. For once you didn’t care, paperwork didn’t judge you.

A few hours passed and the boys returned. You did your best to ignore them while they bickered, hoping that you could melt into the background, until someone tapped on your desk. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you Rookie,” Javi’s voice made you look up. “Come on, we’re going,” 

Before you could say anything he threw your jacket at you and you had no choice but to follow him outside. You tried to rack your brain for why Javi would be taking you anywhere today, especially after this morning. You had expected him to ground you, to be impossibly angry at you, not take you out. You climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and Javi didn’t say a word. He didn’t look particularly angry, he looked stressed but he had looked like that since the day you got down here. He was silent, letting the radio play between you, when all of a sudden he reached over and turned it off. 

You looked over at him, expecting him to start his lecture but he didn’t. He let the silence sit between you for the rest of the journey. Somehow it was worse, you’d rather he got mad at you and shouted. It was just unsettling.

Finally you pulled into the embassy, you flashed your badges at the gate and parked. Fear was starting to grow now. Was he going to get you fired? He wouldn’t bring you down here for that surely? He would have called and said what he wanted, he hated coming down here unless he had to. You stayed quiet, too scared to ask, and followed him inside. 

Javi greeted the assistant at the door, as smooth as ever somehow managing to melt her in her chair in five seconds. You smiled and waved to her, she scowled at you as soon as Javi had turned his back. 

“He’ll be in a minute,” The girl called after you as you entered the Ambassador’s office. You took one chair, Javier took the other, in front of the large mahogany desk.

Unlike Steve and Javi you didn’t see the ambassador often, often left in the office while they had meetings about things higher than your post. Your heart was beating so hard in your chest you thought it might burst. You rubbed your hands on your jeans and fidgeted in your seat. Why in hell were you here? 

Before you could bring up the courage to finally ask Javi the Ambassador walking into the room. You stood up immediately to shake his hand, Javi stayed seated.

“Y/n, nice to see you again,” The ambassador smiled kindly as he shook your hand. “Agent Peña,” He greeted the agent next to you, who nodded casually.

“You too, Sir,” You tried your best to sound confident. The Ambassador sighed heavily as he sat in the leather chair, took a sip of the water at his side and began the meeting.

“So, I got the call from your coordinators this morning, they’re coming down on Monday for the review. I thought we should have this meeting together to discuss things before they come down,” 

Your six month review! That was what you had forgotten. Half relieved that your mentor hadn’t brought you down here to completely humiliate you, you smiled and nodded. With everything going on you hadn’t noticed the months fly past so fast, you barely remembered what day it was anymore. 

The Ambassador carried on with the meeting, unaware of your panicking. You nodded along, answering his questions in short yes or no answers, he then moved to Javier. As your mentor he was the one in charge of delivering your progress onto your coordinators. You watched him speak, sound not registering anymore. You hoped to god that he wouldn’t throw you under the bus and tell the entire truth, he knew how much this meant to you surely he wouldn’t. 

Nervous, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket. You almost had a heart attack when you felt something inside. A small metal tin, rounded and rusted. You immediately knew what it was and froze. There was coke in your pocket. Javi gave you a sideways glance, as he noticed you stiffen up suddenly. 

You wracked your mind for where the hell the tin had come from, until you remembered. This wasn’t your jacket, Maria had given it to you a few months ago and never asked for it back. You hadn’t worn it before today and had no idea that your friend’s stash lay inside the pockets. You tried to stay rational, tried to listen to the important conversation happening around you but your hand stayed clamped around the drug in your pocket. It would help you concentrate, it could calm you down. You could take it and nobody would notice. 

“I- I’m sorry can you excuse me for a moment?” You blurted out, interrupting the ambassador.  He frowned at you, surprised by your interruption. You had gone white with panic, obviously clutching at something in your pocket but he didn’t think anything of it. He nodded and you ran out the room before he could verbally release you. 

You tried to remain calm as you ran through the halls of the embassy, it seemed like everyone was watching you. They knew exactly what you were doing, they were judging you. You ran into the first women’s bathroom you could find, quickly checked nobody was in any stalls, and locked the door behind you.

Throwing the package on the sink like it was burning through your hand, you stood over it, watching it intensely like it could jump away at any moment. The voice in your head kept tempting you, calling you weak and useless, to do it to get rid of it. Nobody would know if you took it. You’ve given in this far why not do it. It will help you calm down. Take it. 

As if you were possessed, you unwillingly opened the tin and poured the powder onto the surface. There wasn’t much there, barely a pinch full, hardly anything at all. You couldn’t just leave it there now, someone would definitely know it was yours. They all knew why even bother hiding it anyway. You should take it. You were too weak to resist it. Take it.

And you did. The chemical shot straight to your brain giving you the brilliant feeling you had been missing. You sighed in a relief as you felt every anxiety fade from your body. It wasn’t that bad, you feel better with it, the voice in your head said. You weren’t wrong. You did feel better. You looked it too, your cheeks had colour again, you smiled and laughed to yourself as it took hold.

You brushed away the excess powder and unlocked the door. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Javi leaning against the opposite wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, judging you with a cocked eyebrow. He had been waiting for you. You sighed and rolled your eyes immediately walking away from him.

“Don’t stand outside the women's bathroom’s Javi. It's creepy,” You snapped as you passed him. 

“You missed a bit,” Javi commented, following closely behind you. 

“Fuck off,” You grumbled. Despite yourself you wiped your sleeve over your nose. He was right. 

“Shooting up in a bathroom is real low, Rookie, even for you,” He snarled. You continued walking down the hall, ignoring him. You were as angry at your actions as he was but you didn’t have control anymore. You couldn’t stop yourself, “Hey! I’m fucking talking to you,” Javi grabbed your arm and sharply pulled you backwards, pressing your back into the wall and trapping your body between his.

“You’re hurting me!” You complained, shoving him off you with as much force as you could give. It didn’t get you far as he pushed you to the wall again with as much force. Your back slammed against the cold stone hard, no doubt bruising it. 

“Then listen. What the fuck is the matter with you?” He snarled, “Doing that shit here? Or anywhere in fact! You are completely out of control,” You ground your teeth, seething with anger, “Do you have no respect for yourself?” You struggled against him, trying to get away again to avoid the question, Javi held you in place. “Not going to say anything?” You looked away, purposely turning your cheek to him, “Get a fucking grip or I’m sending you home,” He growled. 

You didn’t answer, staring at the patterned tile floor. Finally he gave up. With a grunt he let you go and stalked away down the corridor. 

As he disappeared around the corner, a tidal wave of anger and frustration flooded your system. You kicked the line of chairs next to you, crying out curses as you sent them flying across the corridor. The metal clattered against the stone drawing people out of their offices, they all stood from their doorways and watched you, judging you. You heart hammered in your chest, chest heaving for air and you glared back at them all. You let out a deep breath and turned on your heel, leaving the mess behind you, and walked outside.

Despite himself, Javi had waited for you in the parking lot. You jumped into the passenger seat without a word, slamming the door hard to get your point across. You couldn’t tell if you were sweating from anger or the drugs coursing through you. Neither of you said a word for the journey. Javi had said he needed to, and you weren’t able to string together a coherent sentence for everything you wanted to scream at him yet. 

You were too focussed on the music playing from the stereo to really notice where you were going. The rhythms and lyrics seemed to float around you and soak into your skin. You didn’t see Javi’s furious scowl when you unknowingly started to dance in your seat, something you couldn’t help but do when listening to Columbian radio no matter your mental state. You were having a good time until the car stopped and the music was cut abruptly. Snapping out of your trance you looked around and realised you were at your apartment. 

“Get out. You’re done for today,” Javi said, his voice was eerily calm and you knew to be terrified. Quiet Javi was always the angriest.

“What?” You asked dumbly. 

“Get out!” He leant over you and pushed the door open. You frowned, but slipped out the truck and did as you were told. Javi pulled the door shut behind you and rolled away, leaving you standing on the sidewalk opposite the apartment building completely dumbfounded. 

You were stuck to the sidewalk, staring at the building. The sun beat down on you, scorching your skin yet you couldn’t feel it. You were numb to everything.

Your first thought was to find Maria and get more coke to hide further into yourself and avoid the awful shame creeping up your neck. The speed the thought entered your head petrified you. Your control was slipping through your fingers like sand and your body was screaming to move. Everything inside you told you to give up, that this was the tipping point and you might as well jump because what was the point in pretending anymore. If Javi knew what was the point in trying to cover up how much that narcotic had taken over your life. There was no point at all, you might as well enjoy the feeling whilst you could. 

You turned to leave, letting go of all self control. Your legs knew where to take you, you didn’t even need to look where you were going. But you did, when three steps from your original position you crashed into a woman carrying a bag of groceries. She yelped, the sudden sound snapping you back to reality. 

“What are you doing standing out here? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Connie startled you when she touched you, you had barely noticed her approaching. She frowned, concerned, when she took in your glazed appearance, “Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay,” Your voice cracked as tears filled your eyes. 

“Oh darling, come inside. Come on,” Connie walked across the road, expecting you to follow but you didn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, you wanted to run in the opposite direction. You knew if you went inside you would have to tell her what was happening, you didn’t want to make her as mad as Javi was already. “Y/n? Sweetheart you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?” 

“I fucked it all up,” You whimpered as you began to cry.

“Come with me, I’ll get you some water,” Connie bartered, still you didn’t move. Too scared to admit to her what was going on, “Just come inside, please,” 

Finally, you nodded and followed Connie into the building. She walked you into the apartment, sat you on the couch and left to get a glass of water. You hadn’t stopped crying, everything in you was telling you to go and get more to calm yourself down again. You knew not to believe the thoughts but they scared you tremendously. You have really gone too far now. 

Connie passed you the water, and you drank it gladly. She crouched down in front of you, pressed a hand to your forehead and checked your pulse trying to work out what was wrong with you. 

“Did you take something?” She asked. You tried to shake your head and deny it but the way she’s looking at you, sternly but with so much care in her eyes, you couldn’t lie to her. Your no turns into a yes and you instantly recoil from her each touch, hiding in your hands. “What was it?” 

“It was only meant to help,” You cried into your hands.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened,” She pressed. 

“Maria gave me some coke, and it was fine and fun and it helped me get that list from them,” You started to babble, all your words tumbling from your mouth before you could get them into any sensible order, “and everyone was so excited and then I went out kept doing it and then yesterday I ended up at Javi’s and I was tired and-,” 

“Slow down,” 

“It’s my six month review,  and I got so worried then I found it in my pocket! I didn’t know it was there and I just did it! Then Javi caught me again and he kicked me out here!” 

“Do you know how much you took?” 

“Like a tiny bit but I’ll be fine in an hour but-,” Tears slipped from your eyes once again, “What am I going to do?”

Connie didn’t know what to say. She knew you had been going out more with some new friends, Steve had complained because he was always woken up by you when you came back drunk from a party. That's all she thought was going on, you were partying, drinking, like you should at your age. But as she had come to learn, a lot of things in Columbia were not what they seemed. It seemed the darker side of life here had managed to get it’s claws well and truly into you. It broke her heart to see you like this, so broken up. 

You stayed with Connie for the rest of the afternoon, sat on the couch riding out the end of you high. TV kept you company and Connie chewed her nails trying to work out what to do. She thought should call Steve, but if Javier was the one to drop you off here, he probably already knew. She wondered how long it had been going on for, she didn’t get to see you as much as her husband and his partner, whenever she’d seen you you seemed fine, if a little hungover at times. When she thought about, all three of you had taken on destructive habits to cope with the hell you saw every day. Steve was becoming more aggressive by the week, while she knew she was safe she didn’t like what she saw when he flipped out. Everyone in the building knew about Javier’s escapades and now you. It was upsetting to watch from the outside, she couldn’t imagine what it was really like to go through. 

You woke up half an hour later, muddled and more tired than when you’d fallen asleep. 

“Feeling better?” Connie asked with a sympathetic smile.

“Feel like shit,” You muttered. Your head pounded and the heaviness still sat in your chest. That was the kicker, the coke could mask feelings very well but every time you sobered up they were still there waiting. You sighed heavily, pushing yourself to sit up where you’d slumped over, and rubbed your face with your sweaty palms. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know sweetie, but I’ll be here to help you,” Connie said kindly, as she sat on the couch next to you. You felt awful for dragging her into all this, yet another person you had let down, ”I think you should tell your boss? Or you’re coordinators, maybe they’ll help,” 

“I’ll be sent home!” You protested, tears filling your eyes once again, “I don’t want to go home, not now!” 

“You can’t keep it to yourself, it will only get worse,” She said, you nodded sadly and cried on her shoulder as she pulled you in for a hug. “I suggest a hot bath, watch some cheesy movie- I managed to find that Indiana Jones movie on tape. I know you love Harrison Ford,” 

“That sounds nice,” You smiled weakly. Connie let you go and grabbed the movie along with a bottle of wine for you. You gathered yourself together, enough to get yourself from Connie’s couch to your own at least. 

“I’m sure Steve won’t notice it’s gone. Go and chill out and watch the movie, have a bit of normality for a change. You’ll feel better I promise,” 

“Thank you Connie, you’re a really good friend,” 

“It’s no problem sweetie, like I said I’m always here for you,” 

Connie gave you another tight squeeze before you left. Iin the hallway you heard the clatter of Javi’s keys in his door below. You wanted to apologise to him, you wanted him to help you! You wanted things to go back to how they were before all this but you knew Javi wouldn’t talk to you. He’d displayed his distaste for the people that fell under the powder’s spell before, he wasn’t going to help. He had trusted you to sort it out yourself but now it was abundantly clear you couldn’t. 

Once again your brain reminded you how easy it would be to get some more coke to cheer yourself up. You could go downstairs and walk down the street, find one of your friends and be happy again so quickly. You didn’t have to feel this pain. 

This time, you ignored it and locked yourself in your apartment. You took yourself to bed immediately, not even bothering to turn on any lights along the journey through the tiny space. You fell on the bed face first. As soon as your body hit the soft material you curled up as tight as you could and began to cry. 

You had failed. You had let your team down, let your coordinators down, let your classmates down and let your family down. You didn’t even want to think about the conversation you would have to have with your mom as to why you were coming home six months early from a placement you fought so hard to get. You thought you could handle it, but you couldn’t. You failed.

--

Part 2

Translations (disclaimer I'm sorry if these are wrong I've been learning Spanish for all of 3 months hence the limited use)

Abra la puerta - open the door

No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido! - I’m not sorry Javi, it’s fun!

Eres enojado - are you angry?

No lo sé - I don’t know

Para!- stop!

Lo siento- I’m sorry

Pero- but

Me vale - I don’t care

The next part will be out next Friday! Want to get tagged? Let me know! 

Tag list: @beskar-tano @buckysbeloved @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @browneyes-djarin @themidnightsun-12​

gunna be cheeky and tag some mutuals i think may be interested? @ithinkwehitametaphor​ @wille-zarr​ 

[jortsaaaaaaart]

Three Hearts- Tendou x Reader x Ushijima

Soulmate AU- updates will be posted to https://archiveofourown.org/works/32830702/chapters/81464533

You remembered Sendai as being cold, so, so cold. The summers were short but they were also filled with many days spent exploring. You were part of a binational family. Your mother was from the United States, your father from Japan. Most of your early childhood was spent bouncing between the two countries before, finally, it was decided that the schools in Japan were much (much) better. It wasn’t too much of a culture shock. But the freedom Sendai offered was intoxicating. In Japanese culture it was perfectly acceptable to send your child out on errands, or let them visit the local park, on their own.

It was on one of these after school excursions that you ran into your future best friend. 

A humid June evening had you trailing along the bank of the local river. Cicadas and the current drowned out almost all other noise. You were debating turning back or taking a wade in the water when you saw a shock of red. There was another kid sitting by the river. One with a pretty vibrant bowl cut. However, when you got closer you realised his hair wasn't the only thing that was red.

"Uh, hey." You murmured, feeling more than a little awkward. "Are you okay?" He almost jumped out of his skin. Wide red eyes snapped towards you before hiding away.

The redhead hastily wiped at his eyes. "Y-Yeah."

"That didn't sound all that convincing." With a sigh you plopped down next to him, watching as he curled in on himself. You'd never been one to mind your own business, not even as a child. Seeing someone crying by themselves was an instant invitation for you to barge in and try to help.

"I'm fine."

"You're crying."

"No I'm not!"

"Hmm. . ." You leaned back, looking over the river. "So what's your name then? If you don't tell me I'll just have to call you cry baby."

“. . . It’s Tendou Satori.” He muttered. Tendou was eyeing you warily, like a stray dog afraid to take a treat from a stranger.

"I'm (L/N) (F/N). If you want me to leave I can, but you just looked so sad sitting here alone." You gave him the warmest smile you could before returning your attention to the water. Satori's red eyes stayed locked on you but he didn't ask you to leave. A few moments passed in silent solidarity before he spoke up.

"I'm usually alone."

"I know how you feel." You sighed.

"You do?"

"Well, yeah. I moved around so much before grade school that I don't know anyone here." You paused. "But, hey, now I know you, right?" Your smile made Tendou forget all about the tears. His cheeks flushed pink under the setting sun.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Asked Satori, who desperately wanted to believe you were being genuine. But years of abuse had a hold on his heart.

You blinked. "Why wouldn't I be nice?"

". . . 'Cause I. . . Everyone says I'm a-"

"Ah! Look guys, it's the monster!" A group of children walked up behind the two of you. They were pointing at Satori with mocking grins. "You shouldn't get so close to him, he'll gobble you up!"

"Monster?" You glanced over at him but he was purposefully avoiding your eyes. If possible he would've liked to completely melt into the grass. Away from everything and everybody. But you weren't sinking into the ground, you were rising up. The bullies took a step back as you stomped up the embankment. "What gives you the right to call him that, huh?"

"W-What?" The ringleader stammered. "You've seen him, he's a freak! He shouldn't be allowed near us normal huma-"

He fell to the ground, clutching his cheek. Everyone's eyes were wide and glued to you. 

"Y- You just punched me!?"

"And I'll do it again!" You stared down the boy while his friends helped him to his feet. Before you could say anything else, or fight a 1 v 4, someone grabbed your hand. Tendou dragged you away while you stuck your tongue out at the still stunned bullies. 

Neither of you would ever forget that day. It was the start of a lifelong friendship, and eventually, something more.

On your first year of middle school you officially learned what soulmates were. It was assumed most parents would give you the talk before then, but the school board wanted youths to be prepared. 

"They taught us about soulmates today in class." You were both lounging around in his room reading the newest Shonen Jump. You sat next to him on the bed, trying to keep up with his reading speed.

"Yeah?" You hummed.

"When you turn 18 your soulmate's name appears on your wrist. . . But, if you're older than them you have to wait for their birthday so the marks can appear at the same time. . . And then some people don't even get a soulmate." He wasn't paying attention to the manga anymore. His eyes were fixed to the floor while his brain waged war against itself. Tendou had been sure you were his soulmate since that first night. The butterflies in his stomach still hadn't gone away and every time he looked at you he felt like a pile of mush. 

But, still, the 'I think you're my soulmate.' died on his tongue replaced with something much more depreciating. "I'm probably one of those people. Monsters don't get soulmates after all." His grin was shaky at best and you saw right through it.

"Don't call yourself that." You chided. "And of course you have a soulmate, Tori. Someone out there doesn't know how lucky they are. Soulmates with the best volleyball ball player ever. And the greatest friend ever, too." 

You flopped down, holding your wrist in front of you. "I don't know if I'm excited or nervous."

"Well, it's a good thing, isn't it? Having a soulmate? You'll have someone who belongs with you and will love you no matter what." You pouted at him and he smiled, continuing with his speech. "I can't wait till we turn eighteen. And I know you can't wait either. Even if you're being a baby now."

Tendou had your eighteenth birthday planned out for years. Step one, he'd take you to the river where you met. Step two, shower you with presents and affection. And step three, wait for your soulmate's name, his name, to appear. Step four (profit), live happily ever after. However, like many things in life, it didn't go quite as planned.

On March 21st, right after the end of your final year of junior high, your mother died. It wasn't a shock, she had been sick for months, but the pain was still unbearable. Your mother's side of the family wanted to bury her in the family plot. An old tradition from an old, rural, part of America. Your father gladly handed the responsibility off to them. 

Tendou remembered begging his parents to let him see you off at the airport. He remembered how red and puffy your eyes were, the sad smile on your face when you promised him you'd be back soon. 

But you weren't. 

Your father was in no shape to take care of you. Burying himself in his work to try and forget his loss. February came around and you had your 16th birthday in America. The first year of highschool had started without you. Tendou sent you pictures from Shiratorizawa every day, making you promise to try and get back as soon as possible.

Another February came and went. Your father was getting better and you were slowly but surely convincing him Japan was the right place for you to be. Tendou texted you every day, talking to you about his volleyball matches, his friend Ushijima, how much he missed you. 

It was your third year of highschool and finally, finally, you were heading home. You told Tendou the news as soon as you knew. He seemed even more excited than you. You knew why, even if you didn't say it. Tendou had always been the one you thought of when you imagined your soulmate. But. . . There was something else you couldn't quite put your finger on. The whole thing made you nervous, so you kept your feelings to yourself. 

Tendou stayed up all night on your birthday, hoping, praying. His eyes never left his wrist for a second and finally at 2:45 a.m. , something happened. Your name, in your sloppy, too quick, handwriting, appeared. The relief of ten years of wondering washed over him. He laughed, breathless and giddy. He immediately messaged you, sending you a picture of his wrist before a barrage of messages, most of them legible.

A minute passed by, then ten, then twenty. . .

You had to see it too, right? So why hadn't you said anything? You hadn't called, texted, or, hell, even emailed him. Tendou started to feel his heart sink with each passing moment. 

What if you were disappointed?

Tendou's breath caught in his throat and he could feel his face burn. His phone clattered to the ground as he sank down into his bed. He tried to calm himself down, he didn't know what time it was where you were. Maybe you were out celebrating your birthday or sleeping? He just needed to sleep it off and give you time to respond.

Chest tight, Tendou waited. He waited till hours turned to days and suddenly it was March and his heart was broken. He wasn't sure what was going on at this point. You two had almost never gone a day without talking. But you hadn't read any of his texts or snaps. Eventually he stopped messaging you all together.

But he hadn't given up. He knew you were flying back to Japan soon and he was determined to ask you what the hell was going on.

By mid March you had moved back into your old home. Your father had graciously gotten a moving company for you and your meager belongings. Somehow he failed to show up himself though. You didn't blame him though, he was busy and you haven't been the best company recently. Before leaving America your grandma had begun calling you the walking dead. You were barely sleeping, your eyes were puffy with designer bags hanging heavily underneath. She understood why you were feeling so down and she was empathetic, but the rest of your small town wasn't.

You thought about the timing of it all as you began to unpack. The first box, full of books and notes, was barely empty before the doorbell rang.

Tendou was standing on your doorstep. Your soulmate was standing before you, and your first thought was to shrink back and pretend you weren't home.

He rang the bell again. "(Y/N)! I know you're home! I just. . . I just want to talk okay? . . . Please?"

Tendou stepped back as the door swung open. You were holding your wrist close to your chest, looking anywhere but at him. He could see how red your eyes were, though, and thought they matched his completely.

"Why?" He muttered. One pitiful idiot to another. "Was it so fucking awful? Having my name on your wrist?"

"It wasn't. . ." You started. "Tendou, it wasn't just your name." 

[vinciwolf]

Bruised but Not Broken

Pairing: Cody x fem!medic!Reader

Warnings: 18+, light smut, angst, violence, blood, gore, death, alcohol, depression

Tags: @sunburstcody​ I wrote this for you.

           You’re on the battlefield of war again. Covering your mouth with a gloved hand, your lungs forcibly expel the thick smoke. Blaster bolts whizz past your head as you crouch behind a fallen AT-RT walker. The clone trooper slumped against the machine groans in agony, head flopping to the side, as you try to ease his pain with a numbing injection.

           With a steady, confident voice, you say, “You’ll be alright.”

           But deep down, you tremble. Please, not another one, not another one.

           You didn’t want another trooper to die. He was just a goddamn shiny! You wave down a passing clone trooper for help. Both of you take the wrists of the fallen clone and drag him behind the thick vegetation where the rest of the wounded were placed.

           You take off the trooper’s helmet to assess his wounds. The damage is severe, like most wounds you have already become desensitized to. His neck looks like an unraveled mess of shredded muscle and tissue, jagged and pointing in unnatural directions. The blaster bolt that clipped him left his neck looking life a half-spere, bleeding profusely. While tossing backwards the flap to your medical bag, the absence of supplies cruelly laughs at your surprised face and sends a cold wave of dread over your skin. The entire bag is empty.

           Trying not to make it obvious to the soldier, you advert your gaze and swallow the hard clump in the back of your throat. This clone trooper is doomed and there is nothing your can do about it. Rationally, you decide to return to the battlefield to save other potential survivors. No time to waste on the already dead. Before you can run back into the fray, the clone trooper clasps your wrist. You pause for a second, then kneel back down and grip the clone trooper’s hand tightly. Tears burn the back of your eyes.

           “I—I don’t want to die,” he gurgles. “I don’t want to be forgotten.”

           His face is a carbon copy of Jango Fett, but he has an intricate rose tattoo that stretches from his brow, over the side of his head, and down behind his ear. You also note his eyes to be a very rich earthy color, like when the soil is dark and saturated with water after a hard rain. But his beauty is short lived when ground-shaking explosions and echoing shouts from the other clone troopers sucks you back into reality. The clone’s eyes turn red and begin to wiggle with heavy tears.

           Deep down, the terrible pit in your stomach wants to lurch forward and trade your life with this clone. So, at least, he could experience life without fear, or missions, or being taught that he’s disposable in the grand scheme of this war he never asked for.

           “I won’t let you be forgotten—” your thumb brushes the tears falling form his eyes.

           Despite his pain, he weakly smiles at the thought that someone – somehow in his pathetically short lifespan – actually cares for him, then he shut his eyes forever.

           A single tear, heavy with thousands of memories like this one, burns the side on your cheek until in finally drops off your chin and absorbs into the blood soaked ground.

           You didn’t even get his CT number… not even his nickname.

           Blinking once, you bury these feelings into a deep place for another time. For now, you need to focus.

~

           You remembered the look Cody gave you when your battalion returned to the shuttle. The standard white attire you wore is stained with blood and soot. He is truly a sight for sore eyes. Halfheartedly grinning, shoulders slumping in relief, you are happy he survived. The thought of another innocent becoming a casualty of war turns your stomach. Luckily, the few clone troopers who managed to survive are either put into medical capsules or hobble into the arms of their fellow brothers. You shuffle towards the commander and plop your head on his shoulder. He squeezes you in his arms then helps you into the LAAT. This planet was devastating, but it was won. You should feel good, but all you feel is painful exhaustion in your shaky legs and feeble lungs. Not to mention the invisible weight creeping onto your shoulders.

           It is like this every time, all over again… and again… and again.

           Guilt fills your aching heart like an overstuffed balloon. It is like clockwork. This stabbing pang in your chest rises intensely and fades after every mission. You rub the unseen soreness with your palm as the refresher gushes hot water over your squatted, naked body, the steam cleansing your lungs. It is not enough to cure the pain however, but you need to rid your physical self of all the grime – all the evidence – of the soldiers you could not save today. The dense mist shields your vulnerable form and the heavy pattering of the water drowns out your whimpers as you cry away the horrible events that plague your mind.

           This… this small, private space in the refresher… had to be enough.

           It is your only fortunate curtesy in these dark times.

~

           Your first mission was on Kashyyyk and you were absolutely mesmerized by how densely forested one planet could be. Given that the temperature here was nothing like what you experienced at home, by the time your squad rendezvoused at the main base, your cloths had already become drenched with sweat. Taking a swipe to your forehead with the back of your hand, you began to understand why none of the other medic graduates willingly chose this planet. The only graduate on the list was you.

           The commander glances at you.

           “So, now the Republic is sending anybody these days. Pathetic,” he scoffs, probably eyeing you up and down under his helmet.

           “I wanted clone medics, not greenhorns who’ll shit their pants the moment they land on the battlefield.”

           Taking a step forward, Shots, the head medic, points at the commander.

           “Oi! Watch it. She finished at the top her class at the academy and is one of my best trainees I’ve had on the field. She might not be a clone, but I’d entrust her with my life. Plus, the Republic needs all the help it can get.”

           The commander dismissively waves at the both of you while turning on his heel and mumbling an agitated ‘whatever’ under his breath. Letting out a deep sigh and closing your eyes, you unclench your fists that you didn’t realize had formed during this rude confrontation. Shots turns towards you and pats his hand on your shoulder.

           “Don’t be intimidated by these guys—” he points over his shoulder at the clone troopers with his thumb “—war does this to us clones sometimes. Makes us hard inside—” his fist thumps twice over his heart.

~

           “Okay, when all hell breaks loose, just stay hot on my tail,” Shots whispers into your ear while your squad slowly proceeds through the thick vegetation. This was it. You first time on a real battlefront against the Separatists.

           Keeping your eyes ahead, your mind did not process the sudden explosion of brain matter that splattered on your face. You look to the side, towards its origin. Shots, the clone medic who had been your mentor since day one, the clone medic who never doubted your medical training, is flat on his back on the ground. The brain matter came from him. Shots’ face, a face you had conversed with just seconds ago, is now perfectly hollowed out by a blaster bolt. You crouch down and stare at the dead clone medic, hands shaking profoundly.

           He is not dead. This is not real. No way!

           No amount of medical training could prepare your for losing a loved one.

           Screaming grounds your focus. The blasters firing, the yelling, the smoke entering your lungs, the whole world rapidly woke up in your ears and everything is very loud again.

           “Where the kriffin’ hell are these blasts coming from?” a clone trooper hollers while shooting into the forest, his brothers scrambling to find shelter behind the trees.

           “It’s an ambush!”

           “We need a medic!”

           You run towards the clone troopers ducked behind a fallen log. Immediately, your adrenaline kicks in and you remember where you are, what you need to do. Pulling out supplies, you patch up their fallen comrade, but when everything seems to be smoothing out, a trooper bellows, “GET DOWN!”

           You look up and spot the missile flying right towards your face.

~

           You jolt awake with a startled gasp. Gulping down air, you realize that you are in your barracks. Safe…safe…for now. Looking down, you sigh at the state of your shirt. A dark stain in the fabric trails down your chest, sticking to your damp skin. You stand up and change into a clean shirt before heading over to the sink.

           After splashing your face with some cold water, you peer at yourself in the mirror. Exhaustion looks back at you. The purple bags under your eyes only seem to become worse as this war drags on. Nothing can make this night worse. As if on cue, the rapping at your door frightens you out of your thoughts.

           Stepping over to your room door, you click a button and it hisses open. You wipe your face with your hand, massaging the soreness out of your puffy eyes, and sigh a soft ‘what’ at the commander standing in front of you.

           “You’re needed in the med bay,” Cody states.

           Grunting in response, you turn around and begin to put on your uniform in silence. The commander steps into your room, rubbing the back of his neck.

           “I’m worried about you. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

           You face Cody while aggressively putting your hair into a quick, messy bun.

           “Did Kenobi put you up to this? Now he’s sending his commander to spy on a poor ‘lil, sleep deprived medic, huh?” you spit while adjusting your boots too tightly.

           Cody does not respond and a twinge of guilt shoots through your stomach. Looking over to the commander, he is gripping his helmet a little too firmly and his eyes are adverted… deeply hurt.

           “Oh, Cody… I didn’t mean that…” you confess, shoulders sagging.

           Standing up, you cup Cody’s cheek and lift his chin to look at you— “It’s just… I don’t know actually…” I’m actually tired of burying myself beneath all this death.

           “You haven’t been yourself.” He overlaps your hand with his large one, eyes softening.

           “None of us have—” you let go of his cheek and wrap your arms around his armored torso, nudging your head close to his heart with a long exhale “—I’m sorry that I snapped.”

           Cody’s free hand rubs slowly down your back as he pecks your forehead. Releasing each other, you gaze up at the commander and force a tiny grin.

           Cody’s eyes sag downwards. “I… don’t know what to say.” I don’t know how to make things better for us.

           “There’s nothing you can say.” I want to tell you that everything hurts.

           As you veer around his presence, you pat his armored shoulder before disappearing into the corridor of the attack cruiser. Your heart screams for Cody to stop you from walking away. It feels like magnets pulling you back into that room, tugging your body to turn around and go back to explain everything. Inside your mind, however, you are blank of thought and ignore your instincts. The only thing filling the void is the agonizing screams and last words from the clone troopers you couldn’t save.

~

           THE WAR IS OVER!

           GRIEVOUS DEAD!

           CHANCELLOR ARRESTED FOR TREASON!

           Coruscant is in the midst of wild and loud celebration. At 79’s, the clone troopers drink and sing until they fall over, but Cody merely sits and stares at his untouched shot of alcohol in a private corner. Somewhere in the background commotion, Rex dances on a tabletop with two twi’lek, which makes the crowd of clones howl even louder. The floor screeches when the commander abruptly pushes his chair back to leave the bar. Nobody seems to notice his absence in all the partying.

           Outside, confetti falls from the sky while rockets pop and squeal into the air, lighting up the night. Cody walks alone and passes the multitude of citizens embracing each other. None are the wiser about the commander walking by them – a soldier who helped end the war – as he navigates through the streets of Coruscant. He doesn’t mind though because there is only one person on Cody’s mind that he wants to see.

~

           Standing in front of your apartment door, Cody hesitates for a moment before finally unlocking it and treading inside. He places his helmet on the kitchen counter and looks around. So many memories reside in this small place. Your couch still remains were it was the last time he visited your home. That couch where he kissed you for the first time and decided that this is the only person he wants for the rest of his life. Shaking his head with a fond smile, he continues his investigation.

           Sliding open the door to your bedroom, the commander expects the worst when his eyes glance towards an empty bottle of wine abandoned on the floor. He scans the room and finds shattered pieces of glass littering the carpet, a red dot staining the nearby wall. The commander assumes that you must have obliterated the wine glass in your fit of drunken rage. Holding his breath, Cody’s eyes widen at the dried-up specks of blood accompanying the mess. He finally takes a step past the bedroom threshold and notices the outline of your body beneath the mattress covers.

           Your body becomes larger as Cody slowly advances closer to the bed, boots dodging the sharp pieces of glass. He notices your arm, hand wrapped in gauze, poking out of the mountain of blankets. His fingers gently brush your wrist. Sighing with relief, the commander relaxes from the light thump of your pulse against his fingers. You groan in sleepy annoyance from his cold touch and retreat your arm into the safety under your huddled-up covers. Cody grins slightly in amusement. Pulling up a chair next to your bed, he tenderly shakes your shoulder to waken you.

           Slowly but surely, you peel your heavy eyelids open with a throaty groan then glance up at the commander sitting close beside your bed. You say nothing and just await the reason why he is in your room on this particular night. Cody closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before finally breaking the stillness.

           “The war’s over. I thought I’d find you with the rest of the boys celebrating, but you never showed.”

           Looking at your damaged hand, you remark, “I was… busy.”

           “If there’s anything on your chest, you can tell me about it.”

           “It’s all over now. The war’s over. There’s nothing to talk about anymore.”

           “No!” Cody snaps. “Somethin’s eating you alive inside. I’ve noticed! And—and—” his voice softens “— I want to help… Please… I love you.”

           That I love you stung.

           You give up hiding it. He already knows and there is no point keeping secrets from the man you adore… the man you trust.

           “This day isn’t fair! We won, so what? I’ve never felt less accomplished in my entire life—” your fingers dig into the bedsheets “—I couldn’t save them—” you blink away the squirming tears obscuring your vision “—they all died and never got to see the end.”

           Cody understands immediately who you are talking about. The clones. His brothers.

           “We were bred for this—”

           “Y’all are more than just stupid numbers, Cody! He had a name! They all did!”

           You scream in agony into your mattress as your walls come tumbling down. After a moment of letting go of the pain, small hiccups pipe from your aching chest as you slowly calm yourself down.

           “It’s hard being the one who survives. That’s a burden I – all my brothers – will have to carry. But not you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

           Not knowing how else to help you, he lifts his hand and slips his fingers beneath yours, helping you ease your grip on the poor mattress. His thumb rubs gentle circles into your skin while the atmosphere goes still again. Unspoken understanding passes between the two of you. No words had to be exchanged as you share this silent moment with the commander.

           Then, in the dead quiet, tears filter down your cheeks. You did not know where they came from, but you didn’t feel sick anymore.

           Cody is there. He takes off his boots and armor and slips into the bed, wrapping you with the most protective hug. This warm space inside his arms calm you, but the tears still fall. Peering up into the commander’s face, you giggle uncontrollably when he kisses your red, puffy eyes. He keeps kissing you until all the tears are dry and you stop crying, then he slows down and takes his time. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you embrace the commander and the hands running up your sides.

~

           Cody's body rocks together with yours in slow, sensual movements. Your arms firmly grip around the commander’s torso as he takes care of you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear while warmly caging you beneath his weight.

           His strong arms bend backwards to hold your thighs with his calloused hands. The affection in his thrusts is unrushed. His hips roll in big, smooth circles to memorize your walls, to memorize the way you softly whimper and pant from the endearing pleasure he gives you.

           You are his world. He wants nothing more than to keep you here in this moment forever to show how much he loves you. Luckily, he'll have so much more time to do so now since the war is over.

           Your head lulls back into the soft pillow, mouth agape, as you allow yourself this moment to unwind. As Cody's cock delves rhythmically into your folds, you moan with each stroke. The tip of your ears heat up from the way this man above you tickles your neck with feather light kisses. He strokes your thighs with his thumbs, making sure not to buck too harshly into your hips. Tears begin to burn your eyes again.

           This man is making love to you.

           Cody – after everything he has been through in this war – still somehow retained his gentleness. But now he is sharing some of it with you in order for you to heal.

           The commander continues to whisper into your ear as you silence your whimpers in his chest, hands coming to rest on his pecs to feel more sheltered and secure under him.

           "Everything will be okay," is all that he repeats. "Everything will be okay."

           Smiling, you believe him while he gently wipes away your tears with his thumb.

[amrio]

The Jacket War

Not that he was one to blame his daughter on anything, but Drake absolutely blamed her for starting the war for Launchpad's jacket. Sure she was just pushing his buttons at the start, but by the time that they were quite literally chasing each other for a coat, it had turned into a downright competition. One that neither of them had any intention of losing.

Launchpad was never one to forget things, as he rarely had anything with him to misplace, but his jacket? The pilot never left anywhere without it. You never know when you might take a nosedive into the side of an icy mountain after all. The only time Drake ever saw him without his beloved bomber jacket was when he stayed with him and Gosalyn after a night of patrolling and he took it off to sleep. Even then, it was never far away—either thrown over the back of the couch he was sleeping on, or on one of the bedposts if he managed to make it to the bed they had set up for him without falling to the ground snoring in that ever so loud, but quite endearing, way he does when he's truly exhausted.

So when Drake got up one morning and found the leather coat on the back of the couch, with no sign of Launchpad anywhere, he was certainly surprised. The pilot must've gotten up early that morning and left in a rush if he forgot it. Not to mention that he managed to leave without either Gosalyn or himself noticing. The two of them were such light sleepers that they were normally able to send Launchpad off with a tired goodbye before stumbling back to bed. Not saying goodbye was almost as depressing as having to say goodbye at all was.

McMoneyBags probably called him, Drake figured to himself as he stared down at the article of clothing. It looked so out of place without it's owner. Upon further inspection, he found a new tear and a few scorch marks on the back. They weren't from their patrol last night, he knew that much for certain. They had been dealing with another liquid type villain that had escaped from a lab and sought to wreck havoc on the scientists that created it. McDuck better not let this happen often, he groused picking up the jacket and feeling the worn leather between his fingers. He's my partner. If anything ever happened to him...!

It took the man all of two seconds to realize what he had just admitted, despite being in his mind. Drake quickly whipped his head around and scanned the area, lest he find that his thoughts had been projected for the rest of the world to hear. Or worse still, Gosalyn. She had been poking fun at him ever since she found them curled up together on the couch after a particularly rough night.

They had been tired, beaten, battered, and emotionally exhausted after Darkwing had accidentally gotten captured. None of them had the strength to even look at the stairs leading up to their bedrooms and instead flopped over onto the couch dead on their feet. Launchpad had fallen asleep first, three hour drives between St. Canard and Duckburg taking up a more obvious toll with the additional stress of the night. Much to no one's surprise, Launchpad was a sleep hugger. And okay, maybe Drake enjoyed the sleepy affection too. It was something he was very unaccustomed, but not entirely opposed to. Launchpad was warm, he was tired, and with Gosalyn safe and nearby he may or may not have allowed himself to cuddle into the much bigger duck's chest and fall asleep that way.

The thought of that comfortable evening brought more warmth to his cheeks and a nervous twitch to his fingers as he looked around. Thankfully the pale morning light illuminating the tower was his traitorous thinking's only audience.

Launchpad could handle himself. He had proven it on any number of occasions, matching Darkwing's battle prowess with ease. Now...what that had to do with the sudden worried possessiveness that his brain had just given words to and his fondness of that sleepy evening...well...Drake wasn't going to sit there and ponder that while it was still so early. That was a problem for several cups of coffee and some breakfast. Yet he found himself holding on to the jacket for a few moments more, looking it over and marveling at just how big it was (and how big it would be on him), but it ended up being for a few moments too many.

"Hey nerd! Whatcha doin'?"

Drake yelped and quickly dropped the coat back over the couch as a warm red re-exploded on his face. "G-Gosalyn! Uh! I'm not doing anything! W-what are you doing?" He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands as his ten year old eyed him suspiciously and ended up shoving them into the pockets of his purple bathrobe before they gave away his nervousness.

Gosalyn stared him down, her eyes taking on that glint that he often saw when she was trying to work out how to save her grandpa. Her analyzing look. Much to his horror, he watched her gaze drift to the couch and land on Launchpad's coat. Oh, he really didn't like the look on her face now. She was grinning in the same way that said she was going to try a new trick shot with her crossbow that would absolutely send his coffee mug spilling to the ground.

"So, have you tried it on yet?" she smirked, knowing exactly why her father had gotten flustered.

"No! And I have no idea why you would suggest I do such a thing," he said trying to grapple for at least a little bit of his dignity. "Why are you up anyways?" It was a Saturday and neither of them were much for mornings.

"I heard you up." She crossed her arms over her green pjs with a huff. "Why are you awake?"

"Oh you know...uh. Just trying to get a jump start on those files from yesterday." He gave a nervous laugh, knowing full well that WANDA had already sorted and sifted through them the moment they were uploaded.

Gosalyn wasn't impressed. "If you say so."

After a staring contest that Drake quickly lost to the knowing eyes of his daughter, he ended up trudging to the kitchen for some coffee. In the back of his mind he was aware of how empty the spacs was without a certain pilot serving up coffee with a cheery grin. Drake would never understand how Launchpad was such a morning person. He got less sleep than the average college student and yet he still managed to shine brighter than the sun at six in the morning when he woke up either to a demanding phone call from Scrooge or to the sound of Drake struggling with another nightmare.

As he was pondering this he all but choked on his coffee when Gosalyn wandered—and almost tripped—into the kitchen.

"What? You weren't using it," she said as she struggled to climb into her seat at the table.

She was wearing Launchpad's jacket.

If Drake had thought the coat would be big on him, it was downright gigantic on Gosalyn. It all but swallowed the girl whole as she looked up and challenged him to do something about it. She wasn't a dress kind of girl, but that's the only thing he could even remotely compare it to. It buried her at the table and hung over the edge of the seat, hiding her arms and feet entirely. Well, maybe a king sized blanket would be a better comparison.

"Isn't that a little uh, big for you Gos?" he finally asked as he tried to decide if the sight was more adorable or comical.

"Nope," she said, somehow with a straight face, as she got situated. All of her moving and struggling with the coat had thrown her bed tousled hair into her face and she ended up pulling her arms out of the sleeves so she could shove it away and reach for the mug of tea he had made for her. "It's comfortable. And really warm." She sipped at her drink before grinning around the edge of the mug. "You should try it on. LP certainly wouldn't mind."

"I—! You—!" he sputtered trying his hardest to keep the blush out of his feathers. "That's none of your concern, Waddlemeyer."

Though she gave a genuine smile at the name, glad to hold onto her grandpa's name for a little while longer, she couldn't help but taunt him in her reply. "No? Or are you just too afraid to take it from me and find out?"

Should he stoop to the level of his competitive ten-year old? Probably not. That wouldn't sound very good on paper now would it? "I'm not fighting a child for a coat."

"Chicken."

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Darkwing Duck is no chicken."

"Prove it then!"

Well if that's how it was going to go, screw the paper and how it would sound. Drake set his coffee down and narrowed his eyes at the girl only to find her mirroring his actions.

Some part of him knew how ridiculous they were being, but that was heavily outweighed by the fact that A) he wasn't going to back down from any challenge no matter who it was from and B) Gosalyn was smiling more this morning than all the other mornings combined. He had seen her sleep-fits often enough that they were probably tied when it came to who had nightmares the most. Mornings were fragile things unless Launchpad was there to comfort them or snap them out of it. Now it seemed that his jacket was doing a good enough job at keeping them light-hearted in his place.

So yeah. He was totally going to steal that coat from Gosalyn.

If the fact that she pulled a hair-tie off of her wrist and pulled her wavy red hair back in a messy ponytail said anything, it was that she was more than happy to make the challenge as difficult as possible.

When Launchpad came back to St. Canard later that day after returning the Duck family to the mansion from an adventure involving magical dirt...? he hadn't caught the name of it; all he knew was that it was blue and turned Dewey into a mini dragon (it took them an eternity to convince him to change back). Regardless, he certainly wasn't expecting to find Drake and Gosalyn chasing each other around the base in some sort of game before lunch.

"Hey guys! Guess who's back!" he hollered stepping through the main door.

"Hi LP!" Gosalyn greeted as she sprinted in front of him. She had something in her grasp, but she was moving too fast for Launchpad to figure out what it was.

Hardly a second later, Drake ran past him as well and gave a distracted hello before he jumped up and off the wall at his daughter. The two of them ended up in a roll as they fought for whatever item the girl had until Drake was the victor. Not for long though, as his rather loud victory "HAH!" was cut short when Gosalyn snagged the item out of his outstretched grasp and made a mad dash in the opposite direction.

Launchpad couldn't help but laugh at the frustrated growl from Drake. He had no idea what they were doing, but he was happy to see them getting along. Drake had formally adopted Gosalyn a couple of months ago, but they were still adjusting to the whole family dynamic thing. Gosalyn was stubbornly independent and Drake got caught up in his nightly alter-ego all too easily. There were good days and bad days, but today just happened to be an exceptionally good day.

Eventually Drake got up from his dramatic pouting on the ground and gave chase to his daughter once again.

Seeing the determined look on Drake's face and the cocky grin on Gosalyn's made the pilot realize, not for the first time, just how much he adored them. They were chaotic and a little bit of a mess—he noted Drake's bathrobe abandoned on the couch—but they were a family. He knew Gosalyn couldn't say it yet and that Drake would hesitate to admit it, but it was true nonetheless. They were his adventure family. So he let out a fond sigh and rested his arms against the railing to watch their antics for a time.

As the green blur of Gosalyn sped down the stairs, Launchpad realized that she was struggling with the something in her arms until it unfolded into something he recognized. She had his coat! So that's where he had left it! He knew it had to be here with them, or at the fast-food place he frequented between cities. It was a good thing it was here and not the fast-food joint, because he forgot to stop there in his excitement to get back to them.

Gosalyn fought with the gargantuan jacket until she managed to get her arms into the sleeves and continued running with the rest of the coat trailing after her. She tried to scrunch up the sleeves so she could use her hands, but there was simply too much jacket so she gave up and let the sleeves flap as she ran. It was adorable to say the least. What was even better was how much she resembled her father. At some point, Launchpad couldn't remember when exactly, Drake had stolen one or two of his shirts for pjs. So now both Drake and Gosalyn were running and jumping around in Launchpad's clothes and both of them were absolutely dwarfed by the bigger sizing

Launchpad couldn't have squashed his grin if he tried. But he didn't try. He smiled openly at the sight presented and laughed when the much-too-long sleeve of his coat got caught on a desk and brought Gosalyn to a screeching halt. Drake jumped at the opportunity and immediately scooped up his daughter so she couldn't escape again, holding her in front of him to avoid her kicking feet.

"Ha-HA! Can't get away this time can you!"

"That doesn't count! I got stuck!" she cried trying to fight out of his hold.

Before Drake could retaliate with some sassy remark or another, Launchpad spoke up with a laugh as he made his way down the stairs and to them in the living room. "So...you two haven't seen my coat anywhere have you?"

Their responses were immediate.

"Nope haven't seen it."

"What coat?"

When Launchpad got closer it finally sunk in that they were still in pjs. "Wait...you two aren't dressed yet...don't tell me—" his voice rose in concern and too much volume "—that you haven't had anything for breakfast?!" Because he could see the kitchen, and there were no plates or bowls or even orange peels left out to indicate otherwise.

"Um. About that," Drake started nervously. He was no stranger to "Uncle Launchpad's" mothering and neither was Gosalyn.

"We got...distracted?" Gosalyn supplied after a beat.

Launchpad was having none of that. Drake and Gosalyn were quickled ushered into the kitchen and to the table, their game of keep-away momentarily forgotten, while Launchpad set about righting the wrongness of no breakfast. It wasn't long before Gosalyn had a stack of waffles drowned in syrup in front of her and Drake had a bowl of cereal and half an orange to dig into. As Launchpad brought over refills to their coffee and tea, he marveled at how small his family was.

His coat was filling more chair than Gosalyn was and she had to reach out from behind the zipper to reach her sugary meal even sitting on her knees. He had no doubt that she could shut the zipper and hide in the thing and no one would know the difference. Meanwhile on the other side of the table, one of his green t-shirts was hanging loosely off of Drake's wirey frame, looking more like a night-gown than a shirt. Warmth blossomed in the pilot's chest as he really took that information in. His little adventure family really was little. They could handle themselves, but he would always be there to have their backs and protect them. How could he not? They didn't even fill his shirt!

"You good LP?" Drake asked, snapping him out of his thought. "You stopped talking."

Was he talking? Oh right! He had been telling them about the adventures of Dewey as a fire-breathing dragon while he fixed their food. "Buh...Uh ye-yeah I'm good. Sorry about that."

"Where did you go?" Gosalyn asked around her mug.

"Where did I go? Did I leave the kitchen too?!" He hadn't thought he had left the room, but he wasn't paying attention. What if he did and he didn't know it?!

"What? No!" She snorted at his stricken expression. Her mug was set down so she wouldn't spill it as she clarified. "I meant what were you thinking about."

"Oh! Ok yeah that makes more sense." He wasn't one to lie, so he didn't and told them. "I was thinking about how small you two are."

Drake gave an indignant "hey!" in response while Gosalyn just giggled at how offended he got.

"I think it's the other way around LP," she said lightly. "You're big and so are your clothes. Look at this!" She gestured to the jacket surrounding her. "It's like, way bigger than me!"

"I guess so... hey! Speaking of my coat, can I have it back?"

"Nope!"

[jessiebanethedragon]

Can we get a fic where the bad batch is on a mission and they find a SUPER shy 16 year old girl (the reader) who lost her parents in the war. The men take the reader with them and take care of her. But they don’t know that the reader has been trained in advanced martial arts her entire life and they find this out when the reader takes out a bunch of droids by herself. The bad batch take the reader in as their little sister in the end.

kinda long, i hope thats okay, and as always i really hope you enjoy it! 

You’re found underneath a mountain made of rumble, mud, water and ash. The Bad Batch takes hours moving debris for Wrecker to pull you out of a still smoking room that was once your family's apartment. 

Your people were an interesting folk, training their young in intense forms of defensive combat. You could speak more languages than you could count on your fingers, and years of being taught anything and everything, one could consider you to be a perfect soldier. Except for the fact that your people dedicated themselves to the natural wonders of the universe and were neutral in every notable war the republic had ever seen. 

The separatists did not see it that way. 

“What do we do with it?” Crosshair asked when they returned to the camp, you haven't said a word. And clone force 99 was starting to wonder if you even spoke basic. So far you had only moved when necessary and they only realized you were even human once the dust, mud and blood had been cleared from your face. 

“I think the ‘it’ is actually a ‘she’.” Tech corrects side-eyeing you from where you sit close to their fire. 

“What are we going to do with she?” Crosshair repeated, annoyed. But enjoying the mumbling from his brother about ‘grammatical insolence.’ Wrecker and Tech both shrugged as Hunter sighed and took a plate of rations over to you. 

“Hey, you need to eat.” He said pushing the plate towards you, watching as you watched the plate, but made no move towards it. 

“Can you tell me your name?” Hunter asked, trying his hardest to sound not like a hardened military sergeant. He sees your lips move but can barely make out the sound that travels past them. “Can you just be a bit louder maybe?” He asks for the first time ever, given his enhanced hearing. He catches your name as it wisps by him, repeating it to make sure he’s got it right.  

“Do you have anyone? Anyone off-world or that might still be…” He stops himself before the word ‘alive’. And you shake your head ‘no’ anyways. It’s only after Hunter gets up to leave that you slowly reach for the plate of food. 

“She has to come with us.” Hunter relays to the group, who are keeping their distance from the shy young girl they’ve found. Each member nods, none of them seem to know what to do with you, but they know you’re safest with the Bad Batch. 

It takes weeks before any of them hear your voice, your real voice. So far you’ve stuck to mumbles, nods and hand gestures. No one seems to mind, except for when you make Wrecker jump out of his skin when you seemingly appear out of nowhere. 

“Crosshair you di'kut!” Tech shouts one morning running into the main area of the Havoc Marauder. Everyone has to suppress a chuckle at the sound of Huttese coming from his helmet. “How in the kriff am I supposed to fix this?” Tech throws his hands in the air, slamming his bucket on the table. 

“Would you like me to fix it?” You offer from your corner of the ship. Stunning everyone into silence. “I am fluent in huttese.” You explain reaching for Tech's helmet, and matching holopad. No one says anything as you tap a few things and place it back down. 

“Thank you, mirdala.” Tech says in awe. Opting to compliment you in mando’a rather than basic as to not make you uncomfortable. 

“I also speak mando’a.” You add, looking at him with a smile. 

“Kandosii'la!” He exclaims happily, “nice to finally have some more brains around here.” Tech smiles at you while his brothers come over the shock of hearing your voice properly for the first time. 

After that morning things begin to shift a little bit. The batch takes to calling you mirdala as a nickname and constant compliment. (And to try and get you out of the sarlacc pit of shyness you live in.) And you slowly start to chat rather than just talk with the men you find yourself in the company of. Yet you still don’t talk about your home at all, eventually they stop asking. Until one day Hunter presses a small blaster into your hands while the five of you are standing on the ramp of the marauder. 

“Just a precaution, this place shouldn't be  dangerous. But I'd rather you have it and not need it then need it and not have it.” He tells you, and places a hand on your shoulder. “Know how to use it?” You nod, flipping it around in your hand, it’s foreign and familiar all at once. The click of the safety sounds a bit janky and the hilt is slightly off kilter. Hunter watches you inspect the blaster with the precision of a GAR clone. 

“Thank you.” You say to him, tucking it away, and following the group off the ramp and into the market. 

It takes all of one half of an hour for all hell to break loose. One battalion of droids verses one bad batch’s Wrecker didn’t exactly go well, the two of you attacked from behind unsuspectingly leading him into throwing you onto the nearest roof and going through the droids one by one. You hear the whir of commando droids before you see them and take off, launching yourself onto the next roof as blaster bolts rush by. Running through the second market that rests on the rooftops of the one below you dash between stalls, people and droids as you scramble away. One last jump into what you think is the side of a building but is actually air covered by a mass of cloth sends you into the  ground below winding you. 

“Mirdala!” Crosshair shouts in surprise as you seem to literally fall from the sky above him. This brief distraction allows for a droid to take a shot at him and you know he’s too preoccupied to save you. 

That's fine, you don’t need saying anyways. 

Falling into a fighting stance is so familiar to your muscles, you could close your eyes and you’d be back in your training centre. It feels so real you can almost smell it. Elbows and feet fly, echoes of advice ring in your ears. ‘Your elbows carry power, your feet are the most important weapons, stance is everything.” At this point the blaster is basically useless, you’re the weapon Hunter wished you didn’t need. And so when Crosshair barrels into you, throwing the two of you behind a crate as a detonator goes off, you both face plant into the ground. 

“You okay Mirdala?” Tech asks pulling you off the ground, dusting your shoulders off.  

“Where is everyone?” You ask worriedly looking around for everyone, once you see Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair near you, you begin to calm down. Wrecker comes over to you looking far too happy for a man who was just in battle. 

“That was amazing Mirdala! Shoulda seen ‘er Sarge!” He says nudging Hunter harshly. You can’t help but blush as Wrecker rentals how you flew from building to building. Letting Crosshair summarize your skills with ‘she fights well.’ (Before taking over and gushing about you again.)

You’re sitting outside as the sunsets, being alone is preferable right now. Today was, for lack of a better term, a lot. But of course, naturally, the Batch joins you. 

“You ever gunna open up to us mirdala?” Hunter bluntly asks, looking scared and worried. You nod but stop yourself, pushing the shyness for a verbal answer. 

“Yes, just not used to it.” it's a short answer, much shorter than it should be. But it’s a small win and Hunter is happy for it. 

“I researched your home world, were you going to tell us about your skills?” Tech asks, eyes meeting yours. 

“I thought it was normal.” You explain, looking around for others before sighing. “I’ve never been off-world before, not even outside of my city. This is very unusual for me.” You say trying to explain that your people keep to themselves even where they're around those they trust. 

“What else can you do?” Wrecker chimes in, curious as ever. But adds “never mind” when Crosshair elbows him. 

“You’re trained like us...” The sniper says, catching the curves of a small smile beginning when he says this. “Vod’ika.” He adds slowly, careful to watch your face to make sure he didn't upset you.

“Come out of your shell vod’ika, our shell most certainly has room for one more.” Hunter says, looking not at you but at the setting suns of the planet. 

“I always wanted a little sister!” Wrecker encourages with an excited hop. You turn to Tech waiting for his take on the situation. 

“Makes logical sense.” He teases, putting his helmet over your head. “Fits well, looks good vod’ika.” The helmet doesn't fit at all, flopping from side to side as you look around. 

“Sounds good to me ori'vod.” you say with a lopsided smile on your face. As the suns finally start to  turn into stars. 

“Aliit ori'shya tal'din” Hunter says, prompting his brother to repeat it after him. 

“Family is more than blood.” You translate to basic stunning at the touching words. 

“Come lil’ sister. It’s kriffing cold out here.” Crosshair says getting up off the ground, Wrecker immediately scrambles to piggyback you to the ship. The five of you teasing each other and laughing all the way.

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

Carry Me Home (A Din Djarin/Reader Fic)

Summary: Din and Reader find themselves on a jungle planet hunting a bounty, but nothing goes as planned, and secrets are shared.

***Based off this line from a previous fic in this series: "Then the mysterious bounty hunter told you his name one day when you were trying to hold his femoral artery together with nothing but bacta gel and hope."

No spoilers. Set in Season 1 between Episode 6 (The Prisoner) & Episode 7 (The Reckoning)

Pairings: Din Djarin/Reader; Din Djarin/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, gore, & violence. Brief mentions of past slavery. 

A/N: In true Star Wars fashion, I'm just writing shit out of order lol. But the idea for this fic kept bugging me, so i just had to get it out on the page. 

You don't need to read the previous fics to understand this one, though (since the others are set in s2.) I have some more ideas for out of order stories, too, so I'll most likely be continuing this series.But let me know if you'd be interested in a fic from Din's POV! I think that could be fun, but if y'all are digging Reader POV, I'll stick to that.

And in case anyone cares, the title is taken from the lyrics of Arcade by Duncan Lawrence, which I was listening to on repeat as I wrote this. 

As always, I’ve posted this piece on Ao3, but I’ll paste the text below. 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763814

I’ll also include the links to the other two fics here: 

The Sea Like Glass Ch 1: Here

The Sea Like Glass Ch 2 (includes smut): Here

“Dank farrik!” you hissed as the wire in front of you sparked and sent a jolt of electricity through your already singed fingers. Not for the first time, you wished you could wear your gloves, but some of the pieces that needed repairing were too small to feel through the bulky material, so you could do nothing more than sacrifice your flesh for the cause.

Didn’t make it hurt less, though. You sucked the smarting tips into your mouth, glaring at the trashed circuit board in front of you, but the ruined hardware only crackled in response.

If you were back in Hanger 3-5 in Mos Eisley, you would have probably trashed the whole part and dug through Peli’s stock for a replacement, or gone down to the market and haggled for something newer, but you weren’t on Tatooine. You were smack dab in the middle of a jungle planetoid you couldn’t remember the name of, and it was up to you to get the Razor Crest running again on what you had available.

Which, admittedly, wasn’t a lot.

You sighed as you sat back on your haunches, using the back of your wrist to swipe at the sweat trailing down your temple. The pre-Empire ship towered over you as you dug into her innards, having pried off one of the semi-melted lower side panels to access the appropriate circuits. Your thin tank top was already drenched, and the hair sticking to the back of your neck kept giving you phantom itches. You wanted nothing more than to tie it up completely, but you always felt naked when your nape was exposed. You weren’t necessarily ashamed of the scar there, or the past connected to it, since it wasn’t your fault you were born into shackles, but… still. It was a… personal story to tell, and you weren’t sure you were ready to share it with your new boss.

Well, “new” was relative. You’d been employed on the Razor Crest for several months now, but you didn’t know much more about the Mandalorian than you did when you’d first set foot onto his ship. You knew he was a bounty hunter, from a race of legendary warriors. You knew he had a partially sordid, and dangerous, past if your encounter with Ran and his crew of mercenaries was any indication. You knew the green baby was his ward, or foundling as he called it, and Mando was tasked with returning the little guy to his people. And you knew his Creed forbid him from removing his helmet.

That was about it. The Mandalorian didn’t talk much, but it didn’t particularly bother you. You’d always been a quieter person, and after years of Peli’s constant chattering, you were kind of relieved for the silence.

Most of the time, anyway.

“How’s it looking?”

You gasped in alarm, jolting yourself off balance and falling back onto your ass in the dirt.

“Maker, Mando,” you panted as you craned your neck back to stare up at the bounty hunter. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me when I’m working on electrics?”

The impervious mask of the Mandalorian stared down at you silently, blotting out the sweltering sun and providing you a modicum of relief. A moment passed, then two, and you shifted uneasily under his unblinking gaze.

“I thought you heard me approach,” he said finally, his modulated voice flat and unaffected, but he didn’t move from where he was looming over you.

“Well, I didn’t,” you grumbled as you flopped your head forward and popped your neck, stretching your legs out in the dirt.

The tight leggings you wore ended not too far past your knees, so your shins were streaked with the red soil of this planetoid. The dirt didn’t bother you, but the heat sure did. It was different than Tatooine’s dry desert. This heat was oppressive, stifling, almost cloying, and every time you took a deep breath, a small part of your brain panicked, images of drowning flashing through your mind even though you knew it was irrational. You were just grateful your clothes didn’t look a fraction as hot as the Mandalorian’s all black get-up and what had to be twenty-five kilos of armor.

“So,” the bounty hunter said after a few more moments of silence, interrupted only by the call of exotic birds in the canopy, “how are things looking?”

“Honestly?” you sighed as you pushed yourself off the ground, dusting the red dirt off your hands but not even bothering with your pants. “Not good. The bounty’s guns must have grazed us when we were still outside orbit, and entering the atmosphere certainly didn’t help matters. Some of the side paneling has been melted beyond repair, and a lot of the wiring is fried, too.”

“Can you get it flying?” Mando asked, crossing his arms over his chest and making his silhouette all the more imposing. The sun glinted off his silver beskar, and you squinted in the glare.

“Maybe.” You pursed your lips and averted your gaze, turning back to stare at the charred panels and sparking wires. Sweat trickled down your neck, and you reached back to cup your nape, feeling the bounty hunter’s eyes on you.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes.”

“You’re not paying me at all if you can’t even catch that quarry,” you snorted before your brain could catch up to your mouth.

You froze when the words finally registered, nails digging into the back of your neck. Stupid. Your mouth always did get the better of you. You used to mouth-off to your former owner until he backhanded you into silence, and now you’re starting shit with a bounty hunter you’d seen kill half a dozen men in just as many seconds.

Stupid.

You waited for Mando to say something, staring at the Razor Crest without even seeing it, and even if you didn’t really believe he’d hurt you for a simple off-handed comment, your body didn’t get the message. Muscle memory was a hard thing to forget, and every fiber in you braced for the blow.

The birds chittered in the towering blue-green canopy above your head as sweat poured from every single one of your pores, and you were just about to come out of your skin when the Mandalorian finally spoke.

“Well, to catch the quarry, I need my ship to fly,” he said, and when you chanced a glance over your shoulder, you discovered he’d somehow moved further away from you, like he took several steps back.

Was he… giving you space?

His tone was still flat, but after several months spent in close proximity with the bounty hunter, you were now able to parse out several different minor inflections in his modulated voice. You were by no means an expert, but you knew for a fact he didn’t sound angry in this moment. When he was angry, his voice took on a softer, menacing quality. The few times you’d heard it—thankfully never directed at you—every hair on your body stood on end, and the lizard part of your brain had screamed to run and not stop running until you were in a completely different star system.

This wasn’t anger. This was… something else. You almost wanted to say… amusement, but that would have been crazy.

Still, the tension bled out of your shoulders like sand through a sieve, and you dropped your arms as you turned to face the Mandalorian fully again.

“Alright, this is the best I can do,” you said. “I can get her flying again, I think I can even get her shielded enough to withstand leaving the atmosphere when we’re done here, but it’s gonna take some time.”

“How much time?” he asked.

You glanced over your shoulder again at the damage, did some calculations in your head, and added some padding to give yourself a margin for error. Then you turned back to the bounty hunter.

“At least two days,” you replied, confident in your abilities. “Anything less, and we risk blowing ourselves to the Inner Core and back when I go to start her up.”

“Hmm.” Mando stared at you for a moment and then shifted to gaze into the jungle. “The bounty will most likely be off planet by then.”

“I don’t think so,” you contradicted him, and your heart actually skipped a beat when the T of his visor turned to look at you. There was something nerve-wracking about staring into the dark, reflective glass, but then you noticed your red-streaked appearance, and you cringed self-consciously as you looked away.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because,” you started, stooping down to pick up the tablet beside your tool bag, “when I first came out here and saw the damage, I was afraid we’d end up in this situation. But then I remembered that the quarry’s ship took more damage than we did in our little space battle. I know for a fact we landed at least one solid hit, I saw it myself.”

“And?”

“Well,” you said as you tapped at the screen, “given the make and model of his vessel, and the location of where we struck the ship, I was able to deduce that we most likely damaged his engines. If his engines are damaged, then there is a maximum distance he could have gone before he would have been forced to land, or even crash landed. With all this information, plus the fact that I knew the general location of where we lost visual of him when we entered the atmosphere, I’ve estimated the quarry can’t be farther than five klicks from our current coordinates. And with his entry trajectory, he’s most likely in this triangulated area three and a half klicks to the west, which should be easily reachable on foot.”

You turned the map on the tablet to face the Mandalorian, and he stepped forward to take the device from you. His gloved fingers brushed across your singed ones, remnant electricity shooting through your veins, and you stifled a flinch as you dropped your arm.

Mando studied the map for a long moment, cocking his head and zooming in to get a better look. You shifted uneasily in the silence, scuffing the tip of your boot into the red soil, but then the bounty hunter finally looked back up at you.

“When did you have time to do this?” he asked, and he actually sounded… impressed. “You were out here for less than ten minutes after we landed.”

“It wasn’t that hard.” You shrugged as your cheeks flushed with heat, but you blamed the sweltering sun overhead and the soup-like air.

“I didn’t realize you were so good with numbers,” he said, his helmet staring directly at you.

“Numbers are easy,” you replied, shrugging again as you raised your hand to chew nervously on your nails, but you stopped yourself when you saw the crimson dirt still caked on your skin. “They don’t lie, once you understand the rules.”

“Did Peli teach you how to do this?” he inquired, and you were surprised by all these questions. Most of the time, the bounty hunter asked you one-or-two-word questions and expected one-or-two-word answers. You couldn’t figure out why this situation was any different, but you found yourself responding anyway.

“Partially,” you explained, and you wondered how you could phrase your answer to be vague but satisfactory. “She… taught me a lot of the specifics for bigger jobs like ships and larger machines, but I’ve always been good at numbers and tinkering.”

That seemed good enough. You didn’t think it was relevant that you first started tinkering because your former owner used to lock you in his shop’s basement with broken droids when you misbehaved, and putting the discarded machines back together kept you from going crazy when your punishments lasted days. You also didn’t think it relevant that when your former owner found out and realized he could profit off your skills, you fine-tuned your abilities to become indispensable. The bastard still hit you occasionally, and his other slaves weren’t treated any better, but you had to admit, him locking you in the basement all those years had saved your life. If you hadn’t cultivated the skills you had, Peli wouldn’t have bought you at auction when the bastard bit the sand, and she wouldn’t have dug out your transmitter chip and effectively freed you the moment you walked into Hanger 3-5. The tiny woman had said she needed an apprentice, not a slave, and so that was what you became. Now, you were a mechanic in your own right, and a damn good one if you did say so yourself. Mando just didn’t need to know how you’d gotten there.

The bounty hunter seemed to think the same thing, too, because he nodded once before he looked back at the tablet.

“This is good work,” he said, and something in your chest preened at his words before you squashed it down. “If these calculations are correct—”

“They are,” you interjected before you could stop yourself.

“Then I think I can set out on foot, find the quarry, and bring him back tomorrow just as you’re finishing the repairs,” Mando went on, and he glanced up at you again. “Does that time frame sound right to you?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “Should work for me, but it could take you a little longer. I’m unfamiliar with this terrain, and there are too many other variables, like jungle beasts or indigenous species, for me to be sure.”

“The terrain won’t be a problem,” the Mandalorian said as he handed you the tablet back. “And neither will any beasts or natives.”

You cocked an eyebrow at the bounty hunter but didn’t contradict his confidence. “Alright. Then, yes, I should have the ship up and running by the time you get back. Are you leaving now?”

“Once I grab some supplies,” Mando replied before he paused and seemed to consider you. “Will you be… okay until I return?”

It was a familiar question, albeit still surprising. The Mandalorian was a stoic, usually silent warrior, literally a wall of beskar steel. You’d seen him kill men as easy as breathing, and he threw each bounty into carbonite without an ounce of remorse.

And yet, every time he had to leave the ship alone, he asked you if you would be alright until he got back. The question and concern would have made no sense… if you hadn’t seen the bounty hunter interact with his foundling. He tried to hide it, but he treated the little green baby so gently you knew there had to be a warm, beating heart beneath all that beskar. You just never expected any tenderness to be aimed at you, so it drew you up short every time.

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I’ll be fine. Besides—”

You trailed off as you felt something touch your lower leg, and when you looked down, big brown eyes set in a little green face blinked back up at you. Then little green hands lifted in your direction, and you laughed as you swooped down, picked him up, and set him on your hip.

“Besides,” you continued, still chuckling as you booped the child on the nose and left a smudge of red dirt behind, “I’ll have this little guy to keep me company. Right, kid?”

The baby cooed and reached out, his three tiny fingers settling on the bridge of your nose as he tried to boop you back. When he withdrew his hand, though, his skin was dyed black.

“Huh?” You frowned at the slick ooze on his fingers, your eyes crossing as you tried to bring his hand into focus. “What’s on your hand there, bud?”

“It’s grease,” Mando supplied.

“What?” you asked as you turned your head to the bounty hunter.

“Grease,” he repeated, and he touched the intersection on the glass T of his visor, right over where the bridge of his nose would sit. “You’ve got some just there.”

“Oh.” You blushed, your hand flying up to cover your face. Not only were you covered in dirt and sweat, but grease now, too. Typical. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you knew,” the Mandalorian said, but there was that faint undercurrent in his voice that you were sure was amusement now. “Don’t you have any rags?”

“I did,” you muttered as you tried to rub at your face with your shoulder, “but I had to throw most of them out after that oil leak we had on the moon we left about a week ago. It’s fine. I’m already a mess anyhow, and I’m just going to get dirtier as I fix up the ship.”

Mando seemed to stare at you intensely for a moment, and you had the feeling he was taking in just how filthy your clothes were. You could read nothing from his body language, though, and since he wasn’t speaking, there was nothing to infer from his voice, either. Embarrassed heat crawled up your neck, and you suddenly felt naked in your tank top and leggings. You shifted the child in your arms a little to bring him more in front of you and block more of you from view, but the effort was useless because Mando was abruptly spinning on heel and marching toward the ship’s ramp.

“I’m going to gather supplies,” he said gruffly over his shoulder. “Don’t let the kid touch any of the wires.”

And then he was gone, his cape flapping behind him as he disappeared into the bowels of the Razor Crest.

“Okay, bye,” you muttered, and you frowned after him before looking down at the kid and lowering your voice. “Your dad’s a little weird, you know that?”

The child blinked up at you and then seemed to nod his head in solemn agreement.

You laughed and kissed the top of his head even though you knew you were toeing a dangerous line here. You knew you were just the ship mechanic, the hired help, but you and the foundling had spent a lot of time together when the Mandalorian was out hunting bounties, and you couldn’t help loving the adorable baby like he was your own. He was mischievous and always looking to put things in his mouth that he shouldn’t, but something about his presence was calming, soothing. Plus, those big brown eyes were to die for. You weren’t even that surprised the kid had managed to wiggle his way under Mando’s beskar. It had only been a few months, but you knew without a shadow of a doubt that if it came down to it, you would give your life to save this child.

Which was wildly inappropriate, but you chose to ignore that fact.

“It’s just gonna be the two of us again for a bit, little man,” you told the foundling, turning back to face the Razor Crest. “But we’re gonna have some fun, yeah? Do you want to help me fix up the ship?”

The child gurgled into your ear and patted your cheek, which you took as an affirmative.

“Alright,” you laughed as you set him on a large root right next to your tool bag. You dug around until you found a tool you would need eventually, and then you handed it to the kid. “Here, hold this until I need it, okay? But don’t put it in your mouth.”

The foundling seemed to pout at that last bit, but he dutifully wrapped his three little fingers around the tool and held it firmly.

“Thank you.” You smiled. Then you turned back to the ship, put your hands on your hips, and furrowed your brow. “Now, where to start?”

You spent the next ten minutes assessing what was completely ruined, what was salvageable, and what you had on hand that wasn’t necessary and could possibly be retrofitted to fix the damage. The skeletal beginnings of a plan were already forming in your mind by the time the Mandalorian was clomping down the ramp again. You set down the tablet you’d been tapping away at and picked up the child once more, and the foundling babbled as he waved around the tool he was still holding.

“Be careful with that,” you chuckled, and you craned your head back to avoid getting smacked in the temple. “I’ll need it soon, so keep holding onto it.”

The child cooed and then shifted to wave the tool at the bounty hunter as he approached.

“Putting the kid to work now?” Mando asked as he stopped a few feet away. The crescent-shaped hilt of his favored Amban rifle jutted out over his left shoulder, and a small bag was slung over his right, probably filled with spare ammo, cuffs for the bounty, and possibly some food. You’d never personally seen the Mandalorian eat, though, and a part of you was convinced he didn’t, even if you rationally knew that wasn’t possible.

“Nah, I’m just teaching him a thing or two,” you said as you settled the foundling more soundly on your hip. “You’re never too young to learn something new, and on the plus side, being my little helper keeps him out of trouble. For the most part, anyway.”

“Thank you for watching him,” the bounty hunter said, tilting his visor down minutely to stare at the child, who grinned a gummy grin and waved the silver tool again. “I know it isn’t exactly what I hired you for—”

“I don’t mind,” you cut him off, and you glanced down to smile at the kid. “He’s pretty good company, and some of Peli’s droids have given me more trouble than he does. It’s really no problem.”

“Well, regardless,” Mando replied as his visor returned to studying you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You nodded, flushing again under his scrutiny. Then you cleared your throat and gestured at the bag on his back. “All ready?”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter said. “Days are longer here, but the sun will set eventually, and I want to try and find the quarry before moonrise. If all goes well, I should be back tomorrow before sunset.”

“Good luck, then,” you told him, and you lifted your chin with confidence. “I should have the ship ready when you return.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his helmet.

The baby suddenly burst out babbling something, and you glanced down to see him reaching out with his free hand toward the Mandalorian. His three little fingers made grabby motions, and the bounty hunter sighed.

“Listen to her while I’m gone, okay?” Mando murmured as he stepped closer into your personal bubble and held out his finger for the foundling to latch on to.

The child cooed, swinging the Mandalorian’s finger from side to side, and the breath stilled in your lungs as the bounty hunter’s glove brushed the edge of your mouth. You smelled something like leather and smoke, probably blaster residue, but then Mando was stepping back again, and the baby was forced to drop his finger.

“Keep alert,” he addressed you as he adjusted the pack on his shoulder. “We’re pretty far from any civilization out here, so I don’t think you should encounter anyone, but don’t assume you’re safe. And get inside the ship once the sun sets. The jungle will be more dangerous at night. I’ll have my comlink on me, but it’s affected by proximity, so you most likely won’t be able to contact me until I’m on my way back.”

“Don’t worry, Mando,” you said, and you patted the blaster he’d given you that was almost permanently attached to your hip. “I can defend myself if need be, and I have no desire to be caught outside after dark. We’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he replied, but you weren’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. Either way, he seemed to compose himself because he nodded once. “I’ll be back soon.”

“We’ll keep a weather eye on the horizon.” You smiled. “Try not to die of heat stroke.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said dryly, but after one more moment of staring at you and the foundling, he turned on heel and marched off into the jungle without another word. The multi-colored trees swallowed him almost instantly, and suddenly you were alone.

The child cooed sadly as he stared after the Mandalorian, and he turned his big brown eyes on you as if to say, Where’d he go?

“Don’t worry, bud,” you said, turning back to the ship. “He’ll be fine and back before you know it. Now, let’s take a look at those power converters, shall we?”

You set the foundling down beside your tool bag again, but you couldn’t help glancing over your shoulder in the direction the bounty hunter had disappeared in.

He’ll be fine and back before you know it, you repeated silently to yourself.

~~~~~

Two days later, you were starting to doubt the validity of your statements.

The sun had set and risen twice, and there was still no sign of Mando. Now, the celestial orb was steadily making its way across the horizon for the third time, and you sat on the ramp of the ship and glared up at the chattering canopy.

The child was down for a nap in the hammock the Mandalorian had set up in his own bunk, and your eyes burned with a similar exhaustion, but the anxiety slowly mounting in you made it impossible to sleep. The past two days had passed uneventfully. You’d spent every hour of sunlight you had at your disposal patching together the ship, and since days were longer on this planetoid, you estimated you’d spent over seventy-two hours getting the Razor Crest in working order again.

And you’d done it. It wasn’t perfect, but the ship could fly, and you were ninety-eight percent certain it would withstand leaving the atmosphere.

Now, all that was missing was the Mandalorian and his bounty.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you grumbled under your breath as you dragged your singed, cut-up, and bandaged fingers through your hair. “Where the Maker are you?”

The chittering birds and critters in the underbrush didn’t have an answer for you, and you huffed out an aggravated breath as another bead of sweat dripped into your eyes.

By your estimate, there were about six hours left before the sun set again. Part of you, the illogical, irrational part, wanted to charge into the jungle in search of the Mandalorian. You had a general direction and location he should be in. Maybe you could find him.

But the rational side of your brain thankfully pointed out all the problems with that plan. For one, leaving the ship unattended was dangerous. You hadn’t seen anyone in the past two days, but that didn’t mean you were alone in the jungle, and now that the ship could fly again, someone could potentially walk right in and steal the vessel if you weren’t here to stop them.

Then there was the issue of the foundling. Sometimes, Mando took you and the kid along with him when he was hunting a bounty in a more populated area, but he was always there to protect the two of you if something went wrong. What happened if you brought the child with you into the jungle and you couldn’t protect him? And you couldn’t exactly leave him behind. Someone could steal both the child and the Razor Crest in that scenario.

The most compelling reason to stay with the ship, though, was Mando himself. Before he left, he’d confidently declared that neither the jungle itself nor the beasts or peoples therein would pose any problem for him. If he was wrong, and these things had posed a problem for the bounty hunter, what luck did you have of doing something he could not?

Anddddd that’s where the irrational side of you chimed in again with, Well, if he did run into an issue, he could need your help, so you should go look for him.

It was a vicious cycle, and your head was pounding with how fast it was running in circles.

You groaned as you dropped your face into your hands, digging the heels of your palms into your eye sockets.

“Fine,” you sighed into the darkness. “I’ll give him until morning.”

If the Mandalorian hadn’t returned by then, you’d start up the ship and fly over the area you’d triangulated for him. If you couldn’t find him from the air… well, you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

~~~~~

You huffed in irritation as you tossed and turned in Mando’s bunk that night. You turned one way, rolled another, but then you found yourself with your nose buried in his pillow, and you instantly flipped back over, face hot with embarrassment even though it was dark and you were practically alone. You weren’t sure if he slept with his helmet on when he was alone in the closed confines of the bunk, but either way, the small space smelled of him intensely. You tried not to put words to his scent, told yourself it was inappropriate and he was your boss, a Mandalorian to boot, and you had no room or right to think of him in any way other than strictly professional… but that apparently didn’t work because you knew he smelled like the cheap soap from the fresher, and the rest was a blend of smoke, leather, and metal, the degrees of which varied by the day and yet was still always uniquely him.

You knew you were playing a losing game even just having these thoughts, but you somehow couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t stop yourself. Ever since Mando stepped between you and Ran’s crew all those months ago, blocking you with his body, a startling, protective rage in every inch of his armored silhouette, this little voice had come to life in the back of your head and wouldn’t shut the kriff up.

What if? the little voice whispered. What if it’s not just you having these thoughts? What if you could have him in more than just your dreams and fantasies in the darkness of this bunk?

Usually, you shoved the voice into the deep, dark recesses of your thoughts and recited equations until it grew quiet. You knew that was nothing but wishful thinking at best and delusion at worst. The Mandalorian was just that: a warrior closed off from the world by a shell of silver beskar. He cared for the foundling, yes, but that was entirely different and bore no correlation to the bounty hunter’s relationship with you. There was little he could possibly want from a former slave turned mechanic, aside from your skills, of course, so you clenched your eyes closed and tried to take shallow breaths through your mouth, but nothing you did could get his scent out of your nose, your memory.

You sighed for the umpteenth time and rolled to face the wall of the bunk.

When the bounty hunter was on the ship, the two of you usually slept in shifts so you could share the bunk, though sometimes the Mandalorian slept upright in the cockpit. It had been his idea originally. You’d been fine with a thin sleeping mat on the floor of the cargo bay, but he’d insisted in his strange, stoic, nonchalant way. So, you shared, and when it was just you and the kid on the ship, the two of you had the run of the place.

The child was currently in the hammock above your head, but you were pretty sure he wasn’t asleep, either. Every so often, he’d gurgle or make some other noise, and more than once you peeked up to find big brown eyes staring down at you in the dimness. You wondered if he could sense your anxiety, and you shifted so you could glare past your feet, out of the bunk, and at the closed ramp door.

You wanted to be angry with Mando, but by the time the sun set a few hours ago, you’d moved past that anger and straight into worry. The bounty hunter had never been gone this long before without contact, and your gut told you something was wrong and wouldn’t let you sleep. You wished you could blame your insomnia completely on your concern, but sadly, that wasn’t the case.

As if on cue, a sudden, piercing shriek echoed through the ship, and all the muscles in your body locked up on reflex.

The child gasped and made a worried noise as he poked his head over the edge of his hammock and stared down at you, and you tried to plaster on a fake, reassuring smile.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, reaching up to gently rock the foundling. “The ship’s closed and locked up. They can’t get us in here.”

The baby made an unconvinced sound, but he settled back into his bed without any further argument.

You sighed as you continued to rock the child, and you did your best not to flinch when another high-pitched screech sounded outside the ship.

You weren’t entirely sure what “they” were, but you knew they were nocturnal and carnivorous. And hungry. The past two mornings, you’d found bloody animal remains torn to bits and strewn along the edges of the clearing the Razor Crest was parked in like gory, crimson confetti. You’d kept the child practically glued to your side during the days because of this, but nothing ever attacked you during the day. They just circled the ship incessantly at night, howling and screeching and keeping you from finding a moment’s peace or rest. They hadn’t outright attacked the ship yet, but you were ready for it, your borrowed blaster a cold and heavy weight tucked under your pillow.

Reaching for it now, you curled your fingers around the familiar hilt and tried to block out the crescendoing, bloodthirsty shrieks of the mysterious jungle beasts.

You didn’t know how or when, but you must have dozed off at some point because all of the sudden, you jolted awake with a panicked gasp.

The bunk was dark and close around you, but since you’d left the door open at your feet, it wasn’t claustrophobic. Your vision was still blurry with sleep, so you swiped at your eyes with the back of your left wrist as you scrambled into a seated position. In your right hand you grasped the blaster, and you pointed it blindly in front of you, toward the rear of the ship.

You couldn’t remember what had woken you up, but it had been something. Your heart pounded a frantic tattoo into the underside of your ribcage, your arm shaking minutely with adrenaline. The ramp was still closed in front of you, so it hadn’t been Mando opening the door and returning. You squinted in the darkness but couldn’t see anything beyond shadows and vague shapes in pale, muted moonlight. It must have still been night, then.

You strained your ears, listening for the howling, but it was quiet. Suspiciously quiet. The jungle beasts usually didn’t go silent until right before dawn, but it was dark enough in the ship that you estimated it was still the middle of the night.

Where had they gone?

Your heart rose up into your throat, sweat beading at every one of your pores, and your mouth was so dry that your throat clicked when you swallowed.

The child made a noise of inquiry above you, barely louder than a breath, but it still made you jump all the same. Your gaze darted upward to find brown eyes staring down at you, but they were wide in an alarmed sort of way. One three-fingered hand poked over the edge of the hammock, making grabby motions at you, and the noise he made this time was more urgent, louder.

Had he heard something, too?

“What is it, little guy?” you whispered, reaching up with your free hand and awkwardly grappling him from his sling-bed.

He tumbled gently into your lap with a soft “oof,” but almost immediately he was standing up, turning around, and frantically patting at your cheek.

“What?” you asked with a frown.

He babbled and continued to tap the side of your face, and his noises grew increasingly distressed until he was grunting with frustration.

Then his tiny palm actually slapped down right across your ear canal so hard that both of your ears rang, and you hissed as you jerked your head back.

“Kriff, what was that fo—” you started to ask, but another hiss cut you off, and this one wasn’t from you.

Your heart stuttered, eyes skipping over the child’s head and out into the cargo bay, and your right hand tightened around the blaster you’d lowered to your side.

But there was nothing there. Nothing moved in the shadowy ship beyond you, and you frowned, thinking your mind was playing tricks on your startled and sleep-addled mind, but then the hiss came again.

And this time, you recognized it.

“Oh, pfassk!” you cursed as you craned around and shoved your hand under the pillow. Your fingers scrambled wildly across the sheet but encountered nothing, and you growled in aggravation, shifting the child off your lap and coming onto your hands and knees. You tossed the pillow over your shoulder in a fit of frustration, and your right hand slapped at the wall around your head until the bunk light came on.

You squinted in the flood of harsh light, the child gurgling behind you, but when your vision cleared, you spotted the thumb-sized comlink off the edge of the cot, shoved up into the far corner of the bunk. You lunged forward and wrapped your fingers around the small device, and the words were falling out of your mouth before you were even sure you had hit the button.

“Mando?” you called into the comlink, cringing when your loud voice echoed back to you in the close confines of the bunk. “Mando, can you hear me?”

Mild static crackled back for a moment as you huddled around the tiny communicator, but then a louder burst of static—the hiss from earlier—exploded to life.

And you were sure you heard Mando’s voice in there.

“Mando!” you shouted as you heart did its best imitation of a speeder, and you cupped both hands around the comlink like that would help him hear you better. “Mando, it’s me! I’m here. Can you hear me?”

Another burst of static. Then…

Mando yelled your name, clear as day, followed by a scream of what sounded like “help” and a chorus of familiar howling, and your stomach bottomed out inside of you.

“Mando!” You were gripping the communicator so hard you were afraid you were going to break it. “Mando, where are you? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond. You sat there frozen for a full minute, ears straining to the point of ringing, but only quiet static crackled back at you.

“Dank farrik!” you cursed, punching the side of your fist into the bunk wall.

The child cooed at you, brown eyes big with concern, and he put his tiny hand on your knee as you raked a shaking hand through your hair.

Your chest heaved up and down as you fought for breath, your mind spinning off into a million directions at once.

Mando was in trouble. Mando needed your help. He was fighting jungle beasts, and he was far enough away that you couldn’t hear the shrieking with your own ears, but close enough that he could partially reach you over the comlink. You had to do something. You had to go help him.

But what about the child? What about the ship? You couldn’t take the Razor Crest. It was pitch black outside, and you wouldn’t be able to see Mando below the thick, dark canopy. You had to go on foot.

And you had to take the kid with you.

“Come on,” you said as you tucked the communicator into your pocket, grabbed the foundling and blaster, and scooted to the edge of the bunk. Your boots were on the ground below you, and you shoved your feet in them blindly, tying the laces in three deft movements.

Then you were on your feet, turning on the cargo lights, and jogging the child over to his floating silver carrier. You grabbed the spare remote on top of it, pressing the button and watching the top slide open with a hiss. Then you set the foundling down inside of it, and in the same motion you were tucking the remote into your pocket, turning on heel, and striding for the armory.

Another button press, followed by the hiss of hydraulics, and you were left staring at several walls of guns and weaponry. Some of them you knew. Mando had even taught you how to shoot a few, but those were typically smaller blasters.

And based on those howling screeches, you needed something with more of a kick.

Your eyes skipped over the blaster pistols since you already had the one on your hip, and after a moment’s indecision, your gaze settled on a midsized rifle you’d shot once before. You hadn’t been very good at it, only hit four of the ten targets Mando set out, and you remember it being very heavy.

But it was better than nothing, and you needed something to fight back against the dark jungle.

So, you took the rifle down and looped it around your shoulder, pursing your lips as the strap dug into your skin. You spent a moment checking the power cell and gas canister, and even though both were full, you still stuck a few spares into a belt that you wrapped around your hips. You also added a few grenades to your arsenal, both explosive and ones set to stun, plus a pair of Mando’s vibroknives, as a last defense measure. If you were being honest, if the rifle and grenades failed you, you probably wouldn’t live long enough to use the knives, but it made you feel better to clip their sheaths unto your belt.

The rifle and belt weighed you down with an extra five to six kilos, but you had lugged far heavier burdens through Tatooine’s desert, so you knew you could handle it.

The last two things you grabbed were the head lamp you typically wore when working under or inside ships and the cuff you’d programmed to work the twin lights—along with a variety of other tasks aboard the Razor Crest—resting at each of your temples. The cuff was a haphazard creation of yours made of old leather, metal, and glass, but it worked and was comfortable, which was all that mattered. It also had a small magnetic slot that was specifically meant for the remote of the foundling’s floating carrier, so you fished that out of your pocket and felt it snap into place with a satisfying click.

You were armed and ready now. All you had to do was move.

“Mando,” you said as you stuck the comlink in your ear and synced it to your cuff, which had a built-in frequency booster. You were already moving toward the ramp, tapping at your wrist and listening to the foundling’s carrier humming after you. The rifle felt heavy as you maneuvered it into your slick palms, and your heart hammered a war song in your ears. “Mando, I’m coming for you. Just hold on, okay?”

Static crackled in your ear, and your chest began to heave up and down as adrenaline flooded through you.

“Okay, little man, you’re going to take a nap, alright?” you said as you looked down at the child in his pod, your voice shaking even though you tried to stop it. “And when you wake up, your dad will be back with us.”

He cooed up at you with a fearful expression on his face, but you only spared a moment to press a kiss to his head before you were tapping at your wrist again. The lid of the pod started to hiss close as the ramp of the ship began to clank open, and you slid your finger onto the rifle’s trigger as the door slowly lowered before you.

The ramp finally thudded to the jungle floor, and you took a moment to stare out into the foreboding darkness. The moon was pale and wan in the purple-tinted sky, and all you could see were shadows along the edges of the clearing. Your eyes darted back and forth, every muscle in your body locked and braced for an attack, but nothing happened. Nothing moved save the indigo clouds over head, and the only sound you heard was the muted chirps and hums of insects.

“Okay, come on, quit stalling,” you muttered to yourself even though your heart felt like it was about to roll off your tongue. “Mando doesn’t have time for this.”

At the sound of his name—or at least, the only name you had ever known the bounty hunter by—some of the fear inside you vanished, and you were suddenly jogging down the ramp without further thought. The child’s carrier trailed after you quietly, and you jabbed at your wrist to close and lock up the Razor Crest.

You spared half a glance over your shoulder to make sure the ramp was secured, and then you looked down at your cuff. Mando’s comlink had a built in GPS transmitter, but its range was limited. However, if he was close enough to briefly contact you…

A dot flickered in and out on the grungy screen on your wrist, and you spun in a circle to figure out which direction had the strongest connection. The dot flared brightly when you angled toward the west, and you started running before you even had a plan.

You crashed through the underbrush with the child’s pod hot on your heels, and the thick, humid air sawed in and out of your heaving lungs as you gasped for breath. The lights at your temples provided enough illumination to see several steps ahead of you but not much else, and you tripped and careened over root and vine as you tried not to lose your grip on the rifle.

The good news was the dot on your read-out was no longer flickering, and it was now a strong red point about a kilometer ahead of you.

The bad news?

The jungle was no longer quiet around you.

As your feet pounded into the red soil and carried you forward, static crackled loudly in your ear, and the howling returned, faint at first but growing closer. Shivers wracked your sweat-slicked spine, and every fiber of your being was screaming to run the other way.

But you couldn’t. Because now you could hear Mando grunting and shouting over the comlink, clearer and clearer with each step, and as you vaulted over a protruding root in your path, you distinctly heard a roar of rage directly ahead of you.

You would have shouted his name if there was any breath left in your lungs, but instead you just lowered your head and sprinted as fast as you could.

The howling was nearly deafening now, echoing all around you, seeming to come from every shadow in the jungle. Your ears rang with the soul-piercing shrieks, and the cacophony was so disorienting, you tripped over your own feet and crashed into the dirt.

“Kriff!” you gasped, your knees and palms stinging as you skidded to a halt. Dots danced in front of your eyes as you panted harshly, and the rifle knocked painfully against your sternum.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the child’s pod come to a stop several feet away, the silver orb glinting in the pale moonlight barely filtering through the canopy.

Then you saw something else shift in the shadows behind the floating carrier.

At first, you thought it was your swimming vision, but then the weak lights of your headlamp reflected off several glinting eyes, and the breath stalled in your lungs.

A guttural, wet growl echoed out of the bushes beyond the foundling’s pod, and in the next instant the beast was lunging forward, vaulting over the carrier in one bound.

You yelped as you scrambled backward, fumbling for the rifle’s trigger, and you got the barrel up just in time to block a bifurcated jaw of gnashing fangs. The beast let out a piercing shriek as it snapped at your face, and the familiar sound nearly popped your eardrum at this proximity, but the pain barely even registered as you wedged your legs up under the creature’s chest and heaved it off you.

The beast let out a high-pitched yip as it smacked into a tree trunk, but you didn’t give it the chance to regain its feet. In one swift movement, you brought the rifle up, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.

The blaster must have been set on full-auto because a continuous stream of energy screamed out of the weapon, and the barrel jerked upward with the recoil. Bolts of energy shredded through the vines and branches overhead, and some kind of bat-bird creature screeched as it dove out of the canopy and swooped over you. It thankfully wasn’t trying to attack, merely flee, and the avian-beast cawed angrily as it disappeared into the jungle.

“P-Pfassk,” you panted, your voice as jittery as your racing pulse. Still, you scrambled to your feet, with the smoking rifle held tight in your shaking grasp, and you stared wide-eyed at the corpse of the beast that had attacked you.

The thing was almost two meters long, and six disjointed looking limbs jutted out from underneath it. Your would-be-killer looked vaguely canine yet also insect-like, with its long snout and what looked like scaled plates along its spine. The combination made your stomach churn. The blaster had carved smoldering holes into most of the creature’s flesh, but the uncharred remains were blackish-purple, mottled with spots of blue and green that matched the jungle’s underbrush. The beast was entirely hairless and slick-looking like an oil spill, and its bifurcated maw hung open to reveal rows of rotted black fangs. Two pairs of pale white eyes stared blindly up at the dark sky, and purplish blood seeped out around the carcass to stain the jungle floor.

Bile rose in your throat, but before you could even process your fear, terror, and revulsion, a very human sounding scream echoed through the dark night, and you whipped your head in the direction it had come from.

“Mando,” you breathed, and you spared the dead beast one last glance before you took off running again, every sense on high alert.

You didn’t dare blink as you crashed through the underbrush, and you pushed your aching limbs as fast as they would go. The din of snarling and howling was so loud now it was rattling your teeth, and all of the sudden you were stumbling out of the thick tree line and into a small clearing.

A clearing riddled with bodies, both living and dead.

Your brain stuttered as it tried to assess the scene before you. The canopy overhead was broken in a perfect circle, so the moonlight here was strong and bright after the deep shadows of the jungle, and it illuminated everything perfectly. The Mandalorian stood in the center of the carnage, half collapsed against a rotten log twice as tall as he was. Carcasses of the canine-like beasts were piled up in mounds around the clearing, some shot but some charred into blackened skeletons, and the stench of burnt flesh invaded your nose and sat heavy on the back of your tongue.

For every dead beast, though, there were two more still snarling, and boy, were they pissed.

The pack of creatures prowled in a semi-circle before the bounty hunter, all their attention centered on him, and they growled and snapped their bifurcated jaws in his direction. They didn’t seem to want to attack him head on, and a moment later you saw why.

One of the beasts must have reached its breaking point, because with the same piercing shriek that had kept you up the past two nights, it lunged for the Mandalorian, the moonlight glinting off the armored plates along its spine.

The poor bastard never made it.

While the creature was still in mid-air, Mando jerked his wrist up, and a blast of flames roared out of his vambrace. The beast screeched as it was swallowed by the inferno, and its charred corpse crashed to the ground at Mando’s feet a moment later. The remainder of the pack snarled in fury as they paced in front of the bounty hunter, but you felt your throat tighten with fear.

The flamethrower was obviously a great weapon at repelling these creatures, but judging by the radius on that last spurt of fire, you estimated Mando had enough fuel for one, maybe two more attacks.

And there were dozens of the beasts left.

What were you going to do?

You heaved for breath as your eyes darted around the clearing, trying to look for a solution, but you knew the answer was obvious: you were going to have to fight.

You blindly tapped at your wrist, and a moment later the child’s carrier rose up above your head and nestled against the lowest branch of the tree you were standing under. You didn’t know if the beasts could climb, but the pod was made of a strong, reinforced metal, so as long as the creatures didn’t notice the kid, he should be fine.

The same couldn’t be said for you.

Maker, you were going to regret this, weren’t you?

You didn’t give yourself the chance to change your mind.

“Hey!” you shouted as you stepped further into the clearing, one of your hands dropping to the belt on your waist.

The chorus of snarls and growls tapered off for a moment as the pack whipped around in unison to face you, and the saliva evaporated in your mouth as you stared at the dozens of glowing white eyes.

At the sound of your voice, you could see Mando jerk upright in your peripherals, but you didn’t dare tear your eyes off the pack as they started to stalk toward you. Sweat dripped down your face and trickled along your spine as you palmed a cold, heavy orb in your right hand, and you watched the distance between you and the creatures shrink bit by bit.

Mando shouted your name, but you ignored him.

“Yeah, that’s right!” you yelled at the beasts instead. “You guys hungry? Why don’t you come and get me?”

“What are you doing?” Mando roared, but you still didn’t pay him any mind as you tracked the pack. There were maybe three dozen left alive, and they bared their black fangs at you as they drew closer and closer.

Twenty meters… fifteen… ten…

Now.

“Take this!” You heaved your arm back, aimed at the beast in the center of the pack’s line, and threw with all your might, and the creature yelped as the stun grenade struck him in the skull.

A moment later, a web of electricity exploded out of the orb and arced through half of the pack, and the poor bastards screeched and screamed as they fell spasming to the jungle floor. The beasts on the edges snarled as they jumped away from their sparking brethren, and you saw some of the canine-monsters retreat into the shadows of the clearing.

This was your chance.

You darted forward the moment you had a clear path to take, and you vaulted over the pack’s twitching bodies in three swift strides. When you landed on the other side of them, you spun around and faced the fallen creatures as they whined and spasmed on the ground. Then you lifted your rifle, aimed haphazardly, and pulled the trigger. You swept the barrel from side to side for a moment, energy bolts tearing and searing through flesh, but then you whirled back around and sprinted toward the Mandalorian’s prone form.

He was propped up against the log with his legs splayed out in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when you saw the dark stain of blood on the ground beneath his right thigh. His Amban rifle lay beside him, but since he wasn’t using it, you assumed he was out of ammo. The bounty hunter listed heavily onto what you first thought was a rock of some kind, but as you skidded to a stop in front of him, you realized the lump was the body of another humanoid, except it didn’t look to be breathing.

“Mando!” you gasped as you crouched down in front of him. “Maker, w-what happened—”

“What are you doing here?” he cut you off with a snarl, and the absolute rage in his voice drew you up short.

You gaped at his visor, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “W-What… you called—”

“I didn’t call you, he did, right before they tore out his throat,” Mando growled and shoved the prone form beside him.

The body flopped over with a thud, and you stifled a gag when you realized the poor bastard had been eviscerated. He was torn open from gut to gullet, intestines and innards gleaming wetly in the dark, and his bulging black eyes stared up unseeingly at the moon.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you breathed in horror. “What happened?”

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet up to look at you, but then his gaze seemed to shift over your shoulder, and he was suddenly latching onto your wrist with an iron grip and tugging you forward.

“Watch out!” he shouted as you tripped over his legs and landed on the other side of him, and a moment later you heard and felt the roar of flames at your back as another beast met a smoldering end.

You scrambled up onto your knees and whirled around, rifle held at the ready, but there were only the two new dead creatures sprawled at Mando’s feet. Their corpses smoked as their blackened flesh crackled, and this time you weren’t successful in stifling your gag. You dry-heaved off to the side, tears blurring your vision, but when the chorus of bone-chilling howls started up again, you blinked away the tears and clenched your rifle in a white-knuckled grip.

“We gotta get out of here,” you panted, your eyes darting from place to place as you tried to track the beasts slithering through the shadows.

“Can’t,” Mando grunted, and all of the sudden, you realized his voice sounded off, slurred.

You whipped back around to face the bounty hunter, and your gaze immediately fell to the dark stain under his leg. It had grown since you’d first seen it, and then you realized a haphazard tourniquet was lashed around the top of his leg, right above the metal plate that covered the front of his thigh.

“You’re hurt,” you breathed. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Mando’s head jerked up and down in an unsteady nod. “Just… happened. One of them got me… when I was trying to save the bounty. Pretty sure they nicked my femoral.”

His words were softer and definitely slurred now, and panic rose up in your throat like a burning coal.

“Then we need to get back to the Razor Crest now,” you said as you reached for his shoulders, but the Mandalorian sluggishly shoved you away.

“I’ll… only slow you down,” he grunted. “The bounty and I… are easy meals. The pack should stay to finish us off while you make a break for the sh—”

“No,” you cut him off, and the snarl in your voice surprised even you. “No, Mando. I’m not leaving you to die. We’re only a kilometer away from the Razor Crest. I have extra power cells and grenades. We can make it.”

Mando’s head thunked back against the log he leaned on as he stared up at you, and even if you couldn’t see the face underneath the visor, you could see the resignation in every inch of him.

And it ignited a fury in you unlike anything you had ever known.

“So, what?” you growled, bending down to bare your teeth in his face. “You’re just gonna sit here and die? What about the kid? You just gonna abandon him?”

You’re just going to abandon me? you didn’t say, but the words rattled against the backs of your clenched teeth.

“He’ll… have you,” Mando said, and suddenly his gloved hand reached up as if to touch your face, but he didn’t seem to have the strength, and the tip of his index finger barely grazed the edge of your jaw. His touch left behind a warm streak on your skin, and you didn’t have to look to know it was blood.

“That’s not good enough,” you snarled before you stooped down and grabbed the ends of his makeshift tourniquet, yanking tightly on both ends until Mando groaned in pain and latched onto your shoulders.

He murmured your name, his modulator crackling in your ear, but you ignored him as you looped his spent Amban rifle over his shoulder and shifted to slide your left arm behind his back, throwing his right arm over your shoulders. You took two deep breaths to brace yourself, and then you dug your fingers into his waist as you tried to leverage the both of you onto your feet.

It was nearly impossible. The Mandalorian had to weigh nearly ninety kilos in his beskar, and with the added weight of the weapons and grenades you carried, you could feel the muscles in your legs, core, and back scream at the strain.

“Dank… farrik,” you hissed out between clenched teeth, but you managed to get the two of you upright, even if Mando was practically limp against you. Still, you had to leverage your back against the log behind you to keep from collapsing.

“We’ll never make it… back to the ship like this,” Mando panted, his cold helmet brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Shut up,” you gritted out, listening to the howling beasts closing in again like they could sense your weakness. “I refuse to leave you behind. So, unless you want to kill us both, you need to get your ass in gear, Mando. I can keep them off our backs as we go, but you need to walk with me. Understand?”

“Cyare,” he slurred, and the unfamiliar word sounded pained as his helmet thunked into your temple. “I… don’t want you to die.”

“Then walk,” you grunted as you tightened your grip on his waist and lurched forward a step.

Mando staggered behind you, half draped over your back, but you widened your stance and refused to go down.

“Please… Mando,” you panted, shoving the barrel of your rifle into the loamy red soil to act as a crutch. “Help me save us. Just… just put one foot in front of the other.”

“Wait,” the Mandalorian said, and he actually lifted his head off your shoulder. “The bounty…”

“The bounty’s dead,” you grunted as your eyes darted to the trees again. You could see the sinuous shapes of the pack weaving between the towering trunks, but they kept their distance for the moment. They’d lost more than half of their numbers by your estimate, and you prayed to the Maker they would just give up, but you knew that would be way too convenient for your life.

“The puck… said dead or alive,” Mando sighed, his arm weighing down on the nape of your neck like a yoke, and it reminded you of the slave’s collar you once wore.

“I can’t carry both of you back, Mando,” you growled in frustration. “I can barely drag you.”

“Don’t need the whole body,” he clarified. “Just… the head. It’s… a big bounty.”

You groaned as you glanced down at the quarry’s corpse, and then you tilted your head back to try and look at Mando.

“Can you stand by yourself for a minute?” you asked.

“Maybe,” Mando grunted, but he shifted his weight off you bit by bit and leaned up against the tall log at your backs. His boots slid a few inches in the blood-soaked dirt as he almost collapsed, but he dug his gloved fingers into the rigid bark and stood there shaking.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes,” you parroted his words from days ago back at him in an attempt to take his mind off the pain, and it seemed to work because he actually huffed out a strained-sounding chuckle.

“Hurry,” he panted, and you nodded as you quickly stepped away from him, stood over the bounty’s corpse, and shoved the barrel of your rifle between his shoulder and neck.

It was so dark, and you were running on so much adrenaline you couldn’t even be sure of what species the man used to be, but you pushed the thought away as you took a deep breath and held down the trigger.

The rifle screeched as it tore through flesh like a hot knife through butter, and you tried to ignore the feeling of lukewarm blood splattering across your lower legs. Moments later, the jittery, rapid-fire motions of the gun ceased, and the bounty’s head rolled away from the smoldering stump of his neck.

Bile rose up in your throat again, but you swallowed it down as you picked up the decapitated head and started punching buttons on your cuff.

Instantly, you heard the familiar hum of the child’s pod drone closer and closer, and behind you Mando inhaled sharply as the jungle dogs yipped in curiosity from the shadows.

“You brought the kid?” he growled.

“Well, it wasn’t like you left me much kriffing choice, but you can fire me later for child endangerment,” you snapped as the carrier floated down to stop in front of you. Then you turned to the Mandalorian and held out your bloodied hand. “I need your fibercord whip. Eject it.”

Mando didn’t even question you, he just did as he was bid. Within moments, you had the thin but strong wire wound up in your palm, and then you started the gory process of wrapping it securely around the bounty’s bloody head. Your stomach churned at the slick warm goo covering your skin, but you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth as you tapped at your wrist again.

The child’s pod opened with a hiss, and you made sure to lower the decapitated head so it was below the carrier and out of the foundling’s line of sight.

“Hey there, bud,” you said as you leaned down and tucked the end of the fibercord into the interior of the pod near the hinges. “Look who I found.”

The foundling cooed and gurgled happily when he caught sight of the Mandalorian, and he lifted his arms and made grabby motions at the bounty hunter.

“Not yet,” you said as you stepped forward and blocked Mando from view. “First, we need to get back to the ship, so I need to close you up again. Don’t worry about anything you hear, though, okay? I promise we’ll be fine.”

The child murmured a soft sound as you bent down and kissed his wrinkled brow, but then you tapped at your wrist, and the pod closed with another hiss, locking the wire with the dangling head in place. You keyed in a few more commands, and the carrier rose up high above you, hovering at least six meters off the ground. Blood dripped from the severed stump of the quarry’s neck as it dangled from the pod, and you flinched when a speck of it landed on your cheek. It might be disgusting, but this way, the child and the remainder of the bounty would hopefully be out of reach of any of the beasts, and you could focus all your energy on getting you and Mando back to the Razor Crest.

“Alright.” You tore your gaze away from the silver pod and shifted your grasp on the rifle, wedging the stock against your right shoulder as tight as you could. You knew your aim would be abysmal since you were going have to shoot one handed while dragging Mando, but you hoped the full-auto setting would grant you some leeway. “Let’s go.”

“You really should—” the Mandalorian started, but you clicked your tongue to cut him off.

“That wasn’t a request,” you said as you sidled up against the bounty hunter and double checked that his tourniquet was secure.

“Fine.” He reluctantly draped his right arm over your shoulder, and you wrapped your left one around his waist. Then the two of you pushed off the log at your backs, and you staggered forward several steps, trying not to trip on any dead jungle dogs.

Mando’s cold beskar felt like it was burning you wherever it brushed against your bare, hot flesh, and he groaned in your ear as he practically dragged his injured leg behind him. The agony of his voice made you want to stop and sprint forward all at the same time, but you settled for stumbling several more steps.

“That’s it,” you panted in encouragement. “One step at a time.”

The pack howled and shrieked as you painstakingly shuffled your way across the clearing, but you haphazardly aimed your rifle into the jungle and held down the trigger. Rapid-fire bolts of energy careened into the darkness, illuminating white eyes and flashes of twining vines and snarling beasts, but several yowls echoed through the night, so you knew you’d hit at least some of them.

“Mando,” you gritted out as you neared the tree line. “I need you to hit my cuff. There’s a button on the side that will turn up my headlamp. I want it at maximum. Since these bastards are nocturnal, I’m guessing they don’t like the light.”

The Mandalorian grunted something that sounded like an affirmative, and then his left hand was swatting blindly at your cuff. After fumbling for a moment, his thick, gloved fingers encircled your wrist, his thumb brushing faintly over your thudding pulse point.

Your feet nearly tangled beneath you, but then Mando found the button on your cuff, and he pressed on it until the lights at your temple were bright enough to blind. The beams of white light cut through the oppressive darkness of the jungle, and the canine creatures yelped in pain as they darted back into the shadows. You swung your gaze back and forth, your lamp dragging over the scenery like a burning laser, and the beasts whimpered as their tails disappeared into the bushes.

“Come on,” you groaned as you dragged Mando forward, and the two of you finally stumbled into the thick of the trees.

You didn’t know how much time passed as you and the Mandalorian struggled back to the ship. Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes hours. The moon appeared frozen in the sky above your head, and more than once you had the thought that you were already dead, and this was some messed up version of an afterlife where you were tortured for eternity.

In the end, though, you knew you were alive.

If you weren’t, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

“Left,” Mando slurred in your ear, half draped over your back, and your feet stuttered as you swung both of you around to the left.

The rifle screeched as it fired off into the darkness, followed by the yelps of dying dogs, and you hissed as the stock dug into your already sore shoulder. The pack snarled and gurgled as they encircled you, but they were hesitant now that you’d killed a majority of them. You wondered why they just didn’t give up, but you realized they could most likely sense you weakening, slowing.

Sweat ran in rivers down your face and spine, and every tendon in your body felt like it was on the edge of snapping. You could tell Mando was trying to take some of his weight off you, but he was becoming more and more unsteady with each step, his breath jagged and uneven as it rasped out of his helmet. He probably wouldn’t remain conscious for much longer, and if he passed out before you reached the ship, you were both dead. You couldn’t fully carry him, and you would not even entertain the idea of leaving him, so it was all or nothing.

Either you both reached the ship together, or neither of you did.

But, as you glanced up at the child’s pod hovering high over your head, you knew the second choice wasn’t really an option. The kid needed you. Needed both of you.

So, you were going to kriffing live, even if you had to break your body down to achieve your goal.

“Come on,” you encouraged as you stumbled over a tree root. “Come on, Mando. We’re almost there. Stay with me, okay?”

You had no idea if you were almost there or not. The homing beacon on your cuff was beeping steadily, but with all the howling, and the blood pounding through your ears, you couldn’t approximate how close you were to the Razor Crest.

“I’m… trying,” Mando mumbled, lifting his head just slightly. “B-Behind us.”

You cursed under your breath, letting the rifle dangle against your chest as you fumbled at your waist. Your fingers curled around a cold, metal orb, and you clicked the button in its center before you lobbed the grenade over your shoulder with all the strength you had left, which wasn’t much.

Then you staggered forward a little faster, dragging the bounty hunter behind you, and five seconds later, you heard the stun grenade go off, followed by the crackling of static and the yelping of beasts.

“That’s my last… stun grenade,” you panted, and the hair on your arms stood on end with all the electricity in the moist air. “I have some explosive ones… but…”

“But we’re not fast enough to get out of range in time,” Mando finished for you, his helmet bumping into the crown of your head as he sagged a little more.

“Yeah,” you huffed, but then a crunch to your right had you whirling and firing in one motion.

The canine yipped and screeched as the energy bolts tore through its chest mid-lunge, and it crashed into the ground at your feet as you staggered into a tree. The bark scraped painfully across your bare shoulder blades, and Mando groaned as you almost lost your grip on him.

“No,” you growled, tightening your arm around the bounty hunter and tugging you both upright. “Dank… farrik!”

The muscles in your arm burned hotly from the strain of keeping the Mandalorian on his feet, and you bit through your tongue to keep from crying out, the metallic taste of blood coating your teeth and whetting your parched mouth.

You stumbled forward blindly as you tried to work through the pain, but all the sudden, the claustrophobic darkness caused by the towering trees lessened a few degrees. You thought you were hallucinating it at first, but then you lifted your head a fraction and realized the trees were thinning out ahead of you.

And the beacon in your cuff was beeping like mad.

You were almost there. The Razor Crest was so close.

Of course, that’s when the snarling behind you reached new frantic heights, and you knew the pack was gearing up for one final assault.

“Mando, listen to me,” you gasped as you shifted to shove him against a tree, using your palm to keep him rooted at the sternum and on his feet.

He groaned as he listed there, mumbling something that didn’t sound like it was in Basic, but he remained upright, so you seized the opportunity to jab at the screen on your wrist. A moment later, the child’s pod swooped down from where it had been hovering near the canopy, and the bounty’s head dragged against the jungle floor with a dull crunch. You tweaked the carrier’s settings half blind, one eye on the encroaching darkness and the beasts therein, and then you grabbed the floating orb and shoved it against Mando’s gut.

“Ugh,” the bounty hunter grunted, his feet starting to slide out from under him.

“No, lean forward,” you rushed out, grabbing one of his shoulders and tugging him toward you.

Mando moaned as he collapsed onto the child’s pod, but since you’d cranked up the carrier’s power output to the max, the bounty hunter didn’t crash to the ground. Instead, he hung there half suspended, the pod whirling angrily from his added weight, his feet limp and dragging behind him.

“Mando,” you said as you tapped the side of his helmet, eyes still on the shadowy trees. “Mando, I need you to hold onto that pod as tight as you can, okay? Can you hear me?”

“Hear… you,” the Mandalorian just barely breathed, and you saw his arms wrap around the bottom of the silver carrier.

“Hold on like your life depends on it,” you instructed as you tapped at your wrist again. “Because it does.”

“What—” he started to ask, but he didn’t get to finish the question because the pod was suddenly surging forward, in the direction of the ship. The bounty’s head and Mando’s feet dragged loudly against the ground, but with one last jolt of power, the pod lifted away from the jungle floor and began to float away.

The pod would probably have just enough power to get Mando back to the ship before it died, but that was fine. That was just what you needed.

The jungle dogs howled and shrieked as they watched the Mandalorian drifting away through the trees, but as you listened to them start to skirt around you in his direction, you finally gripped the rifle with two hands and aimed into the dark.

Then you pulled the trigger, full-auto, and the shrieking of the energy bolts collided with the screeching of the canines and crescendoed into a deafening cacophony. You sprayed the jungle in wide sweeps as you slowly started to walk backward toward the Razor Crest, the rifle stock jolting into your shoulder in time with your racing heart. You just needed to give Mando time to reach the ship. You had programmed the pod to open the ramp at a certain distance, so they would just fly on into the cargo bay, and it would close behind them. Once they were safe, you could make a break for it and—

Suddenly, one of the shadows broke away from the trunk directly to your right, and you turned too late to see it was a slavering beast, its bifurcated jaw wide open and aimed for your throat.

“Ahh!” You stumbled back, trying to crane away from those jagged black fangs, but your feet got tangled up beneath you, and you came crashing down. A root slammed into one of your rear ribs so hard you heard and felt the snap as the bone gave, but you didn’t even have time to register that pain before the jungle dog smashed into your chest.

You instinctively shoved your arms outward, wedging the rifle between those deadly, snapping jaws. One of the beast’s jagged fangs scraped down your forearm as you tried to keep the bastard from swallowing you whole, and you screamed in fury and pain as blood spilled from your rending flesh.

Then you brought your knee up and smashed it as hard as you could into the jungle dog’s ribcage, and this time you felt its rib snap, and grim satisfaction burned like a wildfire through your blood. The warmth filled your limbs until you thought you would burst into flame, and you kicked the beast again and again as it yipped.

You were just starting to think you had the upper hand when the creature’s jaw started to close with a creaking sound of bone on metal, and your eyes widened in horror as the canine jerked its head back, taking your rifle with it. Then its bifurcated jaw snapped close with a horrible crunch, and the rifle shattered into shards of metal and sparks.

The beast roared in pain and rage as it tossed the remains of your rifle aside, but now you were acting on pure survival instinct, not thought, not logic, and you were already wrenching two grenades and a vibroknife off your belt when the nightmare dog finally settled its four milky white eyes on your face.

“Eat this, you bastard,” you snarled as its terrible jaws, rowed with serrated teeth, descended on you.

Then with one hand you stabbed the vibroknife into its neck just above the shoulder, and with the other you activated the grenades and shoved both of them down the jungle dog’s throat.

Warm blood sprayed down on you like humid rainfall, and you twisted the blade in to the hilt, feeling as it tore through flesh in a jittery fashion. The creature gagged and gurgled as its throat muscles convulsed around your other wrist for just an instant, but then you yanked your arms back with all your might, teeth catching on your elbow again, before you crashed into the dirt.

You were scrambling up in the next instant, barely listening to the creature heaving and choking behind you as you staggered forward into a clumsy sprint.

The rest of the pack howled at your back, but you were flat out running now, and you could see the Razor Crest through the trees. The pounding of paws on dirt sounded at your heels, and you couldn’t tell if you were gasping for breath or sobbing as you tore the final grenades off your belt, activated them, and let them fall through your numb fingers.

In the next instant, you broke through the tree line, and you could see the ramp of the Razor Crest, closing. You slapped at your wrist blindly as you sprinted as fast as you could, lungs heaving to the point of seizures, legs at the point of collapse. You didn’t know if the dogs were still right behind you, but the grenades…

You must have finally hit the right command because the ramp suddenly shuddered before it started to lower again, and you were ten meters away when the grenades went off like dominoes falling.

The first two explosions—of the grenades you shoved into the jungle dog—only shook the ground hard enough to make you stumble forward, but then the rest of them detonated much closer, and the combined shockwave hit you moments later and catapulted you into the air.

Thankfully, the ramp was just low enough that you scraped over it and crashed into the ship, smashing into a bulkhead with a dull crunch. The howling shrieks of dying dogs reached you through the ringing in your ears, and you felt a wave of heat hit you as the grenades engulfed the jungle trees. You curled into a ball on the cargo bay floor, your back to the ramp, and you just barely had the presence of mind to tap at your wrist one last time. A moment later, you heard the whirling of the ramp closing, and when it clanked shut a moment later, you rolled over onto your back and stared blindly above you.

You could just barely hear the roar of the building wildfire outside the ship, and the screeching of the jungle dogs died down within seconds. Your entire body—your lungs, your heart—heaved up and down as adrenaline pulsed through you like a bad hit of spice, and your ears ached in the relative silence.

Then the child cooed, and Mando groaned weakly, and you jolted upright like you had just been struck by lightning.

“Mando,” you rasped, flipping over onto your raw hands and bruised knees.

The bounty hunter half-sat, half-sprawled on the floor at the foot of his bunk. The foundling’s pod lay askew on the ground in front of the fresher like it had crash landed there when it finally died, but the child stood unharmed beside the Mandalorian.

Who was currently bleeding out on the floor of the cargo bay.

“Kriff!” You scrambled forward when you saw the spreading stain of blood below his leg, and as you drew closer, you realized his tourniquet must have been loosened when he collapsed.        

The Mandalorian barely even seemed conscious at this point. His chest stirred only slightly beneath his beskar chest plate, and if it weren’t for the soft groans he was exhaling, you would have thought him dead.

“Mando!” you shouted as you shakily rose onto your feet and staggered the rest of the way to the fresher. Your hands were shaking as you tore one of the storage compartments open in search of a med kit, and your voice cracked when you said his name again. “Mando! Stay with me. We made it back. We’re on the ship. Just stay with me for a few more moments. Please.”

You crashed down onto your knees beside the bounty hunter, tearing the med kit open with bloody hands and broken nails. His helmeted head lolled onto the edge of the bunk behind him, and you could barely hear his raspy breaths through the modulator.

The child stood between Mando’s splayed boots, eyes large and frightened, but you couldn’t pay him any mind right now. Your frantic gaze darted between the bacta gel patch in your hand and Mando’s bleeding leg, and even though it felt crazy, you set the patch down for a moment and reached for the last vibroknife on your belt.

Suddenly, Mando jerked awake with a gasp, and you reached out without thinking, pressing your left palm over his heart and feeling his faint, fluttering pulse.

“Mando, I’m right here,” you murmured soothingly. “Keep breathing for me.”

The Mandalorian muttered your name as his head lolled toward you.

“Yes, that’s me, I’m here,” you said, rising up on your knees and leaning over him. The vibroknife glimmered in your hand, looking like a real-life glitch, but you shook off the unsettling feeling and fixed your eyes on Mando’s visor.

“Mesh’la,” the Mandalorian slurred. The word was soft and elongated to the point of sounding like gibberish, but his hand settled firmly on the wrist you still had pressed to his heart, like he was talking directly to you.

In any other situation, your own heart would be fluttering with a feeling you didn’t want to name, but as the bounty hunter’s blood started to soak into the knees of your pants, all you could feel was dread.

“I need you to stay still, okay?” you said as you dropped your hand from his chest to grip the top of his injured thigh. “I need to cut your pants away from the wound.”

“O… kay,” he muttered, and his hand fell to settle over yours again on his leg like he was grounding himself by touching you.

“Nice and easy,” you cooed, trying to blink the tears out of your eyes so you could see to cut through his pants and not his flesh. “I’ll have that bacta patch on in just a moment. Why don’t you talk to me, huh? Mando, talk to me. Tell me something. J-Just stay awake.”

“Aw…ake,” he whispered, but it sounded like he was just repeating you now, barely clinging to consciousness.

Your hand shook as you slowly sawed through the blood-soaked fabric, and an aborted sob rose in your throat. But you shoved your hysteria down, down, down, you had no time for it, you had to stay level-headed, steady-handed, Mando was counting on you, Mando was dying.

“Mando,” you choked as you finally pulled the cloth away from his wound. Three parallel gashes, each nearly five centimeters deep, ran from his hip crease and nearly all the way to his knee, and blood pulsed sluggishly from the wounds in crimson gobs. “Oh, Maker, Mando.”

You dropped the vibroknife with a loud clang as you lunged for the bacta patch, and out of your peripherals you could see the child waddling closer, standing in between the Mandalorian’s knees, the hem of his little robe slowly staining scarlet. You didn’t have the heart or the strength to shove the child away now, so instead you focused on settling the bacta patch over the bounty hunter’s grisly injuries.

Mando twitched and inhaled sharply as the bacta adhered to his skin, and you sent up a million prayers to the Maker that you had administered aid in time.

“There y-you go,” you sniffled, unable to stop the tears from coursing down your cheeks now. “I got the patch on, Mando. You’re going t-to be okay. You… you have to be okay. Do you hear me, Mando?”

You felt like a glitching holotape repeating his name over and over, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You wanted, no needed, him to stay awake, and every time you said his name, he seemed to jerk a little, like he’d been recalled from a long distance at the sound of your voice.

For a moment, there was only the faint, raspy wheeze of the Mandalorian’s breath through his helmet, but then he suddenly mumbled something.

“What?” You shuffled closer, slipping in blood. You practically had your ear pressed against his visor. “What was that, Mando? Say it again. Come on, talk to me, Mando.”

“Not… Mando.”

The words were stilted, sluggish, and you frowned in confusion. “Huh? I-I don’t understand.”

“My… name isn’t… Mando,” the bounty hunter struggled out, and his helmet tilted forward a fraction like he had lifted his head and was looking right at you. “It’s… Din. Din Djarin.”

The shock you felt was muted, distant and removed, like a crack that formed deep in the heart of a glacier, buried beneath the adrenaline, horror, and helplessness warring within you.

“Din,” you breathed, and the word somehow tasted like the exact moment Peli dug out your transmitter chip. It tasted like freedom, like infinite possibility, and you didn’t understand why.

Mando—no, Din, Din Djarin—exhaled heavily as his head thunked back against the bunk, and even if you couldn’t see it, you could tell his eyes were slipping closed. “I… wanted at least someone to know before I—”

“No,” you cut him off vehemently, reaching out to cradle the sides of his helmet like you were cupping his face. “No, you’re not going to die. Not now. Not when… no, do you hear me, Din Djarin? I will not allow you to die. Not when I worked my ass off to fix this ship and drag you back onto it by the skin of my kriffing teeth.”

“Mmmm.” Din’s head lolled in your grasp, the weight of him growing heavier and heavier. “I knew I would like the way… you say my name.”

Oh, Maker. He was nonsensical now, and terror gripped you by the throat and squeezed.

“Then stay awake, Din,” you begged, and your heart felt like it was on the edge of a great precipice. “Stay awake for me.”

“’m so… tired,” he sighed.

“I know,” you breathed as you guided his head back to rest against the bunk, and you couldn’t speak above a whisper because your voice was thick with tears. “I know, but just listen to my voice, Din. Just—”

You trailed off as the child suddenly waddled into your line of sight, and you dropped your gaze slightly to find him standing between the Mandalorian’s thighs, right next to the bacta covered wounds. The foundling stared up at the bounty hunter with a furrowed, seemingly determined expression, and then he closed his big brown eyes as he reached for Din’s leg.

“Oh, buddy, don’t,” you started, reaching out to stop him, but Din—Maker, his name felt delicious and forbidden even in your mind—weakly placed his hand on your wrist to stop you.

“It’s… okay,” he panted. “He can help.”

“Help?” You frowned down at the child. How could he help? Was this one of the “powers” the bounty hunter had vaguely mentioned before? You thought the foundling’s ability dealt with physically moving things, not healing, but honestly you could do for a miracle right about now.

The child gurgled a small noise as his three fingers settled over Din’s wound, and the Mandalorian inhaled sharply at the same time that you felt… something. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was like the very air shifted, became magnetic, charged somehow. The air stilled in your lungs as you feared even the barest breath would fracture this fragile spell you were bearing witness to, and you watched with wide eyes as the gashes on the bounty hunter’s legs began to close right in front of you.

Bacta worked fast… but not that fast.

Several still, endless seconds passed as the foundling healed the Mandalorian, but then just as soon as it began, the moment ended. The atmosphere snapped almost tangibly, time jolted back into motion, and the child suddenly started to pitch backward.

“Oh!” you gasped as you lunged forward, your hands cupping the baby and bringing him close to your body. The foundling’s eyes were closed, his face slack, but his little chest still moved up and down with breath.

“He’s okay.”

You snapped your head up, more tears spilling down your cheeks with the motion.

Din was sitting up a little straighter, and his helmet looked squarely at you. His voice sounded stronger, too, and you gaped at him in bewilderment.

“He’s okay,” the Mandalorian repeated when you continued to blink at him. “He usually… tires himself out when he uses his powers.”

“I d-didn’t know he could do that,” you breathed, and your tongue felt like a disembodied lump of flesh in your mouth. “I… wait, how do you feel? A-Are you okay?”

You suddenly realized how close you still were to the bounty hunter, practically kneeling in his lap, but you ignored this as your eyes darted back to his leg. It was a little hard to tell through the dried blood and blue bacta, but it looked like the three gashes had closed altogether, leaving behind faint pink lines.

“I’ll survive,” the bounty hunter sighed, thunking his head back against the bunk again, but he tilted it to the side to regard you still. “Thanks to you.”

“I-I’m not the one who just healed you with magic,” you stuttered incredulously as your cheeks flared hot, and you cuddled the child against your chest even though you realized you knew almost nothing about the apparently powerful foundling.

“No,” Mando said evenly, “but you did charge out into a dark, unknown, dangerous jungle, fight off a pack of wild dogs, and drag both me and the bounty back safely.”

“Well,” you snorted with an edge of hysteria in your voice, and you gestured to the discarded head that lay sprawled against the corner of the fresher. “I don’t know if I’d say he got here safely.”

Maker, you felt a little crazy, hollowed out and wrung dry by the sheer amount of emotions you’d just experienced in a span of a few minutes.

“I’m serious,” the Mandalorian replied. “You… saved my life. I am in your debt.”

“I-I’m not one for debts.” You shook your head to try and clear it, dropping your gaze to the foundling’s face, nuzzled against your sternum. “I don’t like to owe anyone or be owed. You’ve stuck your neck out for me before, so let’s just call it even… Din.”

You saw the bounty hunter freeze out of the corner of your eye, and you bit your cheek until you tasted blood.

You should have known that was too much to ask for.

“Sorry,” you muttered, peeking up at the Mandalorian through your lashes. “You… mentioned your name when you were—”

“I remember,” Mando said, cutting you off, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his expression hidden as always and his voice pitched in a way you didn’t recognize, couldn’t identify.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, feeling the adrenaline starting to drain out of you and be replaced by every ache and pain you had ignored in lieu of survival. “Of course, I can just forget about it. You weren’t exactly in your right mind, after all. I’ll just… using ‘Mando’ is fine for me.”

The Mandalorian’s visor stared you down unflinchingly for what felt like an eternity. Then…

“You can… use my name, if you like,” he said haltingly, then quickly amended himself. “But only when we’re alone, on the ship. I… my name could be a dangerous thing in the hands of my enemies.”

You blinked in shock at the bounty hunter.

“A-Are you sure?” you asked, and you tried to keep the hope out of your voice, but you knew you failed miserably. “O-Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You’d thought giving up his name had just been a delusional, dying declaration, and you didn’t want him to regret it. What you said had been true enough. You were fine using “Mando,” even if the traitorous feelings buried deep in your chest said otherwise.

“I’m sure.” The bounty hunter nodded minutely. “I… trust you.”

The admission flooded your whole body with warmth, and goosebumps broke out across your skin. You’d known the Mandalorian trusted you, he wouldn’t have left his ship or his foundling in your care otherwise, but hearing him say the words felt like something out of a dream.

“Okay, then.” You smiled, heart thudding against where the child was pressed into your chest. “Din.”

At the sound of his name, the tension in the Mandalorian’s worn body seemed to bleed out of him entirely, and he sighed as his helmet fell back again.

“Let’s get off this Maker-forsaken planet,” he grumbled.

“I second that,” you chuckled dryly before you slowly clambered to your feet, careful not to slip in Din’s tacky blood or jostle the sleeping baby in your arms. You very gingerly leaned over the prone Mandalorian to set the foundling in his hammock, but you hissed when the movement jarred the bruised or fractured rib in your back.

“What’s wrong?” Din asked below you, and he was so close you could feel the rumble of his modulated voice against the bare skin of your stomach, your tank top having lifted up a fraction.

“Nothing.” You took a quick step backward, trying to put distance between you and the bounty hunter, but now that he was no longer actively dying, you were starting to realize you were a little more beat up then you’d previously thought.

The moment you stepped back on your right leg, your hamstring seized up, and when you went to grab at it, you realized your fingers were a little numb. You glanced down and saw fresh blood dripping down your forearm—your blood, not Mando’s—and the sight of the wound seemed to flip a switch in your brain because a moment later, pain crashed over you like a wave.

“Dank farrik,” Mando cursed lowly as he tried to shove himself up.

“No, no, no, no,” you babbled, holding out your less injured left hand in a gesture to stop him. “Don’t get up so fast.”

“You’re hurt,” he grunted, and you could practically hear the scowl in his voice as he tilted his helmet back to stare at you. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you stressed, even though you could still taste blood on the back of your tongue. “Also, you seriously have no room to talk. You were literally just bleeding out less than five minutes ago.”

“How much bacta do we have left?” he asked, completely ignoring your statement. “We should take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“Maker, you’re not even listening to me, are you?” You rolled your eyes as you leaned your shoulder against the bulkhead, but when the Mandalorian started to get up again, you held your hand out once more. “Alright! Alright. Let me at least set the coordinates to meet up with the client and get the ship in the air. I’m pretty sure the jungle is burning down around us as we speak anyway, so the sooner we lift off, the better.”

Din stared up at you silently for a moment like he wanted to argue.

“It will take me two minutes, max,” you reasoned with him. “I won’t pass out or die in that time frame, okay?”

“Fine,” he finally sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. “Just… be careful climbing up there.”

“I’ll try my best,” you snorted, wincing when pain flared through your body, but you still slowly made your way to the ladder.

It took you way longer to climb five rungs than it should have, but you thought not falling back into the cargo bay was a feat in itself, given how every muscle in your arms and legs twitched in pain. The blood pouring down your arm also did nothing to help your grip, nor did your scraped up palms, but you still made it into the cockpit relatively unscathed.

Dawn was just breaking beyond the windows, but you could barely see it through the black smoke that hung thick in the air. Guilt sat heavy in your chest as you saw the charred trees and the birds fleeing the flames overhead, but you told yourself you did what you had to in order to survive.

And it wasn’t like you were walking away scot-free, either. Your arm pounded painfully in time with your slowing pulse, and every time you took a deep breath, you became a little surer that the rib in your back was, in fact, broken.

You punched in the client’s rendezvous coordinates without sitting in the pilot’s chair since you knew if you sat down now there was no way you were getting back up. While you waited for the Razor Crest to power up, you cringed at the blood you were dripping all over the floor, but there was nothing for it at this point. The whole ship would need a thorough scrub down the next time you made a pit stop, but that was a future-you problem. Right now, you were mainly focused on getting off this planetoid and out into orbit without crashing and burning.

You held your breath as the pre-Empire ship rose up above the now smoldering jungle, but no warning alarms or messages sounded. The Razor Crest glided steadily upward, and you leaned heavily on the control panel as you breeched first the clouds and then the atmosphere. Entering orbit rattled the ship and you more than you cared for, but nothing broke off or burst into flame, and before you knew it, you were drifting through the familiar black void of space.

“Thank the kriffing Maker,” you sighed as the autopilot took over, and then you turned and shuffled back to the ladder, exhaustion starting to make the edges of your vision go fuzzy.

Or maybe that was blood loss?

You were a little less graceful with the descent than you were with the ascent, but you at least landed on your feet before you nearly collapsed into the fresher.

“Careful,” Mando’s modulated voice murmured, and suddenly his bare hand was on your left, uninjured elbow, skin against warm skin.

“What are… you doing up?” You frowned as you studied the Mandalorian, trying to make sense of what you were seeing as he led you to sit in the open mouth of his bunk.

“I told you,” he said, reaching over and grabbing another med kit from the fresher. “We need to take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“You should be resting,” you grumbled, but you were too tired to put any real heat behind your voice.

“I’m fine,” Din parroted your earlier proclamation back at you. “The kid did a thorough job.”

Then the bounty hunter sat on a crate before you, a crate that hadn’t been there before, and you realized he was no longer wearing a majority of his beskar, save the ever-present helmet, of course. Instead, a faded but clean pair of duraweave clothes covered his body, and the bloodied outfit you’d basically sliced off him was piled up between his feet. It also looked like he had haphazardly tried to mop up some of his blood with the dirty clothes, and you wondered if you’d been up in the cockpit longer than you thought.

“Hey,” you chuckled suddenly, and you distantly noted that your voice was a little slurred with exhaustion. “Looks like I’ll have some new rags after all.”

You giggled a little loopily as you gestured to the Mandalorian’s blood-soaked clothes and then to the blood and dirt your outfit was also currently coated in, but Mando didn’t seem as amused as you were.

“Let me see your arm,” he said as his helmet stared at you impassively, but then he paused and added, “Please.”

“It’s really not that bad,” you tried to argue as you held out your injured limb, but since it was still actively dripping blood, your words didn’t carry much weight. Then the bounty hunter gingerly gripped your wrist with tentative fingers, and you hissed through your teeth as pain lanced up your arm.

“Osik,” Din cursed in a language you didn’t recognize, slowly rotating your arm to take in the extent of the damage. “Did one of those dogs get you? The bastard almost flayed you to the bone in some spots.”

“Yeah, well I shoved two grenades down his throat, so I think we’re even,” you gritted out.

Din froze and lifted his head, your blood, sweat, and dirt-streaked face reflecting back at you from his visor. “You what?” 

He must have really been on death’s door if he didn’t notice or remember you literally blowing the jungle dogs to Tatooine and back, but you just shook your head.

“Story time later,” you huffed, narrowing your eyes as you tried to breathe through the pain. “Bacta time now, please.”

“Right.” Mando jerked back into action, and in the next moment he was shifting into medic-droid mode.

Few words were shared between you two as the Mandalorian tended to your bumps and scrapes. Beside the deep lacerations on your forearm, your palms and knees were scraped bloody from tripping your way through a dangerous jungle in the dead of night. Your upper back was in the same condition since you’d been wearing a tank top when you decided to grapple with blood-thirsty hounds, and when Din accidentally brushed against your lower back, a small whimper squeezed out between your clenched teeth.

“This rib is probably broken,” the bounty hunter said, and there was a heavy quality to his quiet voice.

“Thought as much,” you grunted, trying to sit up straight without breathing too deeply. “Too bad we don’t have a full bacta tank to soak in.”

“I could always… drop you back off on Tatooine,” Mando muttered. “With the payment that I owe you, of course. Should be enough to pay for a full treatment and then some.”

You froze sitting there in the doorway of his bunk. The Mandalorian wasn’t looking at you, too busy double checking the bandage he’d wrapped over the bacta on your forearm, but you could see how rigid his body was as he awaited your answer.

“Do you… want to drop me back off on Tatooine?” you asked hesitantly, the breath shallow in your lungs. You could hear the child snoring softly in the hammock directly behind your head, and the thought of leaving him opened a dark pit inside you.

And that was nothing to say of the thought of leaving the Mandalorian. Of leaving… Din.

Now that you knew his name, the feelings you had done your best to ignore came surging up to the surface, that little voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

He told you his name. He trusts you. He wants you here. Maybe he wants you for more than just your skills.

You shoved the thoughts away as quickly as they cropped up, but that didn’t stop something small and fragile from unfurling in your chest. You almost wanted to call it hope.

“I—” Mando started, stopped, fidgeted on his crate, and then sighed as he scooted back a little to stretch out his injured leg. “No, I don’t want to do that. You’re a talented mechanic and… good company. I’ve… enjoyed having you on my crew.”

“Oh.” You blushed as the breath whooshed out of your lungs, leaving you feeling lightheaded and buoyant. “T-Thank you. Current circumstances notwithstanding, I’ve enjoyed being on your crew, too. A-And not just for the payment. Seeing new worlds, as dangerous as they are, was something I never thought I’d get to experience. So, even if the price to pay is a few bumps and scrapes, I think that’s a fair deal.”

“You have a skewed idea of ‘fair,’” the Mandalorian chuckled dryly as he reached down beside him, picked up a pair of his gloves, and slipped them back on.

“No kriff,” you snorted, the scar on the nape of your neck tingling. “But it works out in your favor, so I wouldn’t question it too much.”

“Fine.” Din held up his hands, but then he lowered them to his knees and cocked his head at you.

“What?” you asked when he didn’t say anything for a full minute. His gaze made your skin prickle even if you couldn’t see his eyes, and with each passing moment, you grew acutely more and more aware of how dirty and disheveled you looked and felt.

“Nothing,” he said, fingers flexing against his knees. “Just… thank you. Again. For saving me, the kid, the bounty, and the ship.” 

You fidgeted in discomfort. You didn’t know what to do with praise and compliments, having never really received them before, so you shrugged your shoulders as you picked at the bandage on your arm.

“I told you, we’re even,” you muttered.

“It doesn’t feel that way to me,” he argued, and something about his tone told you he wasn’t going to let this go. “So, how about this: after we drop off this bounty with the client, you can pick the next planet we stop on.”

“Really?” Your eyes flicked up to the bounty hunter and widened. He’d never let you pick a destination before. You’d always just been along for the ride.

Mando nodded. “And make a list of parts and stuff you need to keep the ship running. We’ll stock up wherever we stop off next.”

“Okay.” You grinned as your heart did a little jig in your chest, and you stuck out your bacta-wrapped hand to shake on it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Din Djarin.”

His name rolled off your tongue like a grain of sand spiraling down a dune, picking up momentum as it went, and it sent a shiver of pleasure straight down your spine. You knew you were playing a losing game with your own heart here, but as you stared into Mando’s visor, you also knew there was no stopping yourself now. You would just have to deal with the future heartbreak.  

The Mandalorian tentatively reached out and grasped your fingers in his gloved ones.

“Deal,” he rumbled back.

“Good.” You nodded as a yawn cracked open your jaw, and you reached up to cover your gaping mouth and scratch your nose. “Now, given the client’s rendezvous coordinates, we should have a few days of rest before we reach our destination, and if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to start right now by taking a well-deserved nap.”

You made to stand up, but Din gently placed his hand on your shoulder to keep you seated on the edge of the bunk.

“Take the cot,” he said as he nodded behind you. “I’m going up to the cockpit to send a message to the client anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you murmured around another yawn.

“I’m sure,” he said, but then his gloved fingers were suddenly ghosting over the bridge of your nose. “By the way, you’ve got a little grease right here. Just thought you should know.”

You went cross-eyed as you tried to draw his finger into focus, but when he stepped back, you noticed the fingertips of his glove were shiny, and glancing down at the hand you used to shake his revealed that your palm bore the same black sheen.

“Hey, this is your grease,” you muttered indignantly, but then Din was pressing gently on your shoulder, guiding you to lay back on the cot, and you went willingly.

“Get some rest,” he said, turning off the bunk lights. “We’ll worry about cleaning up later.”

You tried to grumble something, but exhaustion was starting to tug at your limbs and eyelids, and your body unwound bit by bit as you buried your face in the bounty hunter’s pillow with no remorse.

A moment later, Mando’s boots were clomping up the ladder to the cockpit, but he left some of the cargo bay lights on and the door to the bunk open, like he somehow knew you were afraid of the dark.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at your lips, but you spiraled into sleep before you could fully process the thought.

[voidstilesplease]

in another life

part one

"We have a bit of a situation," is what greets him when Stiles takes the call. Mason sounds winded on the other side. "Are you almost in town?"

His eyebrows shot up, "I'm perfectly well driving in the snow, Mason. Thank you for asking."

"Stiles,"

He rolls his eyes, "Thirty minutes tops. You guys are making me feel warm, huh." Stiles disconnects the call and almost regrets his decision to come home early for Christmas, but it's too late to turn back now.

~•~

He parks outside of Scott's house - the official pack headquarters even if Scott himself has not returned from college yet. He promises to arrive in four days while Lydia has scheduled a flight for next week. Malia is stuck with papers and can't fly until the 23rd. For now, Stiles is responsible for the pack until Scott returns - he resents that. He should've gone home first and changed into comfortable clothes, but Liam has rung him up, frantic, two more times after Mason's call. They won't tell what the problem is. Stiles figures if it were a life-and-death thing, they wouldn't delay information. They are vying for the drama is what's going on.

Melissa opens the front door and beams when she sees him. She opens her arms wide for a hug, "Hey! Looking good, Stiles. FBI been taking care of you?"

Before he can reply, Liam appears from behind Melissa. "Stiles!" his face looks so harried, splotches of red appearing. "Sorry to interrupt, but you really have to see this."

Liam hurries back without checking if Stiles follows, but he scrambles after him with an apologetic smile to Melissa. The beta leads him upstairs to Scott's old room. From the hallway, Stiles can already hear two voices talking, sifting out of the open door.

"Look-"

"No, you look. I don't know why you guys took me here or why you seem so wary about me. But, Jesus Christ, for the hundredth time, I don't know you."

Stiles frowns, confused. One of the voices belong to Mason, the other-

He stops short by the doorframe, startled at the unexpected sight of Theo Raeken sitting by the foot of Scott's bed. 

They haven't seen the guy since Gerard's plan to start a war between the supernaturals in Beacon Hills and the residents -and the subsequent flop. He left town less than a month after Tamora Monroe and her hunter lackey's escaped. They haven't heard from him since, and that had been two years ago.

Theo looks almost the same when Stiles last saw him. His hair is long, fringe falling to his eyes, and he has the same stocky build. His face scrunches in annoyance and impatience, and that's also not new. The only difference probably is his five o'clock shadow, reminding Stiles that he has also grown since then. He has always been clean-shaven.

Theo catches sight of Stiles by the doorway and his expression shifts to that of relief. "Oh, thank god, Stiles." He gets to his feet and crosses their small distance in two strides. Without preamble, Theo takes Stiles into his arms, clutching him firmly, as he buries his face in Stiles's neck.

Stiles is too stunned to push him away -and he should because there could be a dagger poised to pierce his guts any second now- but even Liam and Mason freeze in their spots. Liam snaps from his daze, and his eyes begin to glow yellow in a warning. Theo leans back and takes Stiles's face between his hands, ignoring the low growl coming from Liam. What's even more baffling is that he smiles. Theo Raeken smiles - not smirks, or frowns, or grimaces, but smiles. "You're here."

Mason finds his voice, "Wait. I thought you had amnesia and didn't know any of us?"

Liam retracts his claws and fangs when Theo turns back to them, seemingly unarmed. The beta scoffs, watching the way the chimera presses himself close to Stiles. For his part, Stiles is still recovering from the onslaught of uncharacteristic behavior from Theo and his blatant cluelessness of what's going on. It looks like the snow has given Stiles brain freeze from the long drive because he's only gawking instead of asking questions. The FBI should not hear about this. 

"Of course, he forgets all of us, but not Stiles," Liam crosses his arms, a little bit of condescension dripping in his tone. "The ghost riders took him and basically erased him from existence, and Theo still remembered him, anyway."

Theo looks lost, trying to follow Liam's words, "Why wouldn't I remember Stiles?"

"Hm," Liam curls his lips. "Those were even your exact words before."

"Okay," Stiles says, having enough of this. He steps away from Theo, raising both his hands in a gesture of stop. He fixes his gaze between Liam and Mason. "What is going on?"

"I've been trying to ask the same thing," Theo interjects, scowling at Mason and Liam. "But they hardly speak to me and refuse to let me go."

Liam exhales, sounding exasperated. "He woke up in the hospital," he starts, ignoring Theo. "making a scene, insisting he shouldn't be in California, and that he was just in New York seconds ago."

"Liam's dad recognized him," Mason offers. "So he told Melissa who called us. Then, we collected Theo and brought him here."

Liam shakes his head, eyes on Theo. "But he keeps saying he doesn't know us, or even Scott."

"I don't," Theo steps forward again and tugs at Stiles's clothed arm. "Let's just leave, babe-"

Stiles promptly plants his feet to the floor and halts Theo, blinking rapidly. "Wait, wait, wait," he withdraws his arms and puts his hands in between them to establish distance. Theo has been evading Stiles's personal space like friends would, but Stiles draws the line at endearments. They're not friends, and he isn't a babe. "What did you call me?"

Theo frowns at him, a hurt look crossing his features. "Babe," he answers like it's not a questionable thing at all. "I called you babe."

"Wow," Liam scoffs, blinking in disbelief. "Not only are you amnesiac. You've also apparently gone mad."

Theo turns to Liam, getting a more violent shade of red in the face. He would've stepped towards him in a challenge had Stiles not intercepted him with a hand to his chest. Stiles is surprised that Theo even concedes. There's only a slight force in his touch that a chimera with superstrength like Theo can strike with no problem.

"I'll tell you what's crazy," Theo grounds his teeth, nose flaring at Liam. "I don't know what the fuck is going on or who the hell you two are. I don't know how I'm here. Some kind of-" he delays, struggling, and then spits out, "magic plucked me from New York, and put me on the other side of the goddamn State. I thought I was dreaming, but the nurses keep claiming to sedate me." his hands gesture back and forth at the two. "Then you strangers keep coming at me, saying my name like we knew each other, telling me I live in a car - I don't, okay? I have a fucking apartment in Manhattan. I live with my boyfriend, and Stiles and I were having a stupid snow fight when I lost consciousness and woke up in that damn hospital. That's what crazy is!"

Silence follows Theo's outburst. Stiles can feel Liam and Mason's eyes -and even Melissa's from where she's standing outside the room- on him. He only gapes at Theo's flushed face and heaving chest.

"Did you just call me your boyfriend?"

Theo transfers his eyes on him, looking gutted. "Of course, I did." His expression quickly morphs to worry, "Has something happened to you, too?" then his face falls in dread when he asks, realizing the situation. "You don't remember me?"

It sounds like Theo’s remembering the wrong things, but Stiles's only response is to stare. What's happening is too bizarre for his exhausted mind to process. He's glad that there's no maiming involved with this little reunion with an old nemesis, but he doesn't know what to do with all the touching and intent looking and the sudden selective amnesia.

Theo looks crestfallen for an awkward while before his face lights up again. "We have to call Tara. She-"

"Tara?" Stiles echoes loudly, rearing back and cutting him off in shock. "Your sister?"

He beams, nodding his head. "Good. You remember her. That's progress, I think."

Stiles blurts out before he can think to stop himself, "You think she's alive?"

Theo pauses. His smile slowly flattens out, until he frowns, eyes reflecting a little bit of alarm at the crass question. "Why wouldn't she be?"

And yeah, Stiles doesn't have enough brain cells to start explaining that.

Theo's confusion has to straighten out as soon as possible.

~•~

title from: The One That Got Away by Katy Perry

[hailing-stars]

@febuwhump day 19 sleep deprivation 

resentfully awake

summary

“You are so annoying.” Peter growls, low and animalistic, and for a few glorious seconds, he thinks he’s scared Tony away. That is, until the tugging begins on his arm again.

“I cannot send you to bed without dinner, Pete. Your freaky fast metabolism would put your body into starvation mode. Remember the last time you went too long without food? And you fainted -”

“-how can I faint if I’m already asleep?”

OR

Peter is tired after a day at Disney World, and Tony attempts to get him to stay awake through dinner. 

Peter falls backwards on his room’s king sized bed, and shuts his eyes, tight. He’s ready to sleep. He didn’t think he would be, but a full day being dragged around Disney World by Morgan’s whims is something capable of tiring even a half-spider out.

He’s drifting in a state of half consciousness when the door to his designed room in the hotel suite flies open. Peter sits up, and cracks his eyes open. The terror herself stands in the doorway, still wearing her Elsa wig and Star Wars tunic.

She waves a lightsaber around, and eventually points it at him. “Daddy says it’s time for dinner.”

Peter groans and falls backwards on the bed, letting his eyes slide shut once again. “Tell him I’m not hungry. I only know sleep.”

“He said you’d say that,” says Morgan. “And he said to tell you that he doesn’t care. You have to eat your veggies.”

“Tell him I’m in a coma.”

“I don’t think people in comas can talk,” she tells him, in a matter of fact tone, letting the end of the lightsaber hit the ground.  

“Just tell him I’m not coming to dinner,” says Peter.

“Okkkaayyy,” says Morgan, in a sing-song voice, “but he probably won’t listen.”

The frozen Jedi skips off, slashing the air with the plastic laser sword, leaving Peter to bask in the quiet. He shuts his eyes again and crawls further up on the bed, so his legs aren’t hanging off and so he can rest his head on the pillow.

It’s so soft. The pillow. The comforter. The bed underneath. He can fall asleep right then and there, in the same clothes he’d sweated in all day long, and he almost does, but he’s pulled back to reality by someone annoyingly tugging on his arm.

“Pete,” says Tony. “Wakey wakey Cinderella.”

“Cinderella doesn’t even make sense,” mutters Peter, into his pillows, beyond annoyed. “Sleeping beauty is the one who was in a magic coma.”

“Yep, I know,” says Tony. “I was testing you. Asleep people don’t know their Disney factoids.”

“You are so annoying.” Peter growls, low and animalistic, and for a few glorious seconds, he thinks he’s scared Tony away. That is, until the tugging begins on his arm again.

“I cannot send you to bed without dinner, Pete. Your freaky fast metabolism would put your body into starvation mode. Remember the last time you went too long without food? And you fainted -”

“-how can I faint if I’m already asleep?”

There’s more tugging on his shoulder, and Peter wants to cry into his pillow.

“Come on, Peter, we’ll go somewhere good.”

“We’re in Disney World. It’s all good.”

“Uh, no,” says Tony. “You are so wrong. There are about fifty different things today I saw on menus that shouldn’t be allowed to be counted as food.”

Peter stays still and doesn’t talk anymore and hopes that Tony will take pity on him and leave him be. Tony doesn’t. Because of course he doesn’t. Because Tony is just as stubborn, or maybe even more stubborn than Peter.

He grips his arm and pulls him until he’s sliding off the bed, and forced to stand.

“I hate you.”

“As long as you hate me while you’re eating dinner, I’m okay with it,” says Tony. He pushes him out of the door and away from his bed.

*

Peter doesn’t know the name of the restaurant they end up inside. He doesn’t even know what Tony has ordered for him, since the effort to open up a menu and peer inside of it was too great for him, and he’s too annoyed to pay attention to Tony’s words when the waitress comes around to get their order.

“Maybe we should’ve ordered room service,” says Pepper, watching him with concern. He’s wobbling in the booth, and Morgan has to push him in the other direction to prevent him from falling on her. He hits the wall of the restaurant, and stays leaning against it. “He looks ready to pass out.”

“Nonsense,” says Tony. “He’s young. A little sleep deprivation is good for him.”

“You know that’s a torture method, right?” asks Peter, letting his eyes flicker open and shut, open and shut.

“Of course, pal,” says Tony. “So is starvation.”

Peter opens his eyes just to roll them, then shuts them again to drift off while they wait for their food.

His half sleep is filled with talk from Morgan about her plans for their final day at Disney World, the low music playing, and incoherent chatterings from the rest of the customers in the restaurant.

He’s brought back to being fully, resentfully awake, when a plate of food is placed in front of him. Tony snaps his fingers in front of his face when the smell of his dinner isn’t enough to convince him to open his eyes.

His food blurs together on his plate. His stomach makes a funny growl, and although it smells really good, it just looks like way too much effort to actually eat. That is, until Tony asks him if he needed to be fed via the airplane method. Then he suddenly has enough energy.

“You’re like a  petulant child when you’re tired.”

“And you’re more annoying,” says Peter, talking with his mouth full.

“Daddy’s annoying all the time,” says Morgan, making their entire outing to the restaurant completely worth it, in Peter’s eyes, causing him to admit, only to himself, that the food’s good enough to have made it worth it all on its own.

*

It’s almost ten when they make it back to the suite, and Peter manages to change into his pajamas before climbing under the covers.

He shuts his eyes.

Sleep doesn’t come.

It turns out Disney World is loud at night. Even when most people are in their rooms for the night.

Peter can hear it all. It’s like the apartment times a hundred, with the added bonus of the creaking metal of the rides abandoned for the night.

He flops around on the bed, tossing and turning, and growing more and more frustrated every second he isn’t asleep. He gives up, eventually, and wanders out into the suite’s living area to find Tony nursing a small glass of scotch and watching some late night show on TV.  

The lights are dim. The laughs coming from the TV are gentle, and so are Tony’s. He doesn’t even notice Peter’s presence until he plops down on the couch next to him.

“Thought you’d be lost in your dreams by now, kid.”

“Can’t sleep,” mutters Peter. Full sentences are too much effort. He sinks further into the couch and eyes Tony’s scotch. He reaches for it. “Maybe a little drink might help.”

“Yeah, that’s a nice try,” says Tony, slapping his hand away. “But it’s gonna be a nope from me.”

Peter laments by whining words inaudible to humans. It’s a torturous thing. To be this tired and not able to sleep.

“Something on your mind?” asks Tony.

They both have experienced these restless nights. Thanks to their responsibilities, and the guilt their minds forces on them, and the horrors in their past that always seem to crawl their way up to the forefront of their minds when the lights are switched off.

“No,” says Peter. “Just too loud here.”

“Ahh,” says Tony. He takes a slow slip of his scotch, and creases his forehead in thought. “Why don’t you put on your headphones?”

The headphones Tony designed for him, with his extra sensitive senses in mind, are without a doubt one of the best gifts Peter’s ever received. His memory’s just a little fuzzy sometimes.

“I forgot them. They’re at home.”

“Oh, I see,” says Tony. “It’s too bad I was too busy being annoying and didn’t grab them for you on my way out of the house, what with my genius brain having foresaw this exact situation.”

Peter looks at him, and frowns, while Tony shuffles himself off the couch and disappears into his and Pepper’s room, sadly taking his glass of scotch with him. He returns with Peter’s beloved headphones.

Peter’s so relieved, so happy, he wants to cry.

“You don’t get them unless you say I’m not annoying,” Tony tells him.

“That’s blackmail.” Peter crosses his arms.  

Tony smiles annoyingly. “And?”

“Fine,” says Peter. “You’re not annoying.”

He reaches for the headphones, but Tony snatches them away, raising his hand higher and holding the prize there.

“And I’m the greatest mentor in all existence.”

“You’re really going to make me say that?”

“If you want your headphones.”

“Fine. And you’re the greatest mentor in all existence,” says Peter. Tony smiles, and hands over the headphones. “But you’re still the worst.”

Tony messes up his hair, causing it to stick up even more than it already had been, and Peter catches him off guard by hugging him. He’s sleep deprived. He’s tired, and he’s so damn appreciative of Tony and his genius brain that he just wants a hug.

“Thanks, Tony,” says Peter. His eyes slid shut, and he rests his head on Tony’s chest. “You’re a pillow now.”

“Yep,” says Tony. “And you’re losing your mind to exhaustion. Let’s get you to bed.”

He lets Tony direct him back to his room, into his bed, where the headphones are slipped over his ears and the world goes quiet. Tony tells him goodnight, but Peter can only understand him by reading his lips through his blurring vision. His eyes slid shut, and that time, he’s finally allowed to slip into his dream

[oh-theatre]

Livin’ It Up: Chapter 1

Chapter title: An Abrupt Beginning

A/N: Me ? Hating every single thing I write?? BUT OFC GOD I HATE THIS SO MUCH IT SUCKS AHAHA. Im so frustrated, I couldnt get Logans end rant to work and its stupid and I just hate everything i hate this i hate my writing hnnng. Can you believe i took an ok concept and and FUCKED IT UP

words: 2614

summary: Roman throws yet another party, and his only true hope for the night is someone to show up. Patton finds himself disturbed, and Logan needs to stop drinking. 

pairings: Eventual logicality, eventual prinxiety, eventual demus, eventual Moceit (Which then goes back to Logicality and Demus)

warnings: Swearing, alcohol, underage drinking, drinking, parties, kissing, throw up

Ao3 Link  

“Thank you, for coming to this party with me” Virgil repeats once more, combing through his hair for the fifteenth time. Patton chuckles from his bed, neatly sitting as he flips through his book, writing down notes in his book. “Have I mentioned thank you?” Virgil jokes, Patton nods, biting his lip as he crosses through a difficult section.

“The golgi apparatus provides transportation-”

“Pat! Shouldn't you be getting ready?” Virgil turns to him, the cheerleader stops chewing the end of his pencil, a sweet smile as he shrugs. He closes his books, stacking them neatly on his shelf, everything organized. Once his homework is tucked away into the right folders and his pencils are safely back in his pencil case he moves to the mirror.

“I'm good to go” He says flopping back to his bed, Virgil scoffs. “Virge, these parties aren't anything formal. As long as you've got your phone, clothes and a swimsuit you're good” Patton assures, Virgil nods sitting on the bed, his shoes lacing as he hums. Patton adds his final bow, putting his boots comfortably on. “Ready?” He questions, Virgil sighs patting his jeans.

“I guess”

~~~

“Hey sorry Cindy you mind if i borrow Logan?” Roman taps on the girls shoulder, she sighs pulling away from Logan's mouth. He waves her off grumpily following Roman into the kitchen. “What's that? Third one tonight?” Roman teases, setting up the snacks

“Fourth” He corrects picking his teeth. “Carter, Fiona, Marty and Cindy” He sits on the stool, stirring his drink, the remaining ice clinking delicately.  Roman wants to push but fears a drunken argument before his gathering so allows Logan to pour himself more of whatever murky drink he had been guzzling down. “Mm, why must we have these soirees” Logan mumbles, spinning around.

“Its a party Logan, i've been attending and hosting them for ages!” Roman argues, he sighs finally finishing his set up. “Look just dont make out with too many people, I don't need a million girls crying at me at the end of the night because they thought you were the one”

“They know im gay right?” He sips, adjusting his glasses.

“Do you know youre gay?” Roman retorts, a glare is his gift in return.  “Why do you do it then?” Roman inquires, moving the pair through the already bustling house.

“Its fun” Logan shrugs, Roman pauses snickering as he carries the chips. “Not fun, but its something to do. Mind numbing and does not require actual intellect” Logan slumps on the couch almost instantly finding himself lip to lip with yet another poor and emotional victim. Roman rolls his eyes walking away from the mess. The door continues to open as more people file in, soon the familiar scent of alcohol and booze fill the air and Roman finds himself taking the tiniest sips from his own drink. With every creak of the door, the slightest hope lights up the man.

Come on

Just walk through the door

Please

~~~

“Do I drink, do I get a drink, what do I do? I got this” Virgil rambles, Patton chuckles, shaking his head. Closing the door behind him he guides Virgil into the kitchen, serving him a club soda. He takes it, almost finishing the entire thing, the sweat dripping his anxiousness for miles. “Thanks, ugh why am i here”

“Because I invited you” Roman chimes in, Virgil practically chokes back his drink, being rescued by Patton. “I'm really glad you're here Virge” Roman smirks, Virgil nods through his ever increasing reddened face. His eyes land on Patton, a slight regret but a neutral respect is shared with a nod.

“Ill be by the pool if you need me” Patton whispers, taking his leave, into the rioting house.

“How are you?” Virgil decides, Roman closes the door behind them chuckling as he closes the distance. “That's not an answer” His nerves seem to calm as his ‘radiant’ sarcasm takes place. Somehow his annoyance for Roman returned, his defenses lifted. “Nice house, mind giving me a tour?” He dances out from the ever closing gap Roman entraps him in, a slight scoff of amusement but the teen obliges.

“Well this is the kitchen, an original model and renovated around 5 years ago” Roman demonstrates, Virgil nods finding it actually quite interesting. A serenity falling over him as he takes this moment to breathe. “Over here is the hallway, leading into an assortment of rooms” He explains, Virgil identifies a name plastered on each. “You've got the bathroom, an office and our library still in its original condition from 1875” He hopes to impress the young teen. Knowing Logan, when he was still fresh, found the room the most enchanting thing.

“And where's your room?” Virgil teases, knowing this apartment was enormous in its own right.

“Upstairs” Roman replies, Virgil bites his tongue. Upstairs, god this apartment was huge. “And downstairs we have the pool and some storage. Nobody really uses the pool to be honest. Mostly people seem to hang out in the living room or-”

“The other living room?” Virgil points as they come into yet another opening, flashing lights, loud screeches and many drunken dancers. Roman and him share an amused laugh.

“Care for a dance?” Roman nudges, Virgil scoffs, taking yet another sip of his drink. Finding the teen to be serious he can't help but allow this to fuel his laughter more.

“Me? Dance? Oh that's not the issue...it's dancing with you..” Virgil carries on, Roman rolls his eyes dragging him onto the floor. Slow but upbeat movements take place and...what's this? Is Virgil having...fun?

~~~

The light splashes and ripples of waves as Patton let his feet dangle felt calming. No part of him missed the chaos upstairs, sure freshman year this kind of thing was at least slightly intriguing. But the parties and the drinking grew tiresome and well...annoying. At least now he knew his way around, no one went near the pool, it restricted them.

So, with his bubbling soda by his side, and his book in hand he just sat. It was almost peaceful, the moon found its way through the window, the muffled sounds of music were present and the water felt cool to the touch, reminding him he was there.

“Are you reading?” A slurred voice requests, Patton squints up watching Logan tumble into the space. His feet repeating a crass and heavy movement.

“Are you tap dancing?” Patton hides his giggle. Logan shrugs dropping what seems to be his hundredth red solo cup of the night. Roman makes it a point to never give him glass ones or anything fancier seeing as his tendency to well...destroy grows heavy.

“Trying to” he continues, practically falling over himself, the pool and him soon to become very familiar. “Why are you reading at a party, it's a party or a social gathering and while reading is generally an enjoyable activity it deems itself unsocial and a bore when surrounded by peers and other things to spark your brain” He rambles, Patton forgot how fast the teen could talk. Logan had not been to debate in awhile. “Captain of the cheerleading squad, I would presume this is exactly your type of event” Logan staggers forward a bit more.

“Observant” Patton mumbles, returning his focus to his book, flipping through the pages happily.

“I mean I did happen to notice some of your team was present” Logan continues, Patton nods.

“Yes, I saw you and Brianna grow very close, I think a spring wedding” Patton jokes, Logan furrows his brows clearly scanning his already jumbled brain for the person in question. “Red head, wearing the green sweater and jeans” Patton reminds, Logan snaps a flash of excitement.

“Ah yes! She was fun, well okay, better than most people I suppose.” He sighs, finally finding himself a ground, he breathes. “I want to swim, so with my capable body and sane mind I shall” He deems, Patton looks up catching Logan as he removes his shirt. Now Patton wasn't invisible and he wasn't one to deny that Logan was well...fit. Hearing the splash as Logan falls into the pool he returns to his book. The water makes a plethora of noises, moving around the pool growing close to Patton. “You're intelligent” Logan pops up, Patton's gaze moves to him. He's closer now, fiddling with the water around him.

“Thank you?” Patton wonders, its random but he thinks its a compliment.

“Straight A’s, you skipped your junior year” Logan lists, Patton knows all this but he hums along, no harm in listening. “Captain of the cheerleading squad, student council president and vice president to the drama cabinet” Logan moves closer, Patton finally understands.

“So this is how you do it?” Patton kicks a tiny bit, the water flicks melting back into the pool. “You root out their accomplishments, find yourself impressed and then suddenly head over heels for you” He laughs, Logan hates the weird sense that floods him as the delicate sound sweeps the room.

“Photographic memory” Logan shrugs, leaning back as his hair washes over, drooping with thick water. He advances, curious as Patton continues to neglect him and read his book. “Im not wrong am i?” Patton shrugs, his eyes averting Logans prominent gaze. “Why dont you get in the pool? Why come down to read and sit with your feet in the water when your body could be submerged, are you so bored?” Logan pushes

“Just here for a friend” Pattons short and quick responses bother Logan, something about their manner itches him. He moves closer, finding himself close enough to feel the warmth upon his tingling skin.

“What, may I ask, are you reading?” Logan inquires, peeking over. He attempts to take the book, the world was his to own, why should this book be any different. Patton pulls away and soon the pair commence in a playful game, Patton tugs his book away as Logan fears no boundaries and continues to close the space between them. Grabbing as fast as he can to try and see what might be so much more interesting then Logan himself. Finally it slows and the pair eyes lock, Pattons arms retire and his body relaxes allowing a mutual agreement to both move closer and lock lips with one another.

He couldn't deny that the hype is not valid, he was a good kisser.

But even with Logan's hands meeting his own, and the perfect way this felt…

This wasn't Patton.

He pulls away, resting his hand on Logan's chest. A tender but bittersweet look to a pouting Logan.

“Sorry Moreno, but I'm not going to be one of those girls or boys” He smirks. The shock runs from Logan's face quickly as he pretends to fall hurt back into the pool. Patton stands finding the clock has run its course, and the night comes to a close. Gathering his things, stepping over Logan's mess, with no looking back he makes his way upstairs.

~~~

“Did you atleast have a bit of fun?” Roman hopes, Virgil and him having reconvened in the kitchen.

“When you were not stepping on my feet?” Virgil teases, pouring himself a much needed glass of water. “Yeah I had fun.” He rests, giving a somewhat anxious Roman a reason to breathe. They seemed to keep their proximity to one another, Virgil leans comfortably on the counter.

“Well good…” Roman whispers, not really paying attention as hes much more focused on the small details placed around Virgil's face. The sweet dimple of his sarcastic smirk, the poorly hidden under bags sleeping below his stormy and ebony eyes. The soft yet controlled way he kissed him-

Hold on…

They pull away both utterly confused by how this night had proceeded.

“You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that…” Roman fiddles with Virgil's hand, ignoring the sweat from both.

“Me too” He smiles under his gloom “I think we’re just drunk” Virgil searches for an excuse, he knows the reality. He's been around long enough.

“I'm not drunk, are you?” Romans voice remains soft, Virgil shakes his head. The only drink he had consumed was club soda and water, both becoming aware as they push on his bladder. “I've had a moderate amount of drinks” Roman cant talk apparently, his ability to communicate normally and with his typical charm had clearly left him. Disappointed at his failed attempts.

“I should go” He decides, Patton appearing in the doorway only furthering that choice. Roman pulls away, biting his lip as he nods. “Thanks for inviting me”

“Thanks for coming” He replies, turning to Patton “Both of you” Feeling Virgil slip away, joining Patton. With a timid smile and wave he watches them link arm, rest tired heads and disappear.

~~~

“Are you going to help clean up or sit there and threaten to throw up?” Roman bites, exhausted he organizes and cleans up the remains of his celebration. Logan groans, his head pounding wanting nothing less then to be useless and contain almost zero information.

“He was different, and I don't understand why or how but he was. He was witty and he said no.” Logan begins, Roman yawns knowing what course this was setting him upon. “But I like him and not just I need to win over him but truly like him. I don't like this feeling, but it wasn't a done deal” He speaks, his words making no sense worrying Roman. “I kissed him, kissed him, and I do that. I truly do. I find some brief and fulfilling satisfaction from performing such an action but when he decided against it I felt not..that” Roman nods, processing his vague and ranting words. “Its not that hes cliche and that hes different but it was, he didn't care, this wasnt a game to him or some quick fling or an experimentation it was nothing” He scrambles hard for an explanation, all this thinking hurting his frail state. “I don't know what I feel, I don't understand and I don't enjoy that. I like understanding, I do, I know things, I'm smart, I got it..” This was Romans cue as soon as the self-doubt and irrationality set in, Logan needed to shut down for the evening. “I don't know what I'm talking about, who was it...Patty? Marlene...maybe Connor” he ponders, his trail of thought gone.

“Your fathers coming home tomorrow, we should get you rested and ready for his meeting” Roman reminds, leading a hyper and ranting Logan to his room. He moans as he falls to the bed.

“I loathe the idea of my father returning, I wish not to see him or meet with him. Its the same thing as always, and I don't mind, I've accepted my path but why must I be continued to be reminded of my lack of freedom and set future. I don't care, I have no qualms but to have to constantly be pushed further sparks a rebellious thought in me and I wish-

“I will smother you with my pillow Logan” Roman interjects “Go to sleep, you'll be back to your normal, cold, and uncaring self in the morning” Logan rolls over, clutching to the pillow beside him “Nothing will matter and you'll have become familiar with at least three new people by noon” Roman decides

“Mm...I very much hope you are correct in your predicament” And with his final words Logan falls into a deep sleep. Roman after much cleaning, passes out in his own manner, sprawled on his bed, hating the night and the way it went.

[splendidlyimperfect]

I’ve never written for ATLA before but I rewatched it a while back and have a bunch of feelings about Zuko so here’s a bit of fluffy Sokka/Zuko angst. ^-^ 

Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar) Additional Tags: Canon Universe, Fluff and Angst, Scars, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Stargazing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holding Hands, Enemies to Friends, Short & Sweet, Zuko's got baggage and Sokka wants to help, They're both adorable dorks

Summary:  Sokka finds out how Zuko got his scar.

-----

Sokka can’t sleep.

It’s not like this is something new, but it’s getting really goddamn annoying to close his eyes every night and stare at the inside of his eyelids until eventually he gives up and goes to look at the stars. Every time he thinks he’s ready to fall asleep, his mind starts running in circles again – the war, his father, the failed attack, guilt, guilt, guilt.

At least the stars are pretty. He’s found a new place to watch them from – a little outcropping that hangs out over the vast expanse of the ocean. It’s tall and terrifying, and being up here makes Sokka feel significant, somehow.  

He’s lying on his back, staring up at the constellations, when he hears rustling in the bushes behind him. He’s immediately on edge, boomerang in hand, crouched and ready to attack.

“It’s just me.” It’s Zuko’s voice, and Sokka relaxes. A month ago, he would have kept his guard up and reminded Zuko about what a jerk he was. But Zuko’s been nothing but kind (and honestly kind of adorably awkward) since he joined them, so Sokka’s pretty sure he’s not about to be pushed off the cliff.

Continue reading on AO3

“What are you doing up here?” Sokka asks. It’s meant to sound like a demand, but it comes across as curious.

“What are you doing up here?” Zuko replies. He crosses his arms over his chest, then drops them to his sides, then moves them in front of him like he’s not quite sure where they should go. “I come out here every night.”

“Oh.” Sokka scoots over and gestures to the ground next to him. “I didn’t know, sorry.”

Zuko shrugs, moving cautiously toward Sokka and settling down on the grass. Sokka studies the scar that covers half of his face – ridged and red, interrupting Zuko’s otherwise smooth, fair skin. Then he realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away, focusing on the starry sky instead.

“It’s okay,” Zuko says quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He glances at Sokka, then gestures to his face. “Everyone stares.”

“I didn’t—that’s not what...” Sokka puts his hands up defensively, then sighs and drops them. “Sorry.”

Zuko shrugs. “I know it’s ugly.”

“It isn’t,” Sokka says quickly. Zuko makes a face like he’s raising an eyebrow, except he doesn’t have an eyebrow on that side, just marred, red skin. “It’s badass.”

“Badass,” Zuko says slowly, then shakes his head and rests his chin on his knees.

“Yeah,” Sokka says, crossing his legs under him. “Scars are cool. I got a sweet one when I fought off a dolphin piranha that attacked our fishing boat one time. Check it out!”

By the time embarrassment catches up with him, he’s already pulled up his shirt to show Zuko the round, bite-shaped scar just below his ribs. He sits there for a second, cheeks pink as Zuko stares at him, then quickly tugs his shirt back down and crosses his arms over his stomach.

“I don’t like my scars,” Zuko says quietly. He doesn’t elaborate, just stares up at the stars.

Sokka’s brain takes too long to catch up to his mouth, so before he can think better of it, he asks, “How’d you get it?” Zuko’s shoulders tense and Sokka mentally smacks himself. “Sorry, that’s not my—”

“My dad,” Zuko says.

The words sink in slowly, like they’re filtering through water, or in another language.

“Your... what?”

“My dad,” Zuko repeats, voice flat.

“That... how...” Sokka stammers, hands moving uncertainly in front of him.

“I spoke out of turn and he challenged me to an Agni Kai – a firebending duel.” Zuko’s voice is flat and something uncomfortable twists in Sokka’s stomach. “I didn’t want to fight him, so he...” He gestures to his face.

“What?” Sokka says, and he knows it’s not the right thing to say, but his mind is stuck on my dad burned my face. “How old were—”

“Thirteen.”

The silence that hangs around them is thick and uncomfortable, and Sokka feels like he can’t quite breathe. He thinks of his own father, of him teaching Sokka to fish, of hugs and laughter and stories under the sky.

No wonder Zuko’s so angry all the time.

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says eventually, because there’s really nothing else to say. Zuko shrugs, and Sokka’s brain finally catches up to the earlier part of the conversation. “Wait, scars? Plural?”  

“Mm.”

“From... your dad?”

Zuko tips his head noncommittally and suddenly Sokka feels way, way out of his depth. He’s never been good with emotional conversations – that's what Katara is for. Sokka’s just the funny one. But Katara isn’t here, and Sokka is, and Zuko’s trusting him.

“Do you... wanna talk about it?” Sokka says eventually. His voice feels out of place in the soft night air – there's nothing around them but trees and the stars and the dark.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Zuko says, playing with a loose thread at the bottom of his pants. “It happened. He’s awful, and I’m...” He swallows. “I’m trying to be better than him. I know you don’t trust me, but—”

“I do.” The words surprise Sokka, but he quickly realizes that they’re true. Thinking about the pain Zuko’s gone through is enough to make everything slowly start to make sense. “You aren’t your dad.”

“I hurt people.”

“People hurt you.”

“That’s not an excuse.” Zuko says, and he somehow manages to sound grown up and like a small child at the same time. There’s a softness to his words that make it far too easy for Sokka to picture him as a scared little boy.

“Maybe not,” Sokka admits, and before he can stop himself, he shifts a bit closer to Zuko. “But you’re helping now. Doing the right thing, y’know?”

“Mm.” Zuko sighs, then flops onto his back, staring up at the stars. A strange sense of longing stirs in Sokka – a desire to somehow make this better even though he has no idea how.

He shuffles down next to Zuko, very conscious of how close they are. Zuko doesn’t move, so Sokka follows his gaze upward and searches the constellations until he finds the one he’s looking for.

“See those three in a row?” he says, pointing at a group of bright stars not far from the moon. The movement of his arm brushes his shoulder against Zuko’s. “That’s my favorite one – Nunki.”

Zuko frowns. “Uncle always...” He hesitates, shaking his head. “He said it was the Mulu-izi.”

“Huh.” Sokka drops his arm but doesn’t move awake from Zuko. He’s sure he’s imagining it, but it feels like Zuko’s leaning against him, just a little. “I guess everyone has different names for them. What does... Mulu...”

“Mulu-izi.”

“What does it mean?”

Zuko sighs, and this time Sokka’s sure he’s moved just a little bit closer. Their knees are touching now, and Zuko is so warm against him. “The lost child,” Zuko says quietly.

“Oh.” Sokka doesn’t say anything for a second, just listens to Zuko’s quiet breathing and the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff, hundreds of feet below them.

“What does ‘Nunki’ mean?” Zuko asks eventually.

“The Heart of the Ocean,” Sokka says. “My dad said it guides sailors away from danger. It shows them the...” He hesitates, trying to remember the way his dad had phrased it when he was little, sitting on his father’s lap in the middle of the night and staring up at the sky. “The true path,” he says. “Like... the way out of darkness, or something.”

“Very eloquent,” Zuko says, and Sokka can hear a tiny hint of a smile in his voice.

“Shut up,” Sokka grumbles, nudging Zuko with his shoulder. Zuko retaliates by kicking his ankle, and then they both move to shove at each other at the same time and their hands touch.

Sokka’s breath catches. He feels like he’s been shocked, and he’s immediately glad that it’s dark enough that Zuko can’t see the redness that rushes to his cheeks. He’s about to yank his hand away when he feels the tentative brush of Zuko’s knuckles against his – purposeful this time, not an accident in the dark.

For some reason, instead of pulling his hand away, he returns the touch, stomach twisting at Zuko’s soft exhale. They don’t move for a second, and then somehow their fingers slide together, and they both move until their joined hands are resting against Zuko’s bent leg.

A charged silence fills the air and Sokka isn’t sure what any of this means, but it feels right, somehow. He tips his head against Zuko’s and gestures up at the sky again with his other hand.

“What’s that one called?” he asks, voice surprisingly steady.

“Szak-khash,” Zuko replies, and before Sokka can ask him what it means, he squeezes Sokka’s hand and says, “A New Beginning.”  

[ngame989]

“Enough” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 11

Writing: @ngame989​

Art: @toxicpsychox​

Musical Arrangement: @ubercelloczar​

Editing: @ubercelloczar​, @seddm​

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: Star, Marco, Tom, and Janna reflect on their pasts, arrive at a crossroads in the present, and make decisions about their futures when Echo Creek Academy hosts a dance with an uncannily familiar theme.

Comic Page

Masterpost

Merry Christmas, happy holidays, happy New Year! This is a very special chapter, slightly breaking the tradition of having its poster be a Polaroid photo (though one of those will be coming soon lol). Also, this was inspired by an actual real life event, Google the date for yourself. MASSIVE thanks to my friend @ubercelloczar​​ for the musical arrangement - I can’t embed it partway through so I’ll just link it when the time comes. Hope you enjoy!

Red. All these years, and she was just now realizing how little red there was in her expansive collection of outfits. Star could probably count on one hand the number of times she’d worn anything in that color besides Marco’s oversized hoodies. Though for all intents and purposes she’d moved into Marco’s room over a year ago, most of her clothes were still kept in her old room at Angie’s insistence. You leave pajamas in the mailbox ONE TIME and suddenly everyone’s all “please use a closet, Star.” Her fingers fondly brushed over the fabrics of dozens of dresses and skirts she owned. The turquoise with the narwhal? Timeless classic, though a bit worse for wear after so many life or death incidents on Mewni. Purple with suspenders? Eh, not so much… for whatever reason she just hadn’t felt like wearing that in a while. Her sleeveless sky blue dress, on the other hand, had made its way back into her rotation after the dimensions cleaved. Why, she couldn’t say, though she tended to skip the leg warmers these days. The pink overalls with the cute skirt were one of her favorite buys on Earthni - the perfect blend of dimensional fashions.

Minutes passed as she reminisced, her wardrobe a library unveiling its stories as her eyes roved its contents. One random winter night came to mind at the sight of her rarely used fuzzy yellow jammies. The heater had been on the fritz, so she and Marco had cuddled up even closer than normal. Her brain had been too frozen to think straight at the time, but in hindsight it was one of her favorite memories - spending all night watching movies with family, hot cocoa by the gallon, and holding Marco tight did more to warm her soul than any heater ever could. Some more notable memories were captured in the attire too, like the lavender dress she’d planned to wear to her first school dance before ditching it to resurrect a clown; the Love Sentence concert tee she’d made; her green dinosaur dress, captured forever on that fateful photo strip.

Experiences shared with Marco stood out among the rest - they usually did anyway, but tonight perhaps more than most, and for good reason. She’d once obsessed over a tattered, stinky hoodie of his as a source of calm and stability for some of the harshest weeks in her life, but tonight she felt like she was at her highest point. When her eyes finally spotted her target, the reason she had even been rummaging around an old closet and choking on enough dust to fell an adult warnicorn, her small, nostalgic smile stretched into a wide grin laden with too many emotions to count. If there’s any night to wear red, this is it, Star thought as she slipped into the silky dress awaiting her.

After all, she and Marco were once again going to a Blood Moon Ball.

Six Weeks Earlier

“Not sure if we’ll be able to pull this off, Diaz. They’ve got us surrounded.” Steam rolled out of Star’s mouth with the words, threatening to give away their location. She shivered despite the warm pink fleece she wore; the wind today was so chilly that even Marco had donned a winter jacket over his hoodie. They were in the midst of a battle, nay, an all-out war. We’ve got one, maybe two dozen? We’re doomed.

Where Star faltered, Marco’s resolve was firm. “Our only option is a last stand. I can lead a strong forward assault and draw fire long enough for you to flank their offense.” They’d found a secure location with solid cover, but it severely limited their scouting ability. Marco lowered his hood and stole a glance above the metal behind them, ducking back down instantly. Snow had already accumulated on his lashes and glittered softly in the sunlight, but Star couldn’t afford to linger on that image. It was do or die.

He took her hands and pulled her close, almost touching their noses. “If I don’t make it, Star, I want you to take care of Nachos for me, OK?” He scooped up his armful of snowballs and moved into position.

She theatrically reached out a hand towards him right as he got to the threshold of safety. “I’ll never forget you Marcoooo…” she whispered loudly. The pair giggled as Star grabbed her ammunition. “Alright, enough of that. Ready?”

“Ready.”

Marco dashed around the playground slide and into the fray. Right as Star followed, she heard him yelp and fall into the soft snow coating the playground, three enemy combatants hovering over him and pelting him mercilessly. “Marco!” Star yelled and trudged over with the gleeful cheers of their enemy ringing in her ears. “Speak to me, Marco! Don’t leave me!”

“Star… Remember me...” He grunted and let his head drop into the snow.

“Noooooooooo!” With one final breath, she flopped on top of him and accepted death by a thousand snowballs.

One extra large hunk of snow, far too large to have been thrown by any of the kids, exploded on Star’s back and coated her entirely in soft white fluff. Star heard the warm rumble of Antonio’s hearty chuckles at his successful finishing blow. “Alright, kiddos, your families are here. Have a happy break!” His beefy hand grabbed Star’s own and easily hefted her to her feet before doing the same for Marco. How the heck he was OK in the cold with just an ear-flappy-hat and his usual flannel shirt, she’d never know.

Star dusted herself off and watched the children skip through the snow - a much smaller group than usual, since it was the last evening shift before Christumpmasday break. Most were eager to return to their families, though Star had to help two little girls finish building their snowlizard and take a few pictures before they were willing to leave without bursting into tears; in their defense, it was a ridiculously cute and fun snowlizard. And with that, it was finally holiday break time!

As they walked back to the Center with Antonio, Star took in the sight of the campus covered in fresh snow. The sparkling white planes draped across the pristine Earth architecture contrasted with the raw, natural aesthetic of snow and ice intermingled with remnants of a once-thriving Mewman village, but it all blended together into something unique and beautiful. She caught Marco transfixed with a goofy smile on his face, in awe of her as much as she was with the world, and her cheeks flushed a tiny bit more than they’d already done in the cold. The crunch of snow underfoot and the gentle whooshing of the wind as they swung their joined hands back and forth were the only sounds disturbing this peaceful, perfect moment.

“Merry Christumpmasday, Antonio!” Star shouted as she gave her boss-slash-friend a big hug, and he laughed and returned the gesture with enough strength to lift both Star and Marco off the ground a little.

“Same to you two. Thanks again for staying late, I feel bad about keeping anyone here like this. My husband’s still out of town until tomorrow so home, work, it’s all the same to me, personally. Wish your whole family the best for me.” After saying their goodbyes, Star and Marco walked back out into the cold where their ride was waiting.

“Hey, girl” Marco’s voice was tender as he adjusted Nachos’ cute winter cap and stroked her back. As he was testing his foothold to make sure he wouldn’t slip and faceplant while trying to hop on, Antonio peeked his head out the door.

“Wait, before you go… an elderly lady gave me this flier for some kinda dance.” He scratched his chin through his beard. “Dunno why she brought it here of all places, but since I had it, I thought I might as well pass it along.”

“Oh, is it for that big dance the high school is throwing for all the teens in town?” Marco asked.

“Seems so. Maybe she just got confused about what kinds of kids it was for,” Antonio said, lightly chuckling. “January 30, it says, and it’s an all-nighter; that’s quite the shindig. If Earthni parties are anything like my high school days, it’s probably best I give you the whole next day off,” he said with a wink and a smirk.

All night dance? Even the Bounce Lounge was rarely that crazy - what was so special about this? Antonio handed the flier to Star and Marco who took hold of the other side of it, moving it between them as they gaped in shock at its contents.

“No way, there’s no way, what the-” she and Marco muttered in perfect unison. “Are you- seeing this? It can’t- how did-” They started and stopped as their attempts to stop copying each other canceled each other out.

Marco blinked a few more times to finally pry his eyes away from the page. “Well, eclipses do happen pretty often on Earth, I guess...” They both glanced incredulously back and forth between each other and the flier before the tension in their shoulders finally dropped. An unspoken agreement had been made: they might as well give this dance a shot. Star took one last look at the flier before hopping on Nachos, stuffing it into her jacket and wrapping her arms around Marco’s midriff for the ride home, its words emblazoned in her mind.

January 30-31, 2018. Super Blue Blood Moon Eclipse Extravaganza at Echo Creek Academy! Come dance under the red light of the lunar eclipse!

***

Present Day

“OK, Diaz, let’s see what you’ve got. Sweat prevention, check,” he noted with a quick whiff of his armpits. “Outfit, check.” Bright red dress shirt, sharp black jacket, sleek black tie. Marco posed in the bathroom mirror a few times, getting everything in order for a night he’d been looking forward to for months. “Hair, check.” It was just his usual style, but it never hurt to make sure it was ready to go. Looking good, Diaz.

His stare lingered in their bedroom mirror for a moment too long as thoughts began racing through his mind. Was he nervous? Marco Diaz, nervous for a big night with the girl he loved? More often than not Star was his reason not to be nervous about anything, but this was their first big formal dance as a couple and he did have a pretty dicey history with those. And what were the odds that it was on the night of the Blood Moon again? He wasn’t exactly worried about the curse, per se - there was some caveat or another in demon lore that the Blood Moon could only impart its curse when shining through a special Underworld crystal, the very same one embedded in the roof of the Lucitor ballroom years ago, Relicor had assured them. And it’s not like it even did anything bad to them in the first place, right? Marco still stood by his own words - it was all baloney. Still though, it did leave him with a decision to make. He experimentally put on his Día de Los Muertos mask and turned his head a bit. Should he?

“I don’t think I ever told you how cute you look in that mask.” He’d gotten pretty good about anticipating Star’s sudden appearances but had been caught up in his own mind enough that he still jumped a bit, much to her amusement. “Buuuuuuuut…” she drawled as she swiftly stepped forward and snatched it off his head. “I like your face more.” She grinned and pinched his cheek before they both stopped to truly look at each other. They hadn’t seen each other’s outfits ahead of time but as always they’d been on the same page. “I like the rest of you, too,” she muttered, biting her lip. Marco felt his cheeks turn the same color as his shirt at the comment, but also at her own appearance. Two wavy strands of hair in front of her ears framed her adorable face, though her hair had otherwise been left down as normal. Her red dress had a lone heart clasp on one shoulder, a pattern of moons and stars on a dark band circling the waist, a knee-length wavy skirt that gently swished as she rocked back and forth, and black high heels.

“Wow,” he uttered.

“You like it?” Star asked hopefully. “I thought, well, I didn’t want to go too over-the-top and wear the old Blood Moon Ball outfit but I still wanted to fit the theme so-”

“You’re beautiful,” Marco stated. Not that she’d needed to be wearing an incredible evening dress for him to think that, and he knew she knew that too, but she was still making him a bit dizzy right now. “Wait-” he stopped her when she tried to move in for a kiss, leaning back to their nightstand. He grabbed her horns and gently placed them on her head, brushing a wayward strand of hair back into place. “Perfect.” He leaned forward to kiss her, seeing her doing the same as his eyelids closed, and-

“Mijos!” Star and Marco’s eyes opened, freezing in place so close together that her breath tickled his lips, staring at each other for a second before turning towards the door. Daaaaad. “Oh, sorry, did we interrupt a moment?” We? Rafael stepped aside to reveal all their parents, plus Eclipsa and Globgor, crammed into the hallway. Star took Marco’s hand as they separated.

“Eeeee!” Eclipsa squealed in delight. “You two are absolutely precious. Come downstairs, loves, we must take your picture.”

“I’ve got two backup rolls of film!” Angie chimed in as Moon herded them all down the stairs and out of the way.

Marco looked at Star, who was goofily smiling at him as she squeezed his hand. It wasn’t that he minded being affectionate with Star around friends and family - heck, his own parents were still the most overtly lovey-dovey couple in the house - but he couldn’t help a bit of embarrassment when they were the center of attention like that. After double checking to make sure they had everything they needed, the pair headed out and walked down the stairs together to the oohs and aahs of their families. Star’s parents merely watched while Marco’s both wielded cameras, snapping pictures fervently. Nachos wasn’t due for another few minutes, so they decided to just endure the gauntlet.

“Didn’t think a sort-of-school dance was such a big deal,” Star murmured. Eclipsa sat down on the arm of the couch next to Globgor while Moon daintily folded her hands in her lap on the opposite side with River squished between her and the size-shifter.

“Well, when Marco left for Mewni, we were worried he’d never get to have a prom,” Angie cheerily responded, having evidently heard Star’s comment. “This is basically the same thing, though. Raf, honey, remember our prom?”

“Oh, yes, it was delightful,” he said, finally lowering the camera and turning to address the others on the couch. “We had actually just broken up that morning and went separately, but your mother just happened to walk directly into me as the slow music started and we ended up waltzing the night away. That was the last time we had to get back together.” How many details about my parents have I missed? Marco wondered to himself, before realizing he likely didn’t want to know quite a few of them and shuddering a bit. Still, it was better than being endlessly fawned over, so Marco stood perfectly still and shut his mouth.

Eclipsa set a hand on Globgor’s shoulder, smiling fondly. “Globgor and I met at a dance too! Well, not quite a ‘dance’, I suppose... he twirled me out of the way of an assassin’s arrow, and I swept him off his feet, but the principle seems about the same to me.”

“I was about to eat a guard until she blasted me to the ground. She cast a spell on me in more ways than one.” Globgor laughed. “Though the literal one was very painful,” he added seriously.

“Well, River and I had been to our share of Silver Bell Balls and other royal festivities,” Moon chimed in. “Though when I was Star’s age we weren’t together yet, and I was very focused on the kingdom by the time things were calm enough to enjoy them properly…”

“And now our little girl is going to big fancy galas with a handsome young man. Next thing you know she’ll be setting out on her own, never needing her parents again!” River wailed, clutching Moon’s arm. Well, the diversion was good while it lasted.

“River, please,” Moon gently chided. “You two are quite the adorable couple, though. Though I never wished to interfere in your personal affairs on Mewni, I am certainly glad things eventually worked out as well as they did.”

Eclipsa strolled over and enveloped both of them in a hug. “You two look positively astonishing together,” she cooed before releasing them to take them in one at a time. “Star, darling, you’re as stunning as I’ve ever seen you. And Marco...” She paused, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her purple eyes were laden with unbridled affection as they looked him up and down, her lips turning upward in as sincere a smile as he’d seen her display. “Marco, you sweet young man… You’re quite lucky to have each other, you know. Perhaps it’s not my place to say, but I’m so proud of how you’ve grown these past few years. Now have fun tonight, this is great practice for a certain other first dance I see in your future,” she finished with a wink, causing his blush to return with a vengeance.

“Picture time!” Rafael singsonged, getting up close and flashing a camera near Marco’s face. “Do some fun poses! Give the people what they want! We are not going to miss any more of our son’s major life moments!” His voice was filled with determination to the point of sounding angry, and Marco’s eyes widened in part sympathy, part stark terror. Minutes flew by as Star and Marco supplied their families’ demands, exhausting both the traditional prom shots and their signature poses: back-to-back, too cool for school, Star pinching his cheeks, drowning in a monster’s stomach acid… the list seemed endless, and though goofing around with Star was always fun, he’d been anticipating the dance so long that every second of delay felt like torture. Finally, Marco breathed a sigh of relief when his dad moaned in dismay at the camera clicking without anything happening; he was out of film.

“Oh dear, only one left,” Angie echoed. “Let’s get a nice one of a kiss. Don’t be shy.”

“Well, Marco? Shall we?” Star threw him a flirtatious grin, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He opened his mouth to respond with a quip of his own when he heard wheels screeching to a stop outside. Sweet freedom. “Well, that’s our ride!” Marco stated a bit too forcefully, breaking away from Star and heading towards the door to greet Nachos. Flying in on a dragoncycle would be a major departure from whatever prom fantasies about picking up Jackie in a limo he’d had as a kid, but he still wanted to do something special with a traditional flair. She snorted and cackled when the door opened and revealed his grand prom surprise: Nachos with a top hat and bow tie.

“Marco, what did you do to her?”

“Well, it’s prom, so our ride needs to be the fanciest it can be,” he giggled as she rolled her eyes. “Only the best for you, m’la-”

When Star’s lips cut him off sweetly as she tugged him closer, suddenly Marco didn’t mind staying a little bit longer, and the snap of his mother’s camera seemed to agree.

***

Chaos. Compared to any dance Star had been to before, this was the best kind of chaos. The energetic beat of the electronic music thrummed in her ears as her hips swayed and arms waved in the air. She wasn’t sure exactly how many people had shown up, but the gymnasium of Echo Creek Academy was more packed than she’d ever seen it. Still, it wasn’t so cramped that she had no room to get her groove on; when her butt bumped into Marco beside her, it was by choice as she slyly grinned at her boyfriend in his red shirt, now sans jacket. He smirked back at her and set his feet in place, slicing his hands wildly through the air. “I thought you didn’t like the sword-hand dance,” Star loudly spoke into his ear, though it was a whisper relative to the volume of the music and crowd.

“Yeah, but if everyone else is gonna do it anyway, I might as well own it.” They locked eyes as she began to mirror him, mimicking his karate poses in time with the music. He abruptly grabbed both her hands and swung them up and down, laughing as they just shook everything they had without a care in the world. She yanked him towards her and spun them both around, their backs flush against each other as they kept bouncing to the rhythm.

“Woop, woop! Starco in da HOUSE!” Ponyhead stuck her horn between them, forcing them apart as she floated up and down.

Tom also made his way beside them, drink in hand. “Anyone else want punch?” He lowered the plastic cups he’d been levitating over the crowd into Star and Marco’s hands, and Pony’s tongue. “Gotta say, this is pretty good punch. What kind of blood is it? Centaur? Unicorn? Oooooh, I’ve heard that giraffigator blood is hot these days.”

Marco eyed his cup warily. “What the heck is a giraffigat-”

“WHAT’S THIS ‘BOUT UNICORN BLOOD?” Pony screamed, getting up in Tom’s face.

Star quickly separated them, holding her hands up to try and ease her friends. “Guys, guys, there’s no actual blood in it, I think it’s just citrus.” Well, she was fairly sure. She took one trial sip, tasting the sweet flavor of- “Wait, yep, this is blood,” she said disgustedly after she spit it back into the cup.

“More for me, then,” Tom said nonchalantly, as he snatched Marco’s cup and took another swig while Pony floated in circles grumbling. It seemed like the DJ was taking a break from the upbeat dancing music for now, so the group made their way to the outskirts of the gymnasium where they’d left their belongings. Star laid down on the bleachers, resting her head on Marco’s lap after he’d put his jacket back on and sat down. He stroked her hair with his thumb as they relaxed after an intense hour of dancing. It struck her that this was actually the first time she’d ever truly had carefree fun at a formal dance. The original Blood Moon Ball left her with very mixed feelings to say the least, and her one experience with an Earth dance had been a bit of a disaster even though she didn’t actually go. Time had largely expunged the lingering venom she’d directed at herself for her relationship mistakes after returning to Mewni, leaving some life lessons and fond memories; but even some enjoyable fiery dances with Tom didn’t change the fact that the Silver Bell Balls were stuffy political dramafests. She reached up and intertwined her fingers with Marco’s, squeezing his hand and beaming at him - this was more like it.

“You know, I will say, this DJ is killing it tonight,” Pony said as she returned. “I was kinda expectin’ something lame but this is the best party I’ve been to since the Bounce Lounge closed.” Star nodded in agreement.

Tom leaned back and crossed his legs a few rows below them, taking a sip from his second cup so far. “Oh, yeah, I know him, he’s actually the cousin of my old anger management coach. His name’s Kim H. Brian.”

“I thought your coach’s name was Brian,” Marco responded.

“Yeah, Brian Brian.”

“Get outta t- wait, the Kim H. Brian?” Star bolted up at Marco’s words and they stared at each other incredulously.

“The producer of Love Sentence’s most controversial album, Prison Breakup?” Star and Marco said simultaneously.

“That’s the one,” Tom said, chuckling a bit. “Only you two could still say entire sentences at the same time without a demonic curse.” He stared into his drink for a few seconds, his visage suddenly becoming completely somber. All three eyes closed as he took a deep breath before floating up and sitting next to the couple. “Look, about the whole Blood Moon thing-”

Hold on, was he still in a twist about this? “Tom, it’s fine!” Star said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We broke the Curse, you apologized, it’s all good.”

“I know, but it’s not that- after we went to the Severing Stone, deep down I knew that the Curse wasn’t why you two had those feelings, but I just kept pretending because I still liked you, Star. If I hadn’t been so caught up in that, maybe it wouldn’t have taken so damn long to sort our mess out. I know it doesn’t matter anymore, but… I guess the dance just got me thinking again about friendship and love and stuff. So if you’re OK with it, I actually asked Kim to do a little something special for you two later, to help give you the Blood Moon Ball you deserve,” he finished with a toothy smile.

Star’s eyes started to mist up; Tom had always been supportive of Star and Marco since they’d all sorted themselves out, but it never failed to move her. Star lunged forward, wrapping herself around him in a bear hug, and Marco followed suit. “Toooooom, that’s so sweet!”

“Yeah, man, that’s really-” Marco was stopped by the sudden intrusion of Ponyhead into their little moment.

“Hey, Lucitor, do you know where Janna went? I’ve been TRYING to ask her for the hot deets on totally eligible bachelors here. You know, name, height, bank account balance: the usual business. So anyway she hasn’t been, like, responding at all and I’m starting to worry I might not be able to score a good enough rebound to make Seahorse see that he made the biggest mistake of his life letting me dump him!”

Marco nodded toward the still-in-progress group hug. “Little busy?”

“Yeah, whatever, save your huggy feeltime for later, this is im-por-tant.”

“OK, fine,” Tom said, extricating himself from the embrace. “I haven’t seen her for a while but I can help look. It’s Janna, so she’s probably just splicing some gargoyle DNA to a class hamster or something.”

“Last I saw, she was by the old photobooth.”

Wait, that had survived? Star and Marco exchanged shocked glances at the thought of the site of their first kiss having survived the whole way to Earthni.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Marco asked. Star grinned and nodded, grabbing his hand to run off and make even more memories.

***

Janna Ordonia had never been more scared in her entire life. Okay, maybe that time a monster guy exploded into dust a few feet in front of her was more viscerally terrifying, but Janna was used to freakiness and death even before she’d spent so much time in the literal Underworld. Tonight, though? The pit in her stomach that left her unable to speak, unable to think, was something almost alien to her. She had so much unique expertise in dealing with all things mystical and macabre that it took something completely and utterly human to faze her, and now she found herself staring in a mirror struggling to cope.

Janna Ordonia had caught feelings.

She’d always known she had a thing for the spooky and supernatural, so an attraction to a half-demon with two horns, three eyes, and purple skin was basically inevitable. It hadn’t bothered her like this when she’d had a casual fling with a talking skeleton years ago, either. The only logical conclusion she could draw was that whatever she was feeling now was a different beast altogether. The night had started out so pleasantly: the Lucitors had invited her over for a casual dinner beforehand - whatever meat the Underworld used for burgers was damn good - and they’d taken the carriage together to the dance afterwards.

It just made practical sense, it didn’t mean anything, I don’t WANT it to mean anything. Some variant of this refrain had been repeating in her mind a lot lately, but staring at her own reflection, it felt thinner with every passing second. If it was true, she probably wouldn’t even be here now; she could be doing way cooler things with the night of an ultra-rare eclipse than drinking cheap punch and shuffling awkwardly on the dance floor to chart-topping pop trash. But Tom had seemed excited at the prospect, and the next thing she knew she had picked out a simple black dress with pink highlights - hell, it was even Tom’s nonjudgmental support that had given her the confidence to wear her secret favorite color more in the first place. One way or another, everything seemed to circle back to one simple fact. Each day spent learning about the Underworld and adventuring in its depths was obviously worthwhile on its own merits, but it was always better with him. If she couldn’t stop this storm brewing inside, then the only thing left was to take control of it on her own terms. Well, this is it, Janna. You have a serious crush on Tom Lucitor.

By the time her mind had finished processing its own confession, she’d already made her way back to the gym and meandered to a vacant corner to watch idly by herself, not unlike how she’d spent most of the dance so far. They’d arrived from the Underworld fashionably late and it had only taken a few minutes for Janna to ditch her friends and hide while she moped about her feelings, but of course as soon as she wanted company again there was none to be found. She huffed and pulled out her phone, switching between a few games to occupy the time.

“Hey.” She looked up to find Tom holding two glasses. “Anything fun going on in this empty corner?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty intense over here. Some dust bunnies got in a street fight.” She smirked and stole one of his glasses, raising it to her lips for a sip.

“Wait, don’t, that’s-” It tasted funny, fruity and sweet but with a metallic tang. “Blood.” Ah. She considered it for a moment before deciding to take another sip. She’d had worse. “Anyway, where have you been? We basically haven’t seen you since we got here.”

“Oh, you know, nowhere and everywhere. It’s what I do,” she deflected. “Where’re the others?” Star and Ponyhead were forces of nature when it came to stealing the spotlight, so Janna figured they were her best shot at getting through the night with minimal awkwardness.

“We were taking a break and then they ran off to a photobooth. I still don’t really get the hype, but you know how it is with them.”

“Yeah, it’s gross.”

“Yep…” They both fell silent, continuing to drink what was supposedly some kind of real blood punch as the dance droned on in the background. “Hey, so, uh, can we talk for a sec? About… us?”

She tried her damnedest to suppress the unexpected surge of conflicting emotions, burying her face in her cup until she thought she could reliably answer. One time, when they were in elementary school, she’d poured milk down Marco’s shirt at lunch and a few other girls had teased her, insisting that meant Janna had a crush on him. She never really understood that connection - she just kinda liked pranking Marco - but the taunts had gotten to her. There was a sort of pride she felt in being inscrutable, an enigma that could only be unraveled on her own terms. Had he figured her out so easily when she herself had been in denial? A mumbled “uh, sure” was the best she could as she ran through the last few months in her head trying to figure out if she’d betrayed her feelings.

“It’s pretty loud in here, can we head outside?” Janna only nodded in response, her own racing thoughts drowning out her surroundings. The DJ was announcing some kind of special song request as the gym doors closed behind them and they stepped out into the chilly winter air. “Oh, right, um-” Tom quickly took his jacket off, handing it to her. “Since it’s cold, and I can make my own fire, and-”

“Thanks,” she gruffly said, putting her arms through it. Damn him. She was cold, and he was being thoughtful and helpful, but it only made the upcoming conversation even more difficult for her to have. One hand idly pawed through the enchanted storage compartment she’d fitted in her dress (even in formalwear, she considered function most important). Damnit, she’d left her entire arsenal at home, save for a prototype glass bottle that would harmlessly evaporate on impact, which was filled with some leftover antigravity potion - no easy way out of this, then.

“No problemo,” he drawled, pointing finger guns at her before jamming both hands into his pockets and staring at the ground. “Since Star and I broke up, I’ve been trying really hard to just be my own person. Heck, you’re the one that showed me that’s what I needed to focus on. I had no clue what I was doing.... Honestly, I still don’t.” He paused again, turning back towards the school. “Being here, it just makes it hard to ignore how things have been kinda, you know, weird lately, between…” A little fireball coming off his finger zigzagged back and forth between them.

Why was he so insistent on bringing this up? “Look, Tom, we don’t have to-”

He turned back towards her “Yes, Janna, I think we do! If we don’t deal with it now it’s only going to get worse, and I don’t- I can’t-”

“Dude, drop it, OK? Let’s just go back inside so we can-”

“NO!” A puff of flame shot out of his head but quickly dissipated, leaving only a lingering sizzle and water in his eyes. “I can’t do this anymore! I like you, Janna. I really like you, and it’s screwing everything up.” ...wha? There were a few hundred possible ways Janna thought to respond, but none even made it beyond a guttural yelp in her throat, so Tom continued unabated. “I know you’re you, and you can stay really chill about stuff even when you care a lot, but I can’t, OK? You’re clever and fearless and everything’s more fun with you. You’re one of my best friends and that’s why I couldn’t keep doing this without telling you even if I’m probably making a complete idiot of myself right now.” Every second that Janna remained utterly paralyzed on the spot left Tom’s eyeliner even more streaked as his tears rained down, each tiny splash hissing on the cold pavement and melting the nearby snow and ice. “Yeah, OK, I get it. Look, forget I said anything, I just want to still be friends, OK? I- I totally get if you want some space for a while, so I’ll just- alright, bye.” He wiped off his face with his sleeve and turned around, floating off the ground and flying back into the building, leaving Janna alone on the sidewalk.

The oncoming shivers in Janna’s spine provided the final push to lift the dense fog clouding her mind. He’d just confessed to her, he had a crush on her, and she’d basically just snapped his heart in two. Pangs of guilt and sorrow and joy all ganged up on her; was this how bad things had been for Star and Marco? She almost felt sorry for ribbing them about their romantic struggles now. At this point the only thing left to do was to find Tom, so she sprinted into the building after him, braving the fray of the dance floor once more.

Can’t be that hard to spot a tall set of horns with three eyes. Even though there were all sorts of monsters in attendance, there were very few demons, but that didn’t seem to help her locate him. He wasn’t responding to her texts either, ugh! As Janna kept looking around, she realized she didn’t recognize anyone here. She’d left Echo Creek Academy at the same time as Marco but didn’t go to college, nor had she spent a ton of time with Mewni’s teenage population before the Cleaving. The Underworld was what she knew best; it was where she’d felt most at home, even with two whole dimensions merged together, and that realization spurred her to keep searching. Janna barged through another door into the hallway and rounded a corner, instantly colliding with someone.

“Ex-CUSE me! Watch your freaking face before I pulv-” Ponyhead shouted, shaking her hair back into place after being bumped into the locker. “Oh, it’s you, girl! Where you been? And is that Tom’s jac-”

“Tom. Have you seen him?”

“Oh, I see how it is, first Starco gets their own flipping song and runs outside to go boink under the moonlight or whatever, then my boyfriend runs off to sell a toaster or whatever, then Tom comes in here all moody and doesn’t want to talk to me, and now you’re abandoning me too? I feel like I’ve barely been around you guys lately, why does no one want to spend time with Ponyhead?”

“Wait, didn’t you dump- never mind, Pony, this is important, OK? I seriously blew it, I need to talk to him-”

“Hey, woah, is there some drama going on here? Shoot, why didn’t you say so? OK, so, he was floating around in circles out here for a bit. I came out here to do my bi-hourly makeup check just a minute ago and I do believe he was going back into the gym, mmhm, yes, that is where he was. Go do whatchu gotta do and give me the juicy deets after, mmkay?” Ponyhead winked and whacked Janna on the back with her horn.

Janna ran back into the gym and finally spotted Tom standing in the center of the floor, uninterestedly swaying back and forth to the beat of some crooning couple’s ballad. When his eyes met hers, his gaze became visibly pained as he turned to walk away. “Tom!” Her pleading shout was emphatic enough to keep him from running, but it also attracted an audience and left her standing there, too uncomfortable to speak.

Janna put one foot forward, then another, then another, willing herself forward against her better judgment. She’d frankly had enough: enough talking about her feelings, enough uncertainty about her own relationships, enough giving a single damn about “what-if”s. There’d be plenty of time later to tell him he was her best friend too, to assuage his doubts, and to put more meaningful words to her own feelings, but for now, she had settled on a course of action that began with reaching into her pocket to pull out the lone potion bottle within.

“Uh, Janna, what-” Tom stammered, a different kind of concern than the one he’d been stewing in all night bubbling up in his expression as the crowd backed up slightly. Some tiny voice in the back of her mind registered that they seemed nervous to the point of being frightened, and that comforting feeling pushed her to do the one last thing she needed to do. Before he could react, she slammed the bottle to the ground at her feet and felt the weak antigravity effect take hold. Janna closed the last few steps of distance to Tom, firmly grabbed both his shoulders, and kicked off the ground, crashing her lips into his as she hovered a few inches off the dance floor. Tom unconsciously did the same, letting her momentum carry both of them into the air until the confused, but cheering, audience was beneath them.

As he started to return the kiss, he hesitantly placed one arm on her waist and another behind her back to keep them from drifting apart, and Janna wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so secure.

***

Alright, that’s the last of them. Marco finished carefully stacking the photo strips in Star’s bag while he waited for her to return from the restroom. The photobooth had thankfully been a much more fun and much less emotionally exhausting experience this time around, though a very smug Ben Photino had still greeted them when they were done, $650 richer than before.

Now’s my chance, Star thought as she snuck up and affectionately pounced on Marco from behind. Nearly everything about tonight had been perfect so far - just her, Marco, and their friends getting a night of dancing and partying she wasn’t sure she’d ever forget. For so much of her life, it had seemed like nothing important could ever happen without a sizable dose of drama and conflict; by comparison, this all seemed like a dream, and she didn’t want to wake up anytime soon. Speaking of her friends, though… “Hey, where are the others?” She felt a bit guilty over ditching everyone else to go back to the booth for corn knows how much time, but she was certain they wouldn’t have gone too far.

“Not sure,” Marco responded, craning his neck and spotting a tuft of pink spiky hair and two brown horns across the gym. Why was he heading for the exit?

Marco started to lead the way across the gym floor when the sound system screeched with audio feedback and boomed with the sound of tapping a microphone. “Echo Creek, are we having fun tonight?” the DJ, Kim H. Brian, asked the cheering crowd. “We’re gonna keep this party flowing, but right now we have a very special song for all the soulmates out there, so get ready to twist and twirl your special guy or girl.” Star and Marco tentatively stopped in their tracks.

“Is that-” Marco started.

“What Tom was talking about?” Star finished. “We have to get him before he misses it!” What did you do this time, Tom?

(LINK TO AUDIO)

They had made it to the center of the dance floor when the lights dimmed and tinted red. It was obviously from a stage light, but the effect still flooded them with the same hopes and wants and fears from their run-ins with the Blood Moon. Marco gently smiled and took the lead, keeping one hand in hers and tugging her closer with the other on her waist. Piano chords opened the piece - a slow waltz - and Star and Marco were taking their first steps when the cello started to play a hauntingly familiar melody. It struck them both at the same time - this was the same tune that had played when they danced under the light of the Blood Moon only a few months into her friendship. Their moves grew more daring and flashy as the song went on, spinning and swaying to the rhythm.

“I always forget how good a dancer you are, Marco” Star dreamily sighed when he spun her around and dipped her down.

“My grandma taught me. She says that the only right way to dance is the fun way,” Marco laughed, lingering for half a second too long as the music swelled around them. Somewhere in those blue eyes sparkling with only love for him, he’d lost track of the world around them. Only after he noticed how the blonde curls in front of her ears shimmered in the red light did he snap back to reality and continue the dance, much to Star’s amusement.

“That’s good, because it’s always fun with you.” They stepped in harmony, slowly rotating as they box stepped to the same waltz that had once been a source of apprehension. Star took her hand off his shoulder and lifted it to his face, rubbing her thumb over his cheek. She knew the contours of his face inside and out, could describe every last detail of all the facial hairs that he’d given silly names, could picture every last one of the warm and loving ways his soothing chocolate gaze could pierce her soul, yet it didn’t stop her from being completely enraptured by it now. That intimate knowledge informed her when even the most trivial thing was out of place, which is why she decided to flick a spot just under his mole. “You had a fleck of corn.”

“In my defense, your dad’s cooking is really messy.”

“Yeah… it was cute, though. Like you had a second mole.” Something had changed in the waltz from what they remembered, a different theme slowly building until it led into a refrain that was entirely new yet somehow familiar in a way neither could place. It was a vibrant, comforting melody that felt right for them. Star shifted her hands to the back of his neck as the distance closed between them. Though Marco had grown noticeably taller than her, in her heels she found herself at nearly eye level with him as she rested her forehead on his.

Marco’s arms slithered around her waist, holding her tight as their lively waltz morphed into intimate, formless swaying. “This- this is really nice.”

“Yeah… I love it. I love you, Marco.” She paused a moment, leaning back to get a clear view of as much of him as she could; even after a year and a half of being together and years of friendship before that, she was still giddy over how much she truly loved every bit of him. “Nothing’s ever going to change that.”

“I love you too, Star. I’m not going anywhere.” Their hands joined once more as they resumed their spirited dance, their devotion to one another vaulting their joy to new heights. Neither cared about elegance or form anymore; their steps and spins and lifts came from the deepest places within, as if their very souls were mingling in the air above. Plucked strings accentuated the song as it grew calmer and entered what Marco was fairly sure was its final verse. A bittersweet sensation bubbled up from within his chest; he’d had plenty of moments with Star that he’d never wanted to end, but this one seemed to have an extra significance attached. The final chord of the waltz rung out, the pair both freezing in place in their final waltz pose, stunned at the beauty of what had just transpired.

The crowd’s clapping broke finally them out of their trance. “Woah,” they breathed out in unison. In her breathless state, Star idly wondered if the applause was for them, but she realized how silly that was as the full breadth of the outside world slowly trickled back into her senses. Shortly after, the dance went back to normal; had it been a dream? No, of course not, it had literally just happened mere seconds ago, but the impact it had on them felt otherworldly.

Returning from the daze, Marco finally recalled their goal of finding Tom, and the extent to which Marco wanted to crush Tom in a thankful hug and blubber into his shoulder gave it an additional sense of urgency. He turned to her with a determined look, and had it returned. “We should find Tom.” They went to the gym exit, but it was blocked by... Miss Skullnick.

“Oh, it’s you. Nice to see you, Star,” she saccharinely sneered. “Don’t be trying anything funny, you hear me? We’ve already had four couples’ ‘incidents’.”

A shiver ran through Star at the involuntary thought of Miss Skullnick catching her and Marco in a more... private moment, but she quickly brushed it aside for her own sanity. “Skullzy, we’re just trying to find our friend,” she whined.

“Well, too bad, you can’t use this door. The sidewalk somehow melted and completely iced over, and I don’t wanna be sued for liability!”

“C’mon, Star,” Marco said. “We can just go out the front door.” She was still indignant, but acquiesced and followed Marco into the main building and through a hallway. They rounded the corner to the main entrance and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of Ponyhead passionately making out with Seahorse.

“Pony?!?” Star shouted.

“Oh, um, why hello Star and Earth Turd!”

“Greetings!” Seahorse added in his usual monotone chipper voice.

Star slapped her hand to her forehead. “I thought you broke up ‘for really-realz’ this time, Pony?”

“Well, yes, mmhmm, I do believe that is how I described the sequence of events that occurred. But then, well, you know how it is with him… we made up while y’all went off to take a bazillion pictures or whatever. That weird old human lady that kinda looks like a troll caught us while we were-”

“Pony!” Star yelled, cutting her off in shock. Really, though, the most surprising part was that Ponyhead had been responsible for only one of the so-called “couple’s incidents.”

“Lilacia gave a very high satisfaction rating to the Reflectacorp™ line of vibrating-”

Marco stepped in and clamping Seahorse’s mouth shut before they could be traumatized any further. Star rolled her eyes and took Marco’s hand once more, heading past the other couple towards the front door.

“Fine, I see how it is. C’mon, Seahorse, let’s go get freak-ay on the dance floor!”

“Reflectacorp™ disco technology allows you to boogie and/or woogie risk-free, guarantee-!”

The double doors shut behind Star and Marco as they stepped out into the cold. They walked around the building towards the gym and saw that Miss Skullnick had been telling the truth; but there was no one else in sight, only the snowflakes gently drifting through the air and a full moon above in the night sky. Star still wanted to get back to her friends, but the tranquil scene gave her pause as she stood beside him. Something had been subtly gnawing at her all night - though it’d been on her mind longer than that, if she was honest with herself. “Hey Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“When Eclipsa said earlier about ‘another dance’...” She swallowed, letting the implication hang between them. “Do you think that’s something that will happen?”

He glanced at her quizzically until the meaning sank in and his heart skipped a beat. Was she- did she- is she asking… His eyes blinked rapidly once, twice, three times while he processed the gravity of the question. But his surprise quickly dissolved; after all, he’d been thinking about it too. Maybe he hadn’t drawn that specific connection, but how many times tonight alone had he beheld the wonderful girl beside him and remarked to himself that he’d be happy with her for the rest of his life? He swiveled around to stand in front of her, taking both of her hands into his own. “If you want it to, then I know it will, someday.”

She sighed happily, lacing her fingers through his. It wasn’t even the first time they’d declared their love with permanence, but no matter how far they went, they couldn’t help but be concerned about how the other felt about the next step. “Didn’t a lot of people usually wait until they’re, like, 30 to get married on Earth?”

“A lot of them, yeah,” he admitted, “but, I dunno, I don’t really care about that.”

“Me neither,” she asserted, happily beaming at him.

“So we just… let it happen when we’re ready, I guess.”

“Mmhmm,” Star hummed, feeling a warmth deep inside that combated the chill prickling her skin. One of her hands left his and tangled itself in his hair, as her gaze fondly roved the face she hoped to see as long as she lived before finally settling on his lips. He had the same idea, leaning forward and sweetly kissing her. Their lips were a bit chapped from the cold, but it didn’t bother either of them; this signified something far more than physical gratification. She pressed them closer together until there was no distance left between them, the dual friction of his soft, inviting lips moving against hers and her silky dress rubbing on the coarse fabric of his jacket thrummed through her entire body.

When they separated, his eyes scanned the sky for a moment before sheepishly turning back downwards. “Huh,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s stupid.” Star raised an eyebrow insistently, the pair still in each other’s arms. “It’s just, I thought that maybe- maybe the Blood Moon would be shining, or our cheekmarks would glow or something. It’s dumb, I know-”

“Well, that does happen to us a lot,” she conceded. “But I’m pretty sure the eclipse isn’t supposed to start until, like, 3 AM.” “Have you ever thought about when we broke the Curse?”

“What do you mean?”

Star stepped away from their embrace, folding her arms and stuffing her frigid hands under her armpits as she frustratedly tried to piece together her complicated thoughts. “Like, when we were in the Severing Stone, I remember it took us back to the Blood Moon Ball and we started dancing… what happened after that? If it never changed how we feel, what was even the point?”

Marco shrugged; when he’d finally accepted his feelings once and for all, he’d dismissed the entire concept of the Curse as bogus, but since then he had considered it in some new lights. “If it was actually a curse, I’m glad we got rid of it, but… looking back, I’m kinda glad that the Blood Moon Ball went like it did. That was one of the first times I saw how special you are to me.”

“Same. Plus, that’s where I learned you dance good,” she growled with a smirk. “But still… sometimes I wonder if I told you I loved you while we were in there. Because I did love you then, you know. Even if I was trying to push it away.”

“Maybe we’ll never know.”

“I guess I’ll just have to tell you every chance I get from now on, then, because you’re stuck with me, Diaz.”

“So long as we both shall live. Do you accept?” He asked with a cheeky grin.

Her laughter, bubbly and playful and sincere all at once, was answer enough for Marco. Not one to be outdone, though, Star carefully lowered herself onto one knee, lowering her head and closing her eyes solemnly before looking back up at him. “I dooOOOH-” She shrieked as the icy sidewalk took its toll and sent her toppling sideways. Marco reacted quickly, stopping her from hitting the ground and helping her to her feet. “Maaaaybe we should go inside now.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he responded, draping his jacket over both their shoulders like a cape. “Still have to thank Tom.” She clung to him as they hurried back around the school and into its shelter from the cold - even shared body heat and emotional warmth could only do so much. Although they’d removed whatever eternal supernatural soul-binding curse the Blood Moon may have bestowed, Marco mused, they’d still shared a tender first dance and grown as partners under its light, once upon a time. Perhaps, in a roundabout way, it had always been a blessing, too. In a sense, they’d just cleaved their own souls together again with only a simple promise. No magic, no curses, just Star Butterfly and Marco Diaz... and that was more than enough.

They stepped back into the gym, ready for the hours of partying ahead of them, and were greeted by the sight of Janna and Tom floating in the air locked in a passionate kiss. Star and Marco’s eyeballs both nearly bugged out of their heads as their eyes whipped back and forth between each other and the spectacle in front of them, leaving them with only one possible response.

“WHAT THE-”