#*pats his head* I can fit SO much trauma into this kid | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neetily · 3 months ago

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↳ EVENT 20. M!Alex DOL (Breeding & Jealousy Sex)

— ✧ warnings: Breeding, Fluff, Fluffy, Established Relationship, pregnancy ment, very vague mention of typical DOL trauma — ✧ word count: 4,642 — ✧ genre: smut (18+)

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

After a strong urging for you to take a much needed break in the midst of moving into the old farmhouse, boxes piling up as high as they can possibly fit—honestly, he's got no idea how you could have packed so many items from what sounded like a relatively small room back at the orphanage—he takes the opportunity to sift through your belongings for you. Not in a snooping way! He'd just like to help you as much as possible, seeking your consent before even opening a new box. Once you nod at him though, he gives you a hefty pat on the back to help scurry you away for some relaxation, his voice cheery and loud despite the tiredness that rests in his bones from already helping you lift everything up the stairs. "Don't worry, by the time you're done chilling I'll have most of this done for you!"

And he means it, because he wants to be dependable. Wants so desperately to be someone you can rely on, who you can seek strength and stability from— in all senses of the word. But right now, he means physical strength. Making sure you're settled enough in the kitchen with a nice cool glass of lemonade before he heads back up stairs, eager to get the bulk of the unpacking done tonight so that the farm feels just as much of your space as it is his. Seeking to drench you in as much of married life as possible, even if he's yet to propose. It's just, well... He can't imagine sharing the farm with anyone but you. Pretty little you, God, even just the thought of calling you his wife genuinely fills his chest with butterflies. But a princess needs a throne, and he's eager to situate you on his bed by the time night falls.

Which means doing the dreaded unpacking. Better him than you, he thinks. You can rely on him for whatever, okay? Even something as simple as picking items up and placing them down; he'd do just about anything for you.

"All right," He lets out a loud sigh, tightening the belt looped around his ratty old trousers to show the room itself he means business. Ain't no one, and no thing, gonna stand in the way of the love of his life enjoying her time in the farmhouse, even the messy room created by your overabundance of things. "Time to get to work."

And he's quick with it too, all those days training in the barn, tending the fields, carrying and counting inventory; it's all lead up to this moment. Unknowingly training to move his love into his room, the shared space quickly becoming more and more your own with how much he pulls from the boxes, the thought of which causes his chest to tighten with adoration. A dumb smile plastered on his face as he finds and looks through a small photo album. He's not sure if he was the intended audience, but he takes the private opportunity regardless. Wouldn't you? A secret glimpse into your life before him, soft little aww's and quiet little laughs shared only between himself and the precious versions of you in the album. It's nice getting to see this side of you, learning all about what sort of memories you hold close enough to your heart to add to the book. His thumb smooths over a couple of really endearing photos of you— particularly when you were younger. He can only hope to be added to your collection some day in the future, his cheeks heating up at the mere thought.

Carefully, he places the book into your bedside cabinet for safe keeping. Intending on talking to you about all of the pictures later on tonight, whether they embarrass you or not. You were a cute kid, too. In the meantime though, he keeps sifting through your boxes to find and place more sentimental items.

And, oh! There's another album. A bit bigger, and a whole lot fuller than the other one. Giddy with excitement to explore more of you, he tenderly picks it up to flip through. Except, what he doesn't expect is the contents of this album, thought it'd be difficult to describe his feelings as anything resembling disappointment.

"Oh, wow." He gasps to himself, marvelling at the professional quality of the images in this album; almost as if you had them done at a studio or the likes. His curiosity piqued, he continues to flip. One after the other, his skin slowly prickling with heat the further he progresses.

With each new page, another item of clothing seems to disappear from your body. A sickly feeling bubbling away in his tummy, like a car crash. It feels bad to continue looking, like he's found something he really shouldn't have, but he just can't stop. A shake in his hands present as he turns page after page, his heart sinking at the sight of you eventually stark naked in photographic form. An evidence trail of your life before him, God, fuck, he knows he shouldn't be feeling so sick to his stomach but he can't fucking help it.

You're just so pretty in the photos, posing perfectly, like a practiced model would. Fuck, you should have told him you had these photos done, even if only to satiate his own perverted curiosity. Cock tenting in his tight jeans, regret mixing with the jealousy in his tummy from tightening his belt earlier. The more he stares, and the more he flips, the bigger his bulge grows. Not just because of how pretty you look, but because he's envious. Red with selfish resentment— not at you, God, never would he be mad at you for something like this. But at everyone else? Fuck, of course he's upset! Angered at the mere idea of anyone else seeing you look so pretty and exposed, and more than likely not appreciating you for how precious you are. Sick with worry over whether you had intended on him seeing the pictures or not, and then even more troubled at the prospect of these images being the product of coercion; he's not forgotten about all of those horrible stories you told him of your life before the farm, his heart hurting for you even now as he recalls the shared tears late at night.

He feels a lot of things, really. Jealousy mixing with lust mixing with worry mixing with fear. He's so... So in love with you that he just wants to make sure you're okay, yeah. That's all. Tossing the album to the side unlike how delicately he treated the previous photos, and swiftly undoing his belt buckle, adjusting his half hard cock up to rest at his waistband for now. Hard on aside, he stomps down the old creaky stairs with his cheeks ablaze, tunnelling straight to the kitchen where your pretty face is illuminated by the golden hour sun.

Shit, he's immediately out of breath. The sight of you tilting your head back at him so curiously like that is so cute, and for a moment he forgets all about his worries in favour of simply watching you, looking at you with hearts in his eyes as if you were the sun itself. You've got no idea—no matter how often he tries to show you—just how much he loves you. How a single glance from you is all it takes to have his cock twitching in his pants out of sheer love, greedy with how much he desires you, to make you feel okay, to place a balm over those old wounds you've shared with him by pulling you into a tight unprompted hug.

"A-Alex—! What's gotten into you?" You giggle all cute and shit as you gently wrap your arms around his neck in reciprocation and it's probably his most favourite sound in the whole wide world. So soft and light, a reminder that there is good yet on this awful Earth.

He takes a moment before replying. Keeping his hips away from your tummy in fear of ruining the soft moment with his unfortunately hardening cock; he just loves you a whole lot, okay? Too busy tightening his arms around you, squeezing your body against his own, arching over you to inadvertently press your head right against his chest. "I uh... Found your lil modelling portfolio upstairs and—" Well, there isn't an and. Or, there is, but there are too many of them. Various questions swirling in his occupied mind, he can't decide which one to settle on first, leaving dead air between two bodies that he resolves simply by inhaling your scent. A soothing balm to his anxious mind.

You're the first to actually break the silence. "Oh, I see... They're nice pics, right?"

"Too fuckin' right they are," He laughs above you, squeezing you once more before letting go, only so that he can easily lift you up in the air and place you gently down on the kitchen counter; the sun hitting your face in such a sweet fashion that he's almost pouty about it. "So fuckin' pretty, God... Can't believe yer all mine now." He huffs, knitting his brows together out of unadulterated frustration for how attractive he finds you. It's a bit of a nuisance, especially as his cock presses heavy against the edge of the counter, made worse only by the way your legs innately hook around his waist like he was home, pulling him closer so that he's in reach to lightly rub his nose against yours.

The way you're acting almost unbothered in response to his prompting just about calms his racing mind and heart completely, a large hand coming around to wrap securely at your back, the other playing with stray strands of your hair between his thumb and forefinger. It's difficult to ignore just how hard he's getting, not only from the close proximity he's sharing with you right now, but because he feels this primal urge to prove his worth. A deeply buried nature of his to be on top, secure his position by your side by any means possible. Dumb caveman brain convinced he has to show you exactly that with his cock, which he'll get to, he just has to completely settle the score first.

"Were they... Y'know, consensual?" He whispers, afraid that if he were to ask any louder then the worst could come true. His grip on you is equally as careful, unwanting to damage you during such a vulnerable conversation.

And the brief pause you offer him before replying, simply blinking at his intense gaze, fills him with even more worry. Though it's easily and promptly forgotten about the moment you open your pretty lips again. "Oh, yeah! I just needed a bit of extra cash and— Alex... I hope you aren't upset about them?"

No, fuck, he didn't mean to worry you in return! Doing his best to rectify his misgivings by offering you a quick peck on the lips, worsening his already swollen and twitchy cock that just begs for release, now that he knows that you weren't at all tricked into revealing your pretty body. Your comfort is his top priority, first and foremost. Cock be damned.

"No it's— I don't mind, I get it." He swiftly reassures you, making a point to rub soothing circles against your lower back. The world is a scary place, and he'd never shame you for whatever you had to do to survive, y'know? "It's just... I mean, I dunno, fuck," He sighs, frustrated with his inability to verbalise his feelings accurately, all his wants and wishes getting tangled up due to the lack of blood circulating his brain. S'your fault, he muses to himself. If his cock wasn't so hard, he's sure he'd be able to articulate exactly why he's feeling so conflicted right now, pressing his erection against the counter edge to seek some release.

He exhales, and he tries again.

"Y'should take some just fr'me next time. Can't believe the whole town got t'see ya like that before me." All huffy and pouty sounding, resting his forehead against your own when you laugh sweetly at him again. He knows he's acting childish, but when it comes to you, he can't seem to help himself from acting so petulantly. Doesn't the universe understand who you belong to?

A low hum breathed against his lips pulls him back from his indulgent thoughts, your tone genuine and sincere when you regard him. "... Are you jealous, Alex?"

His back straightens at your accurate assumption. "Sure am! You got no idea, babe," playful paws tug at your top, an indication of want, or need? He settles on the latter, given how hard his cock throbs for you when you smile gently back at him, like you understand his plight. "Wanna show everyone that yer mine now. S'at okay?"

"Course it is, whatever you'd like."

With your blessing, he decides to immediately indulge. Maybe a little too much to your liking, keeping his idea of claim a secret for now as he eagerly paws at you. Not out of a genuine attempt to withhold information, but rather, he's far too focused on the pretty girl right in front of him to even think about spilling all of his thoughts. Too busy unbuttoning his pants and swiftly throwing his shirt to the side, prompting your legs to reattach to his hips once he's helped you undress your lower half too.

But when you move to take off your shirt too, he stops you. Tense fist wrapped a bit too tightly around your wrist in his utter urgency to stop you.

"Keep it on. Y'look so nice right now, the way the sun is hittin' ya?" He wolf whistles, a boyish smirk plastered on his face when you shy away from his affections, instinctively closing the remaining gap between two bodies only to feel his already drooling tip press between your folds. Accidentally, at first. And then more purposefully when you don't pull away, his ego stroked tremendously when you cling to his neck once again, seeking comfort in the form of his upright, clenched, toned body; just how he likes. Rely on me, he begs of you with a slow push of his hips forward, gasping openly at how sweet you sound when his tip rocks lightly against your clit. Need me, he implores when he settles his hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, grasping on to it for dear life as he resolves to a simple back and forth. Slow enough to relieve some of the built up tension in his body, to ease the ache of jealousy coursing through him, aiding his lewd actions; but also slow enough to tease you. To get your nails digging into his back out of sheer desperation to see how far he can go, how jealous can he get?

You'll see. Fuck, you'll see soon enough, cause he's so hard. Can you feel how he throbs against your puffy clit? Dripping jealousy from his tip, fat beads of precum trailing down your pretty little slit as a confession of love. See how much I spill for you? he asks with every hump, pace increasing minimally with every thrust. A promise for more, his mind full of nothing but love for you. Or, maybe horny love suits better. A man dumb with it, peering down at you with a half lidded gaze and drooling all over your cunt with affection. From his point of view, he can see down your shirt too. Salivating at the sight of your hidden tits, raising one hand up just to play with em. A light squeeze here, a full grab there.

"What, um... What are you planning on— Oh—" His tip catches on your hole, effectively shutting you up for a second or two as he continues to rock against you. Not inside yet, just taunting you from above, teasing his fat tip in circles around your hole until you finish your words.

He only wishes the world was here with him to witness how easily you fall apart on his cock. How well he treats you, cooing down at you with only the utmost amount of love and affection. Doting on you like he's never been in love before, pecking your forehead as a reminder to continue in spite of the cock between your legs and the hand on your tits.

You gulp before replying, and he takes it as thanks for making you feel so good. Good enough to distract you from your train of though, even if only momentarily. "What are you planning on doing, Alex?"

To show the world who you belong to? Well, he thinks to himself. There's really only one way to completely claim you, isn't there? A knowing smirk making its way to his lips, quickly turned into an open mouthed moan at the way you angle your hips against his tip; a silent plea for more. And who is he to deny his future wife anything that she wants? Helping you into position with big strong hands, keeping you pinned on top of the counter and dipping his hips down, only pushing them up and forward when he's sure he's got your attention on him for the big reveal. "Just—" He pushes forward a little more, sinking into the feeling of your cunt accepting his tip by dropping his forehead to your shoulder, moving the groping hand on your tit to the small of your back to help pull you closer to him, to meet his hips. "Gonna knock y'up, 'kay? That way," He stops mid sentence again, spurred on to hold his breath by the extra tight squeeze of your cunt upon hearing his words; pretty pussy likes that idea, doesn't she? Stretching you out with his words, cock pulsing against your squishy insides with the promise of breeding you so full that there's no way anyone would not know that you were taken. That the pretty girl they must have seen all over town, pictured on billboards, magazines, wherever the fuck your images were used, is not single, but a loving, gorgeous, beloved mother. Pinned down to his used kitchen counter, panting heavily against his bare chest, angling her hips towards him until he finally gives her all of his cock and she's flush to his own body. That's who you are, aren't you?

"That way, nobody will touch y'ever again." He finally finishes his sentence now that he's buried balls deep into your little cunt, humming lowly to himself from how soft and warm it is inside of you, how your walls thrum along his length with pleasure. Pretty girl, you're always so good to him, you'll let him show his love for you in the most permanent way possible, won't you? A little breeding, just a smidge, really. Heavy breeder balls taut between his legs as he warms his cock inside of you, inhaling sharp and deep through his nose due to how annoyingly good it feels to just rest his cock inside your cunt. Little hole twitching around him, insides squirming as if begging for him to continue.

And so he does; slowly. A lazy draw of his hips back, a gentle push of them forward again, really making you feel every single inch his cock has to offer your perfect angel cunt. A sigh escapes him in return, partly due to how in love he is just rocking into you like this, how completely adorable you look when shivering on the countertop before him, the feeling of your thighs shaking around his fit waist coaxing more precum out to coat your insides sticky. But also, sighing because he's so happy. For once, a lazy afternoon is spent nicely. "Pretty little things like you have t'be knocked up, y'see," He elaborates, flashing you a signature smile to allude to his joking intent. Though, his smile is quickly wiped off his face and replaced with a more serious furrow of his brows when you pout so prettily up at him, bottom lip quivering from how fat his cock is; splitting you in two, is he?

"Otherwise—" He thrusts, hard. A full length fuck inside of your tiny little hole so that you're forced to accommodate his size, the resulting high pitched whine you let out from the unfair entry leaves him more than a little breathless. Gasping for air, wanting so badly to prove himself not just to you, but to the whole fucking world that he's worth you. He's worth all of your love and attention, above all and anyone else. And that starts by impregnating you, right? I mean, it makes sense in his lust addled mind right now, looking down between your legs only to get hypnotised by the sight of his big cock disappearing into such a little space over and over again. "Others might get the wrong idea, right? That yer free, and I wont let that happen t'ya ever again. Promise, fuck— Keep, keep squeezin' me like that 'n I won't last long, babe."

Your hands scratch and tug on his skin, grasping for any semblance of stability as he pounds you into the counter, fast fucks that have your body rocking back and forth with him. "Can't—" You whine pitifully, but you sound oh so cute when you can't help but express enjoyment for his rough fucking, both hands planted firmly on your ass to lift you mid air a little, allowing him an easier leverage to fuck you as fast as he wants to now. "Can't help it, Alex— Ah! You feel so good—" Absolute need present in his touch given your ego stroking words, how greedy he is with fistfuls of your ass, desperately leaning closer to you just so that he can shove his tongue into your open moaning mouth and suckle on your tongue. Dripping saliva for you to swallow as much as he sucks all of yours down his throat. Greedy with his thrusts, hammering his hips into you at such a speed that he even feels a little dizzy with it, but he can't seem to stop himself from humping forward again and again when your angel cunt sucks his cock off so well, fuck.

You've ruined him, truthfully. His heart happy at the thought of being not only your husband, but the father of your future child. Knowing that you think he's an acceptable enough partner to care for your child turns him on so much, it's a little silly. Has him moaning loud against your lips and drooling precum about as much as he drools over your tits. Sloppy with his kiss and his fucks, his hips stuttering into you when you pull away from his face just to pull his body closer.

Can you feel how hard his heart beats for you when you snuggle your face against his chest? Feel the tacky sweat coating his skin, the amount of effort he's putting into pounding you in the kitchen is proof of how much he loves you, y'know? Perhaps a bit too possessively so, seeing as when he lifts you higher to instead place you gently down onto the much more suitable cock height table, he's still fucking into you with each step he makes towards the old thing, like he can't even fathom the thought of giving you a slight break from his heavy balls slapping against your ass with the promise of seed.

But you look so cute under him like that, his hands at either side of you mussed up hair, taking in the sight of your heaving chest with an almost pained expression himself. It only takes a single look down at your hole, a ring of cream marking his cock as if it were your own claim, for him to start thumbing away at your pretty neglected clit. So glossy and shiny for him, the feeling of your slick gushing out with every frantic fuck he gives your hole causing his head to be thrown back momentarily; he can't keep his eyes off of you for too long.

"Gonna be such a good mom, I jus' know it." He slurs above you, voice strained from how fast he fucks, barely able to catch his breath enough in time to dote on you some more. "Even better wife, if y'ask me—" A smile breaks out on his face, borne out of how well your tight little cunt attempts to milk him already, as if asking: please!

But, to show just how serious he is about reminding the town of who you belong to, he indulges you first. Flicks his thumb over your swollen clit with purpose, still yet fucking into you, but with imprecise thrusts. Too fixated on how your back seems to arch every time his thumb circles your clit, aided by the copious amounts of slick you drip onto his cock. Dipping his hand down to collect some more before returning back to your sensitive spot, pressing down a little more firmly until he feels that tell tale quiver of your insides.

Still hammering his hips into you, helping you remain in place as his thrusts threaten to fuck you off the table, loud with how hard his body smacks against your own, he encourages you. "C'mon," He leers at you, sending you a lopsided smirk at the way you writhe and wail for release. You're so close, he can tell. "Go an' cum on my cock, it's okay."

And to show just how much you accept his affections, to reply with yes, you've proven yourself worthy, he watches with dirty intent and narrow eyes as you do exactly that. Convulsing around his fat cock to beg for his seed, your hands on his own to coax his orgasm out, the tender domestic nature of your touch as you cream his cock goes right through him, straight down to his taut balls before he even has a chance to warn you of how close he is. Simply folding in on himself, pressing his toned chest against your smaller body as he rocks his hips into you with milking purpose. Moaning a cry of your name, pressing his lips against your cheeks, neck, lips, fuck; wherever he can reach, really. Babbling nonsense praise at you as he idly fucks himself empty into your abused hole, bullying his fat load as deep as possible in hopes of impregnating you on the first fuck.

Though, now that he's gaining a bit more clarity to be able to think about the ramifications of that, having to fuck you several times until his seed takes root doesn't sound too bad, actually. Breathing heavily against your face when he holds himself up to take in the sight of how ruined his future wife looks when full of cum. To the brim too, some of it seeping out around his cock from how fat he still is, still giving you miniscule little humps as he comes down from such a powerful high.

"You uh— I mean, fuck," He laughs above you, the dumb dopey smile you flash him has him a little awestruck, if he's honest. His fingertips just itching to squish your chubby little cheeks for eternity so that he can always place kisses upon such a cute expression. "I meant it, jus' so y'know. Wanna make ya a mommy."

"I know, Alex."

Three words. Quite simple, really. But they're all it takes for him to know that he's found his future wife for real, and that he need not worry about the town ever again. And as such, neither will you. Not while he's still by your side.

#dol sut #degrees of lewdity #dol #degrees of lewdity smut #alex the farmhand #alex the farmhand smut #alex🚜

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herrmannhalsteadproduction · 6 months ago

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Fine is a Four-Letter Word (Chapter Four)

Summary: This is Part Twenty-Two of my series A Herrmann/Halstead Production. It is an AU where Christopher Herrmann's mom had an affair with Pat Halstead resulting in a baby. The series follows this OC character (Rebecca "Bex" Herrmann) as she grows up and gets to know her brothers and the various Chicago teams. It is very much an AU, just to underscore that. It doesn't follow the same timeline and characters will follow different paths.

Click here for the Series Rundown where you can find the links to read all of the previous installments (which I highly recommend you do so that this one makes sense.)

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Christopher Herrmann & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Original Female Character, Will Halstead & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Will Halstead, Greg 'Mouse' Gerwitz/Original Female Character, Will Halstead/Connor Rhodes, Assorted OC Couples

Warnings: Injury Recovery, Trauma Recovery, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective Siblings, Family Feels, Team as Family, Road Trip, Kissing, Romance, Mild Sexual Content, Swearing, Eventual Happy Ending

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Chapter Four

A few hours earlier…

***

Chris

“Thanks for fitting me in, Doc,” Chris said, shifting on the couch as he took in the familiar space of Dr. Peters office. He hadn’t been in a few weeks, reducing their visits once he’d finally felt like he had his feet back under him since the Freddy incident.

But then…well.

He’d called yesterday to see if he could make an emergency appointment and they’d been good enough to get him in today. Just enough time between checking on Bex and stopping in at the hospital to make it work.

“It’s not a problem, Chris,” Dr. Peters said and sounded like he actually meant it. Chris liked that about the guy. He was genuine. Made it feel less like he was talking to a shrink.

“Why don’t you tell me what prompted your call.”

…maybe only a little bit less. Chris chuckled to himself before scrubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, you got the broad strokes there,” he said, gesturing at the notes in Dr. Peters’ lap. “Everything that happened, it was—it was a lot. I’m having a hard time…and Cindy, you know, she’s been amazing, but she’s trying to deal with it all too and she’s pregnant and I can’t just keep dumping on her. Figured I might as well talk to you.”

Of course, that was when he clammed up, his brain stalling out on exactly how to explain what he was feeling. Why he was struggling.

If he could do that, he probably wouldn’t be here.

Dr. Peters waited him out until Chris managed to say, “I don’t know…how to handle this.”

A head tilt was all he got in response. Right, right. Say more. He knew that.

Chris groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “It’s one thing when it’s me getting hurt or hell, even someone from the firehouse,” he said. “We know that comes with the territory. Even Jay—that was, you know, that was hard, but again, he’s a cop and he’s not—”

“He’s not what?” Dr. Peters asked quietly when Chris didn’t continue. “He’s not my baby sister,” Chris choked out. “Bex is—you-you remember the whole story, right? She’s…she’s pretty much my kid. I raised her. I look at her and I still see my little girl.” He swiped at his cheeks, shaking his head. “But she’s, uh, she’s a grown up now, technically, and she won’t—she’s not letting me help her. And I know I’ve got to let her make her own choices. I know that. I do. But she’s, ah, she’s struggling. I can see it and I’m spending every friggin’ minute worried about her, but I can’t make her come and stay with us so I can keep an eye on her even though I want to.”

He huffed out a deep sigh.

“I don’t want to make it worse,” Chris said, finally looking up at the doc. “But I don’t know how to make it better.”

“Have you communicated any of these fears to Bex?” Dr Peters asked and Chris snorted.

“Have I told her I’m afraid she’s not going to take care of herself because she’s got two hefty doses of stubborn in her DNA? No,” Chris said. “I have not. Not in so many words, anyway.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And isn’t that more…my own problem? Don’t you think? She’s the one who got hurt and has to deal with the trauma from that. I shouldn’t be adding my own fears on top of it all.”

Dr. Peters set his papers aside at that and levelled a look at Chris. “Do you remember what we talked about after your injury? With Cindy and her fears about you returning to work?”

Oh. Right.

Chris had forgotten about that actually. Cindy had been terrified about him going back, to both the firehouse and Molly’s. She’d kept quiet about it for longer than Chris liked to think about—still hated that she felt so alone in it and yeah, okay, he could see Dr. Peters’ point here.

“When something like this happens to a loved one,” Dr. Peters said, repeating his words from the past. “It creates its own measure of trauma through the fear and uncertainty that you experienced. Communicating your fears to Bex could not only help you to work through them, but might also provide her with an opportunity to open up, much like it did with you and Cindy.”

“So, you think I should just…”

“Talk about your fears with Bex.”

“Okay.” Chris sat back on the couch. “…any ideas on how I should go about that?”

“We have some time left.” Dr. Peters smiled at him. “Let’s talk it through.”

***

Now

***

Jay

“Gentlemen,” Dr. Abrams said, arms folded as he stared down at them in a way that almost had Jay shrinking back into his seat. “I’m only going to ask this question once. Why do I see Ms. Herrmann sitting in the ICU when she is supposed to be at home? Resting. Which was doctor’s orders, I believe.��

Jay shot a look at Mouse who was giving him that same ‘not it’ look from the living room which was even less helpful now than it was then.

“Okay, uh,” Jay began. “I can explain…”

“Oh, good,” Chris said, popping up out of freaking nowhere with that very distinct look on his face that Jay had been picturing since Bex tried to make a break for it and it was exactly as awful as he thought it would be. “Because, I gotta say, Jay, I would also love to hear how this happened.”

“First of all,” Jay said, stalling, trying to figure out where to start, maybe panicking a little bit. “It’s also Mouse’s fault.”

“Dude.”

Jay ignored the betrayed look on his face—there was no way Jay was taking crap for this all on his own. “She heard us talking with you about Will and Emery,” he said to Chris. “Mouse caught her trying to leave on her own so she could check on them. What were we supposed to do?”

“She was really upset,” Mouse added. “We did our best to make sure she ate something and rested a bit, but she wasn’t going to relax until she saw them.”

“You know how much she’s been struggling,” Jay began and Chris nodded with a sigh.

“No, no, I get it,” Chris said, deflating as he leaned against one of the couches. “I’m not mad, Jay, just—”

“Just disappointed?” Jay muttered, having a hard time meeting Chris’s eye.

“No, not—” A hand clamped down on his shoulder and Jay looked up to see Chris shaking his head. “Listen. It’s a tough time all around and everyone’s doing their best. I’m more concerned about the fact that Bex seems to be doing her best to put herself back in a hospital bed.”

“Ms. Herrmann’s healing will only be delayed by stress,” Dr. Abrams said. “As much as I’d rather see her at home, resting, if checking in on Dr. Halstead and Ms. Hughes gives her some peace of mind, I think we can allow it under controlled circumstances. Limited visits. The last thing we want is her pushing herself and prolonging her symptoms.”

“That’s going to be a fun conversation,” Jay said, already grimacing at the thought.

“I know you guys are taking point on this, but you’re not alone,” Chris said. “I think it’s going to take all of us to manage the Bex situation.”

“Manage the what now?”

***

Chris

Dr. Peters would not be impressed with how this chat was going so far.

Chris turned around to see Bex standing behind their little group, leaning heavily on Kira who was trying to help her down into a chair. Bex stood firm though as she glared at him.

“I’m managing myself just fine, Chris,” she said. “You don’t need to be having little meetings about me or whatever it is that’s happening here.” Bex waved a hand at them, her frown turning into a wince as the movement pulled at her side.

Yeah, she was totally fine.

“Sit down, Ms. Herrmann,” Dr. Abrams said, gesturing at the chair she was still stubbornly ignoring. He raised an eyebrow at her when she didn’t move. “That wasn’t a request.”

Bex huffed before shaking off the helping hands of Kira, Chris, Jay, and Mouse and carefully lowering herself into the chair. It was friggin’ painful to watch.

“I always thought you were the sensible one,” Dr. Abrams continued. “You seem determined to prove me wrong.” He managed to keep his usual dry tone, but Chris could see the pinch of concern around his eyes.

And the way his mouth flattened when Bex didn’t toss one of her usual comebacks at him. She only sighed and rubbed at her forehead as she slumped back in the chair.

Dr. Abrams exchanged a look with Chris, opening his mouth to speak again when he was cut off by his pager. He took a quick look at it and frowned. “I have to go,” he said, frown deepening as he watched Bex. Stepping forward, he crouched down beside her chair, startling her. “Bex—”

“Whoa, first name,” she muttered. “Serious.”

“Yes, it is,” he said as he fought back a little smile. “So, listen carefully. Dr. Fahir and I let you leave the hospital with the understanding that you were going to take care of yourself. I expected you to do better than this.”

Mouse made a noise at that and Dr. Abrams held up a hand, not breaking eye contact with Bex.

“People who get readmitted are clearly not well enough to come up with nicknames,” he said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Bex’s sullen look cracked a bit at that. “Stooping to bribery, Dr. Abrams?”

“Merely stating facts. Now stop making me repeat myself and get some rest.” He patted her knee as he stood up. “Gentlemen.” Then, with a nod, he was striding back down the hall.

That was…helpful? Maybe? Chris turned back to find Bex glaring up at him—or maybe not so helpful then.

“Well? Isn’t it your turn to lecture me?” Bex held herself stiffly in the chair, chin set as she stared somewhere around his shoulder. “Come on. You wanted to talk about the Bex situation.”

“I can’t help being concerned,” Chris said. “The docs told us to expect mood swings and impulsive behaviour, but—”

“It’s not unreasonable for me to want to check on Will and Emery,” Bex snapped.

“No, it’s not.” Chris took a beat and focused on maintaining calm tones. “But you trying to haul ass to the hospital all by yourself kinda was. You’re injured, Bex and there are limitations—”

“I’m handling it—”

“Can you guys give us a minute?” Chris asked Jay, Mouse, and Kira. “Go grab a coffee or something? Heck, grab one for me while you’re at it.” The three of them hesitated, looking between him and Bex. “Please?”

“I should get back to Emery anyway,” Kira said softly, giving Bex a gentle squeeze on her shoulder before heading back into the ICU room. Jay and Mouse stood, but made not move to leave yet.

“It’s fine,” Bex sighed. “Stop fussing.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Jay said, clasping a hand on Chris’s back while Mouse leaned down to kiss Bex on top of her head and murmur something in her ear that got a faint smile out of her. With a few final looks back, the two of them headed down the hall and out of sight.

Chris pulled one of the little tables over closer to Bex’s chair and sat down on it, facing her with his elbows on his knees. The two of them stared at each other for a moment.

“I’m handling it,” she finally muttered. Bex had that same mulish look on her face that she’d perfected at the age of three and Chris couldn’t help the bark of laughter it pulled out of him.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said, shaking his head. “Because I’m definitely not.”

“Wha-what do you mean?”

Staring down at his hands, Chris took a moment to gather his words. “When Trudy and Mouse showed up at the station like that,” he said slowly, not wanting to put this on Bex, but needing to talk about it with her. “I thought I was about to have the worst day of my life all over again.”

“Chris,” she whispered and he held up a hand, meeting her eyes.

“Let me get this out. Please.” Chris swiped a hand over his face and cleared his throat. “It was still one of the worst days of my life,” he said. “Seeing you hurt like that and knowing what you’d been through? That we’d almost—that you could’ve—” He shuffled forward to kneel beside her, old man knees be damned. “Losing you would have broken me, Bex. It would have broken all of us. And—and knowing how close we came? It’s been keeping me up at night. I’m trying really hard not to hover, but god, kid, I can’t stop worrying about you.”

Bex reached out with her unbroken arm and grabbed his hand in hers. Chris squeezed it gently for a moment, grounding himself.

“I know you’re processing things in your own way and you need space,” he said. “But please—please don’t shut us out. Let us help you. And let yourself heal. You need time and you need to rest, Bex. I just—please don’t fight me on this, okay? I need you to take this seriously and take care of yourself. I need you to be okay.”

“I’m trying,” Bex said, voice going thick. “I just—Will…and Emery—”

“Are not alone,” Chris said. “They have all of us looking out for them. Not just you, okay? So, trust us to do that. To help. I get that all of that is a lot to ask, but can you try? Will you? Please?”

***

Bex

When Bex had walked out into the hall and come across the little huddle between Chris, Jay, Mouse, and Dr. Abrams, a white-hot flare of anger had burned through her gut.

How dare they? Talking about her like that?

Discussing how to manage her?

Chalking up her feelings to concussion side effects?

She’d been two-seconds away from telling them all to fuck off and finding her own way to hobble home.

But then Chris had to go and pour his heart out and now she just felt awful. Physically. Emotionally. Pretty much on a cellular level.

The last thing she wanted was to cause him pain and look what she was doing.

“I’m sorry,” Bex managed to get out.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, sweetheart,” Chris said, groaning as he got to his feet. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself first.” He leaned over her to wrap her up in a gentle hug. Bex closed her eyes and let herself sink into it.

She hadn’t meant to worry him—hadn’t meant to worry anyone—but she’d been so focused on Will and Emery, worried about them, that she hadn’t thought about much else.

Now she knew though, how wrong that had been.

Of course, Chris was upset and worried. Just like Jay and Mouse and apparently a whole bunch of other people including Dr. Abrams.

And Bex was making it worse.

After everything they’d all been through, she was making it worse.

And why? What for?

It wasn’t like she’d been stabbed or shot. She was going to be fine in a couple of weeks.

Chris was right. Bex needed to suck it up and focus. Follow doctors’ orders perfectly and maybe she could shave a bit of time off of that couple weeks so she could be back in the game and help out properly. Will and Emery were going to need it during their much longer recovery times.

Heal up now. Help out sooner. That made sense.

Bex could do that.

“Hey,” Jay said quietly from somewhere behind her. “Everything okay here?”

“Yeah.” Chris straightened up with a little pat to Bex’s undamaged shoulder. “We’re all good. Oh, gimme that.” He reached out and grabbed a coffee from Jay’s outstretched hand with a little grin, immediately taking a gulp. “Jesus, that’s hot. Mm.” He took another quick sip. “Ah!”

“You do that every time. Why don’t you get iced coffee?” Bex laughed as she pushed herself up out of her chair. Mouse moved to her side, ready to help, but not actually jumping in to do so which she appreciated. Almost as much as the small vanilla frappuccino that he handed her after.

Chris grimaced through another sip. “Iced? And dilute my caffeine? No, ma’am.”

“Connor said Will’s awake if we want to stop by,” Jay said, waving his phone at her.

“How is that even a question?” Bex started to rush toward the elevator, ready to push to get to Will faster, before Chris’s words played back through her brain and she forced herself to slow down. Move carefully. She ignored the loaded look that passed between Chris and Jay, tried to tamp down on the flutter of panic building in her chest that said she had to rush—had to lay eyes on Will now to truly know he was okay, and took the arm that Mouse offered her. “Let’s go.”

One step in front of the other. Slow and steady.

She could make herself be okay.

For Chris.

For all of them.

***

Mouse

After stopping in at Emery’s room to say goodbye—mostly to Kira since Emery was already asleep again—the four of them headed down to Will’s room.

Mouse kept an eye on Bex the whole way. He tried to be subtle about it, but the only reason he probably got away with it was because Jay and Chris were doing the same thing. Bex was mostly focused on walking which was still fucking painful to watch and not even the thing that was worrying him the most.

She was quiet since her talk with Chris. Subdued almost.

What the hell had he said to her?

Neither of them seemed distressed and even Jay seemed fine. Watchful, but okay.

Maybe—maybe Mouse was reading into things. He’d been hyper-aware of Bex’s every move and tone and expression since he’d walked into her hospital room and he should probably start to stand down a bit.

She relaxed once they got into Will’s room and she had some time sitting beside him, holding his hand. Groggy as he was, Will managed to make her laugh a bit as well.

Jay pulled Connor aside while Will and Bex were distracted with each other. The guy looked wrecked. “How’s he really doing?” Jay asked. “And how are you, man?”

Connor sighed. “Will’s about as good as can be expected,” he said. “The bleed was relatively easy to fix and his fever is slowly going down. I don’t want to say we’re completely out of the woods yet, but it’s looking better and everyone’s keeping a close eye on him.”

“And how are you,” Chris asked again.

“I’m—” Connor let out a short laugh as he dragged a hand down his face. “I’m just grateful he’s still alive and focused on keeping him that way. Everything else is…background noise.”

“Well, I’m here for the afternoon,” Chris said. “So, you go get some food and a shower and a nap and I can keep an eye on the big guy.”

“Chris, I—”

“Nah, none of that.” Chris held up a hand with a crooked little smile. He nodded over at Bex and Will, lowering his voice. “I’m trying to get Bex to be better about accepting help from all of us so how about you lead by example, eh?”

Connor ducked his head, huffing out a little laugh. “Fair enough,” he said. “And, uh, thank you.”

“That’s what family’s for,” Chris said, patting him on the back.

Will started to fade again shortly after that so after another round of goodbyes, Mouse and Jay took Bex back to the apartment. One of the neighbours came out as soon as they arrived. Apparently, there’d been a few flower deliveries that they’d accepted on Bex’s behalf. Jay carried them in while Mouse helped Bex to the couch.

“Who are they from?” Bex asked, trying to peer around Kol who was already cuddling up beside her.

“Gimme a sec.” Jay started setting them out on the kitchen table, far out of the way of Kol’s enthusiastic tail wags. “This one if from everyone at the diner.” He showed off a colourful bouquet to Bex who smiled softly at it.

“Keep the cards,” she said. “I want to remember to thank everyone later.”

“Will do,” Jay said, sticking it up on the fridge where they’d been keeping the rest of them. “Okay, this one is from Beau.” He held up a vase full of sunflowers before holding up a smaller one full of red flowers. “And this one isn’t signed. It just says ‘Enjoy your gift.’, but there isn’t anything else with it. Think they mean the flowers? Kind of a weird way to put it.”

“Hunh.” Bex stared at the bouquet, eyebrows scrunching up in thought. “That flower looks familiar, but I can’t—ugh, I can’t remember.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mouse said, stroking back her hair. “It’ll come to you. In the meantime, we have pretty flowers.”

“There is that.” Bex’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and Mouse leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Why don’t you hang out here with Kol and we’ll get dinner ready,” he said. She nodded, sinking back into the cushions, and Mouse made his way into the kitchen where Jay was frowning at the bouquets. “Everything okay?”

“That last one is kind of weird, don’t you think?” Jay had the card in his hands still, flipping it over to check out the name of the florist.

“Some people get awkward with this kind of thing,” Mouse said, opening the fridge to see what they had to work with. “Don’t know what to say and either say too much or it comes out weird, like that.”

Jay hummed noncommittally and pocketed the card. “Alright,” he said, turning to Mouse and peering over his shoulder. “What are we making?”

Heating up a meal from Cindy was the answer to that question because she was a goddess who had sent Chris with a pile of filled Tupperware containers. Enough to last them until tomorrow night at least.

…they really needed to go shopping.

“I’ll hit the store tomorrow,” Jay said, echoing his thoughts. “Start a list, yeah?”

Between the two of them, they got dinner together and out to the living room for Bex. She ate at least half of it which was better than she’d done all week and took her pills without complaint.

Not a peep.

Just said something about how she was tired and was going to get ready for bed. Mouse turned to Jay after she’d wandered off to the bathroom.

“Do you—do you think she’s okay? I mean relatively speaking?” Mouse asked him. “Because she’s acting weird—weirder or weird in a different way, you know? What did Chris say to her?”

“I don’t really know,” Jay said, dragging a hand through his hair. “We didn’t have much time to talk, but he said he just asked her to talk all of this more seriously and to focus on herself more. Focus on resting and getting better.”

Technically, that seemed to be what she was doing now so that was good…

Mouse just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off with her, but it was hard to pinpoint what when everything was off right now.

Jay’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out to check the message. “Oh. Wow.” His eyebrows flew up as he scrolled through what appeared to be a whole pile of messages. “Bex! Check this out!” He bounded down the hallway, Mouse and Kol hot on his heels.

“Is someone hurt?” Bex called through the bathroom door.

“No, it’s good news,” Jay called back.

“I’ll be out in a sec.” The three of them leaned against the wall, straightening up again when Bex sighed loud enough for them to hear. “That means go back to the living room and don’t listen to me peeing, you weirdos.”

“Right. Gotcha.” A red-faced Jay led them back toward the living room and flopped back down on the couch.

Bex joined them a few minutes later, a hint of her usual spark as she shook her head at them. “What’s the good news?”

Jay held up his phone and showed them a long string of text messages and photos from Severide. “Sev and a bunch of others from 51 went and fixed up Emery’s place now that it’s been cleared as a crime scene. He says it was Otis’s idea—they wanted it to be all ready for when she’s allowed to come home.”

“Oh,” Bex said softly, eyes filling with tears as she took his phone and scrolled through the pictures of the many repairs the team had done. “That’s—oh, that’s—oh, my god, I love them so much.” She thrust the phone back into Jay’s hands. “Tell them. Tell them I love them and thank you and that we’re gonna make them so many cookies.”

Jay paused in his typing to raise an eyebrow at her. “We?”

“Chris said I need to accept help so blame him,” she sniffed. “And help me make cookies, please.”

“We will help you make cookies,” Jay said, grinning as he finished up his message to Severide.

“So many cookies,” Mouse agreed. He bit back a smile as Bex struggled to stifle a yawn. “Tomorrow though.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Bex said as she lost the fight against the yawn. “We have a good family.” She leaned her head against Jay’s shoulder with a sigh.

“The best.” Jay wrapped an arm around her for a gentle squeeze. He laughed when she yawned again. “Okay. Bedtime for you. Cookie time tomorrow. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bex murmured. She let Mouse help her up with out a fight, leaning into him as they headed down the hall. “You gonna tuck me in, Mouse?” she stage-whispered at him.

“I was thinking about it,” he whispered back.

“Sing me a lullaby?”

“Uh, I thought the plan was to get you to sleep,” Mouse said, making a face. “Not, uh, to traumatize you further.”

That startled a laugh out of her. “Oh, crap,” Bex clutched at her side, groans mixed in with the giggles. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Shit—” Mouse could kick himself. “I’m so sorry—”

“Stop,” Bex said with a little sigh, leaning against the doorframe to her room. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. It was funny. Funny’s good.” She leaned toward him for a kiss. “You’re good.” Another gentle kiss.

“Less kissing, more bedtime!” Jay hollered from the living room.

Bex started to roll her eyes and then stopped, straightening up. “Right,” she said. “Gotta follow doctor’s orders.” She nodded to herself as her smile dropped away.

“That reminds me,” Mouse said, herding her towards her bed. “Dr. Fahir called and she said that not only should you be tucked in, but also snuggled for at least five to ten minutes.”

“Oh, really?”

Mouse fought to keep a straight face as he saw the smile return to Bex’s. He nodded, kicking the door shut behind them. “At least.”

“Well, I am trying to be a better patient.” Bex settled onto her mattress and made grabby hands at him, pulling him to her. “Medicine, please.”

***

Jay

Jay looked over at Kol as a giggle drifted down the hall from Bex’s room.

“Let’s go clean up the kitchen,” he said and Kol was already off like a shot, settling on one of the kitchen chairs to watch Jay do the dishes.

It was actually good to hear Bex laughing like that. Mouse was right—she’d been weird today and clearly struggling for the last few days.

With good freaking reason too.

He knew it was going to take time for her to start to heal and process, but that giggle felt like a good start. It gave him hope that they could get there.

Hope he’d been struggling to find a few days ago.

When he’d been sitting there while Bex was laid out in the hospital, part of him had wondered if they’d ever be okay again. Even now, when he was still for too long, his mind kept going to dark places. Thinking about what could have happened. What they could have lost.

To think that Will could have died or Bex…

We have a good family, she’d said.

And they did. They really did.

Jay wondered if Bex realized what a large part she’d had to play in that. If she knew how their family would fall apart without her. How much they’d break…

He didn’t even want to think about it, but he did because that was what Jay did. Think about his family and the what ifs and how to prevent them.

Because he was going to do everything he could to make sure nothing like this ever happened to his family ever again. He was going to keep them safe.

Any way he could.

Jay put the last dish in the rack and dried off his hands, reaching for his phone.

***

Statesville – Maximum Security Unit

After midnight.

***

This was—this was fucking bullshit.

Ty pressed a hand against his stomach, watching helplessly as the blood leaked out around his fingers. He wasn’t even sure why he was trying to stop it when he had half a dozen other matching punctures.

“Wait—hnggg.” He fell back against the wall, feet going out from under him, sending him sliding down to the ground. His vision was going blurry, but he could still make out the form of that guard, that fucking guard Mitchell, leaning over him. “Help me…”

“Son,” Mitchell said, lips twisting up in a smile. “You brought this on yourself. Should have left that girl alone.”

“Em?” This was because of her? Who fucking cared enough about fucking Emery to—

The crackling laughter of the guard interrupted his fuzzy thoughts. It echoed through the empty hallway, reminding Ty of how very alone he was right now.

“How many girls you been messing with?” Mitchell crouched down beside him and poked at him with the shiv. “No, you idiot. Does the name Bex mean anything to you? Because she sure means a lot to somebody.”

“Fuckin’ bastard cop,” Ty snarled, jerking back when Mitchell laughed again.

“Oh, you have no idea who you messed with, do you?” he said as he stood, taking out a cloth and wiping off the shiv before dropping it on the floor beside Ty.

Darkness crowded in along the edges of Ty’s vision as he slumped to the side, watching his blood slowly seep out into a growing puddle on the floor. “Wh-who…why…” His eyes slipped shut and the last thing he heard was Mitchell’s footsteps walking away, a phone beeping, and the faint sound of his voice.

“It’s done.”

Click here to read Chapter Five.

Click here to read Fine is a Four-Letter Word on ao3:

And here is the tag list (let me know if you wish to be added or removed):

@sorry-i-spaced, @thegirlwhowishedeveryonelived, @thewannabewriter, @lexhalstead3

@foxes-and-cats, @sensitivemallysix, @emme-looou, @lookingfortherainbow85

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dindjarindiaries · 2 years ago

Text

Security - Chapter 53: The Burden

summary: The venture to Nevarro leaves the Djarin clan with more than they originally bargained for, and a trip to an old ally quickly turns sour.

warnings: canon-typical violence, references to trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

word count: 5.192k

rating: T

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chapter 53: the burden

Waking up the next morning is almost cruel for Astra. It’s the first time she’s gotten to peacefully awaken in her husband’s arms for much too long, thanks to the miraculous lengthy slumber of their two children. Din rouses at the same time she does and kisses her enough to make up for whatever time they’ll lose on the journey ahead. They manage to drag themselves out of bed and prepare themselves as well as their children for the day’s adventures.

Greef is already in his office with IG-11’s parts when the Djarin family stops by. Din pushes the hovercart while Grogu sits atop it and lets the empty pram float by his side. Astra and Zora trail behind the magistrate and his old friend, the youngest Djarin babbling as she plays with Astra’s tunic.

“Say ‘Papa,’” Astra encourages her in a soft voice. Zora coos and smiles just at the sound of her father’s title. Astra takes one of her tiny hands and waves it at Din’s back. “‘Hi, Papa!’”

Zora giggles and waves on her own. “Baba!”

Din turns his helmet over his shoulder for a moment to face her. “Hi, Zozo,” he responds with warmth and a smile Astra can hear. He lifts a gloved hand to pat her head before he faces the way ahead again.

“Now, say ‘Mama,’” Astra continues. She points to herself. “‘Hi, Mama!’”

Zora makes a long mmm sound with a focused knit in her brow. Astra laughs and kisses her forehead.

“So close, Zo.” Astra points at Grogu. “Say hi to your brother. ‘Hi, Grogu!’”

Zora exhales a few sharp excited breaths and claps her hands together. “Go!”

Astra grins at her daughter. “That’s it, Zo! ‘Grogu!’”

“Go!” Zora cheers. Din steals another look at them, his helmet tilting in admiration of the adorable sound. “Go!”

Grogu’s ears lift on his head as he lets out a long coo of understanding. Din pats his head while Astra’s smile only grows wider. There’s not a single thing she wouldn’t do for this precious family of hers.

“You’ve got quite the family here, Mando,” Greef says with hardly disguised warmth. “That’s why this is too big a job for you to do by yourself.” He gestures to the parts of IG-11. “Fortunately, Nevarro has attracted the best droidsmiths of the Outer Rim.” Greef stops and nods at the wall to their left. “They’ll have IG back to his old self in no time.”

Din shifts his weight. “Are you sure they’re up for it?” He lifts a hand towards IG’s parts. “I don’t think I can handle him with all his limbs if things go scud.”

Astra smiles; His censorship. It’s something he’s been working on around the kids, one of the smaller yet noticeable things Astra can observe about his sweet parenting. Meanwhile, Greef points at the wall again. “Why don’t you ask ‘em for yourself?”

Din’s visor faces Greef. “Who?”

Greef extends a hand towards the ground. “The Anzellans.”

Din and Astra both look down to see a nine-inch Anzellan waiting outside a small doorway. He looks up at Din and tilts his head. “What do ya’ want?” the Anzellan asks in his high-pitched voice.

Grogu widens his eyes and coos in curiosity with a hand extended. Zora’s still too caught up in Astra’s tunic and her babbling of Baba, Mmm, Go! to properly observe the Anzellan. Din takes a step back and Astra has to hold back a laugh at his utter shock. “I, um… my droid.” Din gestures to IG-11’s parts. “I need help rewiring him.”

The Anzellan glances back and speaks a few words in his own language. He faces Din again and nods. “Can fix.” He points inside the small workspace. “Come. Come.”

Din looks between the Anzellan and Greef a few times before he points to himself. “Me?”

Greef laughs. “Yes! Their work will be quick.”

Din tilts his helmet and glances at the small doorway again. “I can’t fit in there.”

“You can.” Greef turns his head to look at Astra. “But I don’t think your whole family will.”

Din’s visor meets Astra’s gaze and she speaks before he can. “It’s okay,” she assures him. “You and Grogu head inside. Zora and I will explore the bazaar.” Astra gestures with her head to the marketplace that’s further down the street.

Din tenses, though his gloved fingers flutter at his sides. He takes a step closer to her. “Are you sure?” When Astra nods, Din releases a gentle sigh and rests his helmet against her forehead. “I won’t be long.”

“And we won’t be far.” Astra offers him a reassuring smile. “Good luck with IG.”

Din lowers his voice for privacy and gives one of her hands a squeeze. “I love you.”

Astra’s grin widens. “I love you, too.”

Din takes one of Zora’s tiny hands next and gives it a squeeze. “And you too, Zozo.”

Zora smiles and claps her hands together. “Baba!”

Din swings his helmet away from her in pure and utter adoration. He gives her tiny hand one more squeeze before he and Grogu make their way closer to the Anzellans’ workshop. Astra chuckles to herself at the way Din and Grogu have to crawl inside, the former barely fitting given all his layers of armor. It’s only once they’ve disappeared inside that Astra and Zora make their way towards the bazaar.

“All right, angel,” Astra says to her daughter, smiling at the curious coo she earns in response. “Let’s find a gift for Papa and Grogu.”

Zora squeals with delight and claps her hands together once again. Astra smiles and gives her cheek a kiss.

“I’m excited, too!” Astra glances around once they reach the heart of the bazaar. Stalls with all kinds of products line the street, from exotic fruits to handmade jewelry. The way this marketplace flourishes reminds Astra of her home planet long ago, during its own golden age. She holds Zora closer. “Where do you think we should start, Zo?”

Zora furrows her brow, her brown eyes observing their surroundings just as her father’s would. Astra’s patient as she waits for the telltale point of her daughter’s small finger towards one of the booths. Astra turns and sees that she’s chosen one of the exotic fruit stands, which comes as no surprise given her son’s love for food.

“Good choice.” Astra approaches the booth and greets the Rodian merchant. “We’d like to try one of your fruits, please.”

The Rodian spreads his hands. “Of course! I’ve got quite a few here.”

Astra and Zora share a look. “What do you recommend?”

“Well,” the Rodian begins, reaching somewhere inside his stand, “this dessert made from the jogan fruit always comes highly praised.” He reveals a dessert that’s encased in a cold container. The Rodian opens it and shows off the delicate dollop of purple creamy fruit. Zora releases a loud coo of delight.

“Can we try it?” Astra reaches for the credits tucked in a pouch on her belt.

The Rodian pushes the dessert and a utensil forward. “Be my guest!”

Astra sets her necessary pile of credits down and picks up the utensil. She offers a small scoop to Zora, who samples the dessert with a gleeful coo of approval. Astra tries some for herself and shares her daughter’s enthusiastic reaction. The taste is sweet yet tangy, offering a perfect punch of what anyone could want from a fruit-flavored treat. “I see why it’s so highly praised,” Astra tells the Rodian. She lets Zora finish the dessert. “Can we take two to go?”

The Rodian agrees and begins packing their order. Astra turns to Zora and laughs as she wipes some of the purple-colored fruit remnants away from around her mouth.

“What do you think, Zo? Will Papa and Grogu approve?”

Zora taps the corners of Astra’s mouth as they remain curled up in a smile. “Baba!”

“Yeah,” Astra agrees as she sets down more credits, “I think it’ll make him smile, too.”

The two Djarins finish with their order and move on, the small pouch now hanging from Astra’s belt. They explore more of the bazaar despite their small mission already being complete. Astra even manages to find some fish cracker snacks for Zora and Grogu, building up the future supply that she’ll no doubt need for their hungry children. The last thing Astra grabs are some medical supplies she can fit in the extra spaces on her belt, an emergency kit she’s been meaning to create as they begin their journey.

Astra and Zora return to the Anzellan workshop and find just what Astra should’ve expected: chaos. Greef’s kneeling down on the ground and speaking through the tiny Anzellan door and she can already hear the familiar tone of Din’s voice as he responds to him. The closer they get, the more Astra can hear them.

“. . . You should get a new one,” Greef’s in the middle of saying.

Astra lifts her brow as she and Zora approach. “What’s going on?”

Greef looks up at her and stands to his feet with a huff of effort. “The Anzellans are saying IG’s not fixable,” he explains.

Astra twists her lips. She looks at the Anzellans’ door. “He must not be happy about that.”

Greef shrugs. “It seems like he’s working it out with them right now.” He lifts a finger at Astra. “If you’ll give me a moment.” Astra nods and watches as he kneels down again. Greef listens for a moment before he speaks to Din again. “If you can get a new part, he says he can fix it.”

Astra waits for Din’s response, but all she hears is the sound of an Anzellan screeching. “No, Grogu,” comes Din’s scolding voice. Astra and Zora share a look before she kneels down at Greef’s side. Inside the workshop, Din looks like a giant reaching towards their son, who grips onto an Anzellan for dear life. “He’s not a pet.”

“No squeezie!” the Anzellan protests. “No squeeze! No squeeze.” Din separates the Anzellan from Grogu and the tiny mechanic fixes his goggles. “Bad baby! Oh, he’s a bad baby.”

Astra suppresses a laugh with one hand at the scene. “Sorry about that,” Din apologizes. “He’s young.”

“Yeah, bad baby,” the Anzellan continues to rant. Grogu looks at the Anzellan and Astra already knows what he’s going to do before he lunges for the mechanic once again. “Oh!”

Din sighs and reaches forward. “No, Grogu.”

“Come here, Grogu!” Astra tries to draw their son to her. “Your sister and I got you something!”

Grogu’s attention is successfully stolen from the Anzellan at the sound of Astra’s voice. He waddles to the doorway and greets Astra and Zora with a gleeful coo. Zora offers the same as she extends her tiny arms towards him. “Go!” she cheers.

Grogu’s ears rise as high as they can on his head as he hugs her just like he’d hugged the Anzellan. Astra grins and supports Zora with one hand as she runs along Grogu’s ear with the other. “You and your father have special treats awaiting you,” Astra tells him. “But you’ve got to be on your best behavior. Okay?”

Grogu pulls away from the embrace with his sister and coos in understanding. His ears fall a bit and Astra pats his head.

“It’s okay. Just make sure you’re listening to your father and I.”

Grogu nods and lets his ears rise higher again. Astra looks beyond Grogu to see Din crawling his way out of the small workspace. He grunts as he heaves himself back to his feet and Astra does the same, earning a protest from Zora as she’s separated from her brother. She sets her back in the pram and does the same with Grogu, keeping them occupied while she approaches Din.

“So,” Astra begins, relieved by the presence of her husband even after such a brief separation, “what did I miss?”

“They’ll fix IG,” Din answers. “We just need to get them a new memory circuit.” Before Astra can question him, Din goes on. “I’m sure Peli’s Jawa friends can help us with that.”

Astra nods. “That’s true, and I’m sure the ship could use some touch-ups before we set out to Mandalore.”

Din sets a hand on her back. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” His visor falls to the pouch on Astra’s belt. “Now, what’s this about ‘special treats?’”

Astra grins at him. “You’ll see.” She points at the Anzellans’ workshop. “I think we have some business to attend to first.”

Din circles his hand on her back and nods. “Way to keep us on track, rid’ika.” He looks over at Greef. “We’d best be heading out, now.”

Greef gestures to the way ahead. “Please, let me escort you.”

The magistrate leads the way for the Djarin family through the busy streets of Nevarro. A bittersweet feeling rushes over Astra as she looks around and prepares to leave it all behind. It’s not much different than the feeling Sorgan gave her so long ago when she and Din first had to leave. The promise of a home is left here, and as hard as it is for her to move on from it, supporting Din and his redemption is her priority. Nothing is more important to Astra than the happiness and health of her family, the home she gets to take with her all over the galaxy.

Din invites Astra even closer to her side, as if he’s read her thoughts. His gloved hand laces through hers as he looks over at her. “I’m sorry we have to leave,” he utters his genuine apology.

“No more apologies,” Astra remarks, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m the one who insisted upon going on this journey with you. No place is a home for me without you.” She lifts their entwined hands to her lips and kisses his leather knuckles. “Your redemption is our priority. Our home will come in time.”

Din tilts his helmet, his armored chest rising and falling in a deep breath as he swings his helmet away from her. “If it was the Crest we were headed back to… I’d properly thank you for that.”

Astra laughs and rests her head against his arm. “I understand.” She lowers her voice to keep their conversation even more private. “But last night was enough for me to know.”

Din’s visor snaps her way again. “It wasn’t nearly enough, cyar’ika.” He lifts his free hand to hold her chin. “Until I get the opportunity to love you the way you deserve each and every day, it’ll never be enough.”

Astra beams and turns her face away from him in shyness. “You love me in many different ways, riduur.”

“I do whatever I can.” Din swings their arms back-and-forth in a subtle motion. “But you deserve the best.”

Astra’s not given the opportunity to respond as they make it back to the starfighter. Greef watches as the Djarin family steps inside, Din taking Grogu and Astra holding on to Zora. The youngest Djarin is sound asleep thanks to the comforts of her jogan treat. Astra cradles her close and watches as Din checks in on everyone before he gets himself settled with Grogu.

Greef nods and looks between Din and Astra. “We hope to see you soon,” he says to them.

Din returns the gesture. “Keep IG-11 safe until we get back with that part.”

Greef takes a quick glance over his shoulder and offers a hopeful smile. “If the Anzellans can’t find it, I don’t know who can.” The two friends nod at each other once more. “Safe travels.”

Grogu waves at Greef as he backs away from the ship. Astra chuckles to herself while Din powers up the ship. In just a few moments, they’re headed away from Nevarro, returning to the endless sea of stars. Astra takes a deep breath and plants a kiss in Zora’s curly hair. She’d follow her husband all over the galaxy, but that never makes their return to the stars any easier.

Din’s voice startles Astra when it comes through the intercom. “Before we head to Peli’s, I’d like to check in with Bo-Katan,” Din informs her. “We can tell her of our plans.”

Astra swallows her nerves and responds. “Sure, Din. Whatever you think is best.”

“It’ll be quick.” Din pauses and Astra can hear Grogu’s curious coos. Her chest flames with warmth when Din begins to speak to him. “All right, buddy, listen carefully. Being a Mandalorian’s not just learning about how to fight. You also have to know how to navigate the galaxy, because you never know where you might be headed next.”

Astra strains herself somewhat to see past Din’s helmet. Her lips widen in a smile when she sees Din pointing out his console stations.

“This here is your hyperspace map.” Grogu releases a long coo. “You determine your range by looking at your fuel gauge. And this…”

Din gets cut off by a rapid beeping tone. Grogu whimpers with worry and Astra has to keep herself from doing the same.

“. . . Is your enemy proximity warning indicator.” Din glances over his shoulder to locate the threat. Astra’s gaze follows his, a concerned knot securing itself inside her stomach. “Hang on, kid. We got pirates.” Din takes another look back at Astra. “You too, rid’ika.”

“I’ll try my best,” Astra assures him. She clutches Zora tight enough to make the sleeping child huff with a surprised breath.

A familiar voice announces itself over the intercoms. “Avast, Mandalorian,” the pirate Vane says. Astra’s blood runs cold in her veins; They waited this long for us? “You can’t just sneak away after cuttin’ down four of my brothers in cold blood.”

Astra kneads her fingers against Zora in gentle yet anxious motions. She wonders if Vane’s even aware of her and Zora’s presence.

“We’re Pirate King Gorian Shard’s men,” Vane continues, “now you’ll answer to him.”

Din’s quick with his witty response. “Gorian Shard should stick to hijacking and ransoming.”

Astra can see Grogu nestle himself underneath Din’s bandolier, and just a moment later, Din’s pushing the starfighter forward. Zora stirs on Astra’s shoulder at the motion, even trying to lift her head. Astra sets a hand upon it and urges it back down. “It’s all right, Zo,” Astra assures her, despite the way their ship begins to spin over and over again to avoid getting shot down. “Papa’s got it.”

Zora wriggles in Astra’s grasp, either curious or concerned about what’s going on. “Baba!” she exclaims, her voice muffled.

Din can still hear it. “I’m here, Zozo!” he reassures her through the intercom. More beeping from the console cuts off anything else he was going to say to his daughter. “Three more.”

Astra closes her eyes and heaves a deep breath. A dogfight wasn’t the ideal way she saw this journey beginning. Zora fusses and Astra puts all her focus into keeping herself calm. Din’s always composed in these situations; the unease Zora senses can only be coming from her mother. Astra reopens her eyes and upon seeing Din weaving them through an asteroid field, she hides her face in her daughter’s head.

She’s surprised to find that as the dogfight goes on, Zora’s worried coos turn to soft laughter, just like her brother’s that make their way through the intercom. Astra can’t help chuckling and shaking her head. Only her and Din’s children would find this kind of dangerous chaos amusing.

Bright flashes of explosions outside the viewport draw Astra’s attention back to the fight. Din’s taking out their fighters easily, which brings a victorious smile to Astra’s lips. Despite her worries, she truly never doubted her husband’s piloting abilities. He’s the best she’s ever flown with, and when it comes to his family’s safety, he doesn’t mess around.

Soon, only Vane’s fighter is left. Din pursues him with no mercy, weaving through each obstacle with ease. Astra holds her breath as she waits for Din to take the final shot that will end this crisis, but when Din pilots the starfighter around one of the larger asteroids in his pursuit, all Astra can see is a ship that’s much too large to avoid. The alarm beeps and Astra keeps Zora close, her eyes widening when she sees guns from all over the ship engage.

“Dank farrik,” Din curses with a sigh. “They have a target lock on us.”

“Din…” Astra warns. Zora whines from her place against Astra’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” Din takes a calculated breath. “Just… hang on to something.”

Astra does as he says while a new voice comes over the comms. “Stop where you are, Mandalorian. You’re outgunned.”

Din responds with his signature amount of composure. “I have no quarrel with you, Gorian Shard.”

“Ha! What a kind sentiment from a man who just destroyed four of my fighters.”

Astra bites her tongue to keep herself from responding to the pirate. Din also says nothing, letting the Pirate King continue.

“Surrender your ship and I will spare your life.”

Din looks down at Grogu and glances over his shoulder at Zora. “Kids?” Both Grogu and Zora coo at their father. Astra raises a curious eyebrow. “Never trust a pirate.”

With that, Din activates the starfighter’s sublight thrusters. Astra closes her eyes and resists the urge to exclaim a curse aloud as both Grogu and Zora giggle their way over Gorian Shard’s ship. Din gets them into hyperspace just moments later, and as soon as the piloting’s out of his control, he nearly turns his whole body around to look at Astra and Zora.

“Are you two okay?” Din’s tone is laced with the concern he can reveal now that it’s safe for him to do so.

“We’re fine,” Astra assures him with a smile. She lets Zora sit up from her shoulder and their daughter coos and presses her hands against the transparisteel that separates them.

“Baba!” Zora cheers as she bounces herself with excitement on Astra’s lap.

“Zozo!” Din exclaims back at her.

“Baba, Baba, Baba!” Zora presses even more against the transparisteel as she starts to realize she can’t get through. Her exclamations of joy quickly turn to cries as she tries to get to her father. “Baba…”

“Oh, baby girl, I know.” Din faces forward and checks the console. “We’ll be out of hyperspace and on planet in just a few minutes, okay?”

Zora looks at Astra with a wobbling lip. “Mmma,” she whimpers. She points at the transparisteel. “Baba… Go…”

The warmth that floods Astra’s chest is incomparable as she gives her daughter an encouraging smile. “We’ll be reunited with them in just a few minutes, angel.”

Zora continues to pout, but ultimately lets herself fall back into Astra’s arms. The starfighter jumps out of hyperspace moments later, revealing a planet of swirling blues and greens. “This is Kalevala,” Din announces, likely to a curious Grogu. “It’s another planet in the Mandalorian system.” Rain starts to hit the transparisteel as they continue their descent. Astra can see the structure they’re approaching just as Din mentions it. “And that is a Mandalorian castle.”

Astra’s lips spread in a bittersweet smile. She’s heard of the planet before, back when she was a child. Her parents had visited on diplomatic business, though Astra had still been too young to attend with them. The castle is somewhat reminiscent of the many Astra visited with her parents once she was older. She can only hope that whoever dwells within it will maintain their sense of diplomacy.

Din lands the starfighter and opens his canopy without a moment to waste. Grogu gets the pram ready while Din helps Astra and Zora out of the ship. He keeps Zora tucked in his arm and shields her from the rain as best he can with his cape. Astra stays close by his side as their family makes their way past the service droid and up towards the castle. She forces herself to take a deep breath, though the thoughts of an unwanted duel plague her mind and heart.

The Djarin family comes upon a long corridor that leads to an occupied throne. Astra moves even closer to Din’s side and he accepts her there, brushing a hand over her back for comfort. His hand returns to his side once they get closer, their footsteps being the only noise heard until Din finally announces their arrival.

“Bo-Katan,” Din calls for her. “It is Din and Astra Djarin.”

Bo-Katan looks at them, unimpressed from where she sits—no, lays—upon her throne. Astra swallows hard and raises her chin as her and Din stop in front of her.

“We are here to join you,” Din finishes.

Bo-Katan doesn’t move as she takes a long pause. “There’s nothing left to join.”

Din and Astra share a confused look. “What of your plans to retake Mandalore?” he asks her.

Bo-Katan raises her brow. “When I returned without the Darksaber, my forces melted away.” Astra tightens her hands into fists at her mention of the weapon that hangs from Din’s belt.

“Where is the stolen fleet?”

“Making their way through the galaxy as mercenaries.” Bo-Katan gives Din a quick once-over. Astra circles her jaw. “Do you still have the saber?”

Din looks down for a moment. “I do.” His visor returns to Bo-Katan.

“Then you lead them. Wave that thing around and they’ll do whatever you say.”

“You would know,” Astra mutters to herself.

Din moves closer to her side, a gentle warning. He keeps his attention on Bo-Katan. “So you gave up your designs to retake Mandalore?”

Bo-Katan waits a beat before answering. Her words bring an anger like fire to Astra’s veins. “Your cult gave up on Mandalore long before the Purge. Where were you then?”

Din’s visor starts to fall as Astra’s vision becomes a red haze.

“The Children of the Watch and all the factions that came before fractured and shattered our people.” Bo-Katan pauses and looks between both Din and Astra. “Go home.”

“We don’t have a home to go to,” Astra speaks up before she can stop herself. Her tone is as fiery as the rage she’s fighting to suppress. “Much like you, we’ve both lost our homes. He’s lost his not once, but twice. We know well what this loss feels like.” Astra gestures to where Bo-Katan continues to remain laid out on her throne. “But we didn’t sit around, wait for people to feel sorry for us, and blame others even when plans changed. We decided to move on and do something.”

Bo-Katan remains unfazed. She sits in the silence and gives her head a small shake. “It’s pointless. There’s nothing left.”

Din speaks before Astra has the chance to. “We’re going to Mandalore,” he insists, “so that I may bathe in the Living Waters and be forgiven for my transgressions.”

Astra’s jaw tightens when Bo-Katan suppresses the urge to laugh at him. “You are a fool. There’s nothing magic about the mines of Mandalore. They supplied beskar ore to our ancestors and the rest is superstition.”

“Have you ever considered that there may be beliefs other than your own?” Astra snaps, unable to help herself any longer, “Just because they aren’t yours doesn’t mean they’re not correct.”

Bo-Katan doesn’t miss a beat with her response. “Have you ever considered that the man you’re defending left you, his wife, stranded alone on a boat over these same beliefs?”

Astra makes a move towards Bo-Katan, but the quick grasp Din takes on her arm stops her. She looks at her husband with poorly concealed fury. Zora whimpers from her place against Din’s armored shoulder as he tilts his helmet at her. “Don’t defend that action of mine,” he murmurs. “She’s right.” Din turns his visor towards Bo-Katan. “I should be speaking for myself.”

Astra forces herself to take a deep breath for composure while Bo-Katan continues. “Like I said before, there’s nothing left on Mandalore. That planet has been ravaged, plundered, and poisoned.”

“You said that the curse was a lie,” Din reminds her. “Make up your mind.”

Bo-Katan takes a breath. “If you want to go into the mines, be my guest. They’re beneath the civic center in the city of Sundari.”

Din nods at her. “Thank you.” He looks at Astra and nods. “And we will find out if the planet is really poisoned.”

With that, Din turns to walk away from the throne. Astra follows, though she doesn’t start to relax until Din sets a hand upon her back and keeps it there. Bo-Katan says one last thing in a tone that makes Astra fight the urge to turn back around. “Goodbye, Din and Astra Djarin.”

Silence sits between Din and Astra until they’ve made their way back to the starfighter. They pause at the bottom of the stairs and face each other. Astra sighs and holds her arms, a strong wave of shame overcoming her. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes to Din as she avoids his visor. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I just…” Astra huffs and holds her arms tighter. “I know how much your Creed means to you, and to hear her say those things is just… it’s not okay.”

Din sets Zora beside Grogu in the pram and holds Astra’s face between his gloved hands. She meets his visor and the look alone brings her an overwhelming warmth of comfort. After a long pause, Din speaks in a soft and genuine voice that crackles through his modulator. “Thank you.” He pulls her into an embrace, tucking her head under the lip of his helmet as she holds tight to his middle. “You said all the things I wasn’t brave enough to.” He sighs and buries his helmet more into her. “Thank you for the way you love me and my Creed.” Astra can hear Din’s hard swallow. “Even after what I did to you.”

Astra pulls away from the embrace to hold his helmet between her hands. “I understand, Din. We talked through it long ago. You don’t have to carry that burden any longer.” She presses his helmet to her forehead. “I promise.” She kisses his visor. “No matter what anyone says, it’s you and me against the galaxy.”

Din holds her face in return. “I agree.” He lets himself release a soft chuckle. “But let’s just start with Mandalore.”

Astra laughs with him. “Sounds good to me.”

With that, the Djarin family prepares for one more stop on their journey to Mandalore. As the starfighter takes off, Astra prays to the stars that the hardest part of their adventure is past them, though she knows it’s a naive hope to have going to a planet that very well may have nothing but disappointment and danger to offer them.

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#we're about to get into chapter 18 content and you all know what that means...#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x oc #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #security #dindjarindiaries #the mandalorian spoilers

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spaceumbredoggos · 7 months ago

Text

Headcanons on Kenz and Ford’s relationship.

Ford secretly always wanted a kid. Whilst his niblings come close, they were never really his and he always had to share them with Stan. Then Kenz came along and Ford willingly put himself in a parental position despite Kenz being almost nineteen. This is because he sees a lot of himself in Kenz and knows that Kenz could fall down even darker paths than he did (also Kenz being related to an old Pines family friend, one that Stan trusted so fondly and kept in touch with even during Ford’s portal years certainly helps.)

Ford is really pissed off at Kenz’s father for basically almost living through them. He’s even madder at Kenz’s grandfather for living through his son and starting the cycle of generational trauma. Also, Kenz’s father and grandfather are really far right, and feud with a lot of Ford’s ideals.

The thing that pisses off Ford the most is that Kenz’s father tried to mask their autistic traits and tried to force them to fit a mold unfit for them. Ford wishes he got in touch with Kenz sooner and wishes that he could have stopped Jacob’s abusive tendencies. He’s really pissed that Kenz never really had a genuine high school and college experience and probably never will due to their trauma at the hands of the American education system.

Kenz initially saw themself as the role of Ford’s apprentice and nothing more. That being said, when they were forced to move in with Ford, they were pretty angry and thought this was another case of their father’s network of friends trying to control their life. If it weren’t for Bill, Kenz might have actually had a healthy chance at healing from their generational trauma without Ford’s health. Kenz secretly blames Ford for his past relationship with Bill at first, and puts up such a standoffish front of anger as an effort to push others away. Ford is never hurt by Kenz’s actions and they only bring him closer.

A lot of Kenz’s early relationship with Ford was a lot like Loona and Blitzø. Kenz thinks that they don’t need a fatherly or parental figure and would want to do everything on their own. However, they can’t do everything because they struggle a lot with executive functioning and a lot of AuDHD related issues. They can take care of themself to an extent, but get frustrated when they can’t do something. They freeze and don’t ask for help, and due to past abuse, they fawn a lot.

A lot of Kenz’s rage is masked. Kenz doesn’t physically act out. Even their verbal meltdowns are usually not insulting and are angrily stating very true facts. They get a lot of flashbacks triggered by Ford’s blue eyes, something that their father characteristically had.

Kenz initially didn’t want anything to do with anyone touching them, despite the fact that they’re very much touch starved and one of their platonic languages is being touched. They love cuddling platonically and they love hugs (as long as those hugs aren’t too tight.) They don’t let just anyone pet their head, but if they admire someone platonically enough (or sexually, as in the case with Loona and Bee (I am pretty sure they’re Aromantic Pansexual.)) they allow and even enjoy the head pats.

Once Kenz finally got around to trusting Ford, they spend a lot of their time with him. They don’t really have a crush on him, but they have a really bad squish (platonic crush). Not obsessive, but almost a case of hero worship.

#gravity falls #self insert #ford pines #so much for stardust

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writingforfishes · 2 months ago

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Well, shit! I feel like you already know all of mine!

Abbreviated (as much as my verbose ass can abbreviate anything) list:

Otto Cis-man, he/him

Mid-forties 6'3 broad-shouldered lanky dude with a soft paunchy belly. Beard scruff, curly hair, wild brown eyes, prominent brow, and freckles.

Prone to hiccups. Does not have a hiccup kink but experiences immediate arousal from watching someone else get off.

Triggers are:

Drinking hot liquids too fast. (Normally his morning coffee.)

Overindulging on spicy or carby foods the night before.

Emotional excitation.

Goofy dude with some grade-A childhood trauma and a history of alcohol abuse. Anachronistic gent with the soul of an octogenarian. Repairs and makes clocks and watches. Emotional and shows it.

Interests/likes:

Horology of all ilk.

Books and old books. (Melville is a comfort author for him.)

Instrumental music.

Coffee

Pilates

Routine

Antiques and vintage trivia.

Learning new things and old.

Crosswords

Teasing Atticus and being teased by Atticus.

Atticus' top surgery scar.

Laying near his partner's belly and their smell.

Atticus nonbinary, they/them

Early-forties 5' tall, small-framed vro with a soft little belly and a top surgery scar with no nips. Mustache, glasses, scruffy sideburns, undercut short curly hair, and freckles (though not as plentifully as Otto's).

Not prone to hiccups in the least to their own considerable disappointment. Has a hiccup kink, which Otto knows about.

Big dork who is emotionally constipated but also emotionally intelligent (which is immensely frustrating). Insecure lil' potato who writes poems and novels (and fanfiction, so what!). Has moments where they are hilarious, but they have zero control over being funny. It just happens. Wants to be taken care of but also please do not perceive their weaknesses! Okay? Thanks!

Interests/likes:

Coffee

Writing crappy poems.

Writing okay poems.

Writing poems people see as good poems.

Rinse and repeat with novel writing.

Cuddling

Watching genre shows.

Clocks and trying to learn to repair them.

Hearing Otto read to them.

Antiquing

Mark Cis-man, he/him

Late-30's 5'11 bro/himbo/good dude with classic good looks, a square jaw, and broad shoulders. Dark hair that flops when longer and spikes when shorter. Grey-blue eyes and dark lashes with thick eyebrows. ACAB, but he's really cute and endearing.

Is prone to hiccups after a night of drinking. I dunno if he has a kink. Boobs? He's very straight.

All the trauma! Very emotional but also very programmed with culturally and socially man things. Is a detective, so man things dialed to eleven. Still, sensitive as hell. Emotionally clueless, though. Super smart detective work, super dumb intuition on emotional IQ. This man can fit so much guilt (pats his head).

Interests/likes:

Detective-ing?

Doing a sports thing?

Game nights.

He's actually seriously into being a detective. Hardcore.

Hanging out with people.

Messing with his friends.

His kid.

His wife.

Watching sports thing?

I dunno...cars? (I'm so inadequate to write Mark past his basic personality type!)

I'll have to hit up more OCs later cause brain wants sleep. But this is a start!!!

Anybody wanna share hiccup ocs??

Maybe my ocs and your ocs can be friends

👉👈

I'm really in a writing mood, but I haven't written in such a long time...

Legit just info dumb your character(s) and I'll happily read and love them as well

#hiccup kink #hiccups kink #hiccups #otto and atticus #my ocs #mark #It's not a Writer character without trauma!#Margie Cindy Jana and Alice to come #See? I write femmes! Sometimes...#minors dni #18+ mdni #non kink blogs do not reblog

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dbphantom · 3 years ago

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Love how nonchalant Rex is about the whole thing

Like clearly normal people in this universe don't experience monster (level?) EVOs on a regular basis, probably just on the news and stuff. Which is still scary, but you kinda compartmentalize that and don't expect it to happen in Your Daily Life

Meanwhile Rex is over here like "Huh. Would you look at that: it's butt-kicking o'clock again"

#There are other examples of this in other comic issues but like. This poor kid.#Really was highlighted here #Or like when he goes to the movies and meets a girl and an EVO attacks #And he's like 'wow this is a cool movie' while everyone is screaming and running #Which is also hysterical and deeply concerning #Noah's just like 'NOT PART OF THE MOVIE DUDE' and rex is all 'uuuugh fine'#Also I just like his outfit in this comic #Not to parrot a friend of mine BUT I WANT HIS JACKET #Generator Rex #Cruddy rambles #[pats Rex on the head] this bad boy can fit so much trauma in him #I just love the world building in the comics #A lot of shorts that wouldn't work as episodes but add stuff to ur understanding of the world ppl live in #Like normal people outside Providence don't immediately think EVO they think SEA MONSTER #And I think that's awesome #Rex is channeling his inner six in this segment

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birdmomblogs · 3 years ago

Note

Who's your fav out of the chain??

Hello Anon,

I’m finally getting around to this :D

I list most of my faves in my bio but I'm just going to assume you want full details so let me shift into awooga mode. List below the cut!

I have top 3 favourites in the chain: Warriors, Wind and Four in that order.

***

1. Warriors is my number one fave. I love the fanon characterization of him being real fruity and a bit of a himbo but it's the canon characterization of him that really tickles my fancy. He's intelligent and strategic in battle of course but more than that he acts as a big brother figure in the chain. The Sunset arc is probably the best representation of his personality so far:

This mans ZOOMS to help Wolfie not even knowing they were Twi but instead under the assumption that this Wolf was an important ally to Twi. Like, HELLO??? His captainship is really *mwah* chef's kiss, here.

And then the big brother moments he has in Sunset got me sobbing. He keeps a lighthearted attitude for Twilight, which in my opinion was to distract him from whatever trauma his wounds were currently suffering. He doesn't act this way out of ego which some may interpret this as. To me, this really just shows his experience and skills in handling these types of situations... But then they are also joking around like brothers would. It’s so <3333333

BUT THEN MORE IMPORTANTLY HIS INTERACTIONS WITH WIND??? BESTIE... HELLO??? THE HAIR RUFFLE??? CUTIES! (See more cute pics here). I also just have so much appreciation for the fact that Warriors still treats Wind as the kid he deserves to be... but then I see that Wars still respects the fact that Wind is a hero and is entirely capable like the rest of them.

My last point for Warriors is that he's just so handsome, for Hylia's sake!!! I lovw him!!! Okay??? 💙 (collage images from here)

***

2. Wind is a close second or honestly probably tied for first since my views on Warriors and Wind are so intrinsically linked with their brotherly dynamic. Any content I can get of Wind spending time with Warriors is something I will FEAST on. I need more. I need to be fed!

Wind reminds me a lot of my nephew who is the same age as him so I’m a bit endeared to Wind in that way. My nephew lives in the Canadian Maritimes so his love of all things related to nature, the ocean, boating and sea life and his dream to be a fisherman when he grows up is just so Wind. Because of all this, I see him as a direct parallel to Wind and can imagine what interacting with our LU boy would be like.

My nephew genuinely acts like this:

May be an unpopular opinion but I genuinely still think that Wind deserves to be treated like a kid because the others never really got that privilege before they grew up. I think it's incredibly unfair to expect Wind to relive his cycle of trauma with the expectations and duties of being the hero. Let him be a kid no matter his protests... at least sometimes. I will die on this hill.

He’s also just a very sweet and adorable boy. I guess it’s my mature and parental attitude saying this but he shouldn’t have to grow up so fast. I mean this as there’s a difference between treating him like an adult and treating him like a kid that is skilled and has gone through a lot. I just want him to be happy and will protect my blorbo at all costs as if he was another nephew of mine 🧡 (collage images from here)

***

3. Four is my last fave! The Four Swords manga was my introduction to the Legend of Zelda fandom so they hold a special place in my heart because of that. Four is an incredibly interesting character to me. He’s cool, level-headed, a bit sassy, sensitive, mysterious, ambiguous... *pats Four on the head*, this fella can fit so much character in himself.

I guess it’s the mystery that I find so interesting. Four hasn’t had a big spotlight yet. Honestly, his only real moment has been the last couple Sunset updates and because of this there has been so many fan interpretations of him and I LOVE the variety of it. Is he a kid? Is he an adult? How do the colours work? etc. etc. ALSO HIS MINISH STUFF??? WHEN WILL WE GET TO SEE THAT? I AM SO INTRIGUED! I genuinely can’t wait to learn more! He has so many secret powers. I just really want to know how they will be used in the story. It’s the mystery and my childhood bias, anon.

Anyways, here’s some pics of the short king himself, Four our beloved 💙💚💜❤️ (collage images from here)

***

If anyone read this whole post through, thank you for listening to me mutter on about my blorbos. I would be happy to do so again!

Lots of love, Birdo 💛💛💛

#birdmom posts #linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe warriors #linked universe wind #linked universe four #lu warriors #lu wind #lu four #💙#🧡#💙💚💜❤️#I hope y’all enjoy since this was fun to write #thanks for the ask #i love getting lil messages :)#warriors my beloved #wind my beloved #four my beloved #lu brainrot

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mandoinevarro · 4 years ago

Text

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago��and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @lola-wolf @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical @pascaliprincess @geannad @coaaster @frietiemeloen @yourbucky084 @brynnstudies @elfwoodfae

im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #mywriting #rule maker rule breaker

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istherewifiinhell · 2 years ago

Text

reading process: chapter 196 (damn)

reading highlights: now with new and improved features

178 Yjh hesitating to fast ball special this weird little dude: pls dont die. kdj: look at me. bitch

179 Gah. can an author make a story so big even their monster cant eat it

180 I knew the 4th wall was gonna eat but i forgot IT HAS TEETH

shaking the no no can at 4th wall

gah okay yeah jesus lee sookyung [song accompaniment love run by the amazing devil]

the narrative will make you apart of it (threat)

181 '4th wall also isolated me from myself' DING DING DING

overall evaluation ⬛⬛... -> mood

gonna twach the sentient dangerous trauma response some... morals? interpersonal skills?

↳cant handle direct interaction, eats and sleeps. yea

↳im gonna take a nap right here

LJH: arent you and kdj.... yjh grimacing as being ask about his love life by his teenage ward

kdj funeral -> song accompaniment welly boots by the amazing devil (just because I left doesnt mean I'm not still there)

YJH sponsor -> praying for his fate eh?

182 [sponsors lhs 100 head pats]

SYS is literally your daughter 🥺. kdj dad who hates dads moment

183 lhs wants to be on kdj team :((((

I WOULD LIKE TO SEE LHS IN THE DRESS

(did hades make it??)

184 feeling differently after talking to 4th wall yeah pretty sure you had a break thru about dissociating there

yjh: looking with eyes not seen in TWOS -> kdj facial expression blindness trutherism

185 YJH: cause you know me sooo well kdj: starting to think i dont know this you that well

yjh thoughts: there have never been so many ppl who made it to here

"continue to live kim dokja now you have to save this world"

kdj u cant take your own medicine (yjh scheming)

LSK contemplating abt what shit is up with her son

Something lives IN THE WALL

186 other people feel pain with no wall. YES!

"I told him there is no such development [yjh death] in the ending i want"

'yjh desperate face' thats crushing to even read

187 hsy type cast as murder friend sorry bestie

god some classic kdj asshole moments -> guilting lhs and everything

"see the sight of a bearish man weeping" i would like to

jhw T.T oh my murder woman

188 making sys and lgy do this. your KIDS! -> generational Something or other

kdj to yjh: you cant change whats already happened -> this may be an unauthorized use of radical acceptance

your stigma is Literally self sacrifice based... DUDE

get killed by the narrative. your loved ones but also the story... for the story. AH

yjh im so sorry... this is devasting

Uriel... lol shes sweet ig

Demon king of salvation. so juicy (unionize hell lol)

189 LHS LGY YJH boy grief party

yjh widower era

min jiwon and han donghoon! yay

yoohan bonding?

190 Bihyung aw!

[I will pull all of you down from that fucking heaven]

191 a soul can't belong to anyone!

"I will destroy the world of the fucking dokkaebis"

192 ur still a jerk kdj. drama kid

193 yeah fuck the state jhw

do they all share a house 🥺

LHS is back with the army... okay putting a pin in that

yjh stayed in his room like a broken person... bruh

jhw was a bartender? did i know that? it makes so much sense tho

kdj ur story is told bc they love you!!

194 idk i was the only person reading this 1000 chapter work and when i left a comment some stuff changed

syswitz industrial complex... run that by me one more time

damn human life is just like hell, ive been saying this

195 demon trains? i know all about those

complete ur scheme. say somthing cool. pass out. kdj ur self parody at this point

rotation: recency bias is a hell of a thing. i want to partially tie up the parenting stuff with noting how often the constellation incarnation relationship was considered parental, how kdj views them (and indeed how weve seen quite a few be) really cruel, or exploitative, and well thats fitting for him to see that as parental isnt it. but then also. he has kids in his own care, and one is literally his incarnation. frankly im interested in both how attacking and dethroning gods is gonna impact his own godhood deal, his own parenting, and his view of his mothers job of parenting him

im not sure if i have any particular takes here but let it be know kdj is a bastard and a scoundrel and i shall not miss him. not from this distance. no but god that was a classic really jerk move level manipulation. need to re-calibrate the dials. whats worse is at this point i think he can fully understand how much emotional damage hes putting his loved ones through.

Also did you know we live in a society. this one is pretty nascent so far but the breaking of the Seoul dome is reminding us of normal human society, and its flaws, and with the demonic realm, blatantly stated, we live in hell on earth.

#some shit #orv blogging #this works better when i do the last bit first ahaha #god its long tho sorry it made more sense when i was doing on fri and sat both but #also used mentol joint creme and my wrist and elbow were just static while doing this lol #i have one last thought thats drifting jussst out of reach #smth. oh idk emotional paid moments. almost cry at work moments #*pain

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smutty-ki113r · 3 years ago

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🌐Discord🌐||

Comfort one-shot reader x creepy pastas (Slenderman, Jeff, Toby, E.J, BEN, Sally, Masky, Hoodie, Jane and L.J.)

Inspired by: The living tombstone

You woke to excessive yelling, turning over and pushing the pillow over your face groaning. The voice got louder and you felt a pair of hands shake you awake, throwing the pillow at them you found that it was Toby. He let out an abrupt gasp and continued to jump around the hotel room. You understood why he was so excited, it was the first day of your trip to Disney world after all.

I know it seems unconventional but you had managed to convince slender to let you guys go. Obviously it was on Halloween weekend, the only time they could go into the parks without being questioned for their looks. That day you would all be going to Epcot.

Masky was probably the most excited about that park even though he had an expressionless face on the ride there. He had been so against going, at least it seemed like it. But you saw him putting ciggarates in a fanny pack when getting ready to leave.

Smiling fondly at the memory you got up and dressed. After breakfast you all drove to the park, seeing the Halloween decorations in orange and black with the shapes of Mickey Mouse. You groaned at the bickering going on in the third row of seats with Jeff and E.J, who was trying to convince Jeff to leave his knife in the car.

“They’ll stop you at security” you called back to him.

“I can hide it” he protested.

“Jeff they have literal metal detectors” E.J rebutted.

“What if I put it in my pants” he said smartly.

“NO” you yelled. After a death glare and a small tug of war between him and E.J he left it. He walked at the back of the group, slumping with his hands in his hoodie pocket. At the entrance the whole crowd was met with “oohs” and compliments about your “costumes”.

There was so much to do, but Hoodie (secretly Masky too) and BEN wanted to go to Spaceship earth. They were all so amazed on how there was a ride inside of the Epcot ball.

“It’s an XXL golf ball” BEN kept saying, convinced that there was nothing inside. There wasn’t much wait but since you were all a big crowd it took a bit to get in. Slender had the hardest time getting in the cart, he had to crouch excessively to fit. You rode with BEN, who was really excited at first because he thought there was going to be a drop but it turned out bore him. He thought it was going too slow, and so he had the bright idea to tamper with the manuals. “Time to spice things up” he said rubbing his hands maliciously. At one point all the carts started spinning, he lifted his hands and “wheeed”. You could hear Sally yelling from the back with Slender holding her in the seat since there was no restraints. At the end he scolded Ben, rushing him out of there as the cast members apologized for the inexplicable inconvenience.

He came out of there with a proud grin, cackling as he pointed out the dumbfounded face E.J made in the picture and the one with Jeff with his tongue out. The smiling killer joined him, watching Toby spin from the dizziness- it was pretty funny though.

Slender admired the late October scenery until Sally pulled him into a stand and graced him with a Mickey Mouse hat. Jeff was yet another unfortunate victim of Sally’s plan, wearing the mickey ears that had a pastel veil. BEN was throwing fits of giggles at this, but you knew Jeff was fucking insecure so you put on ears along with Sally.

The first country you stopped at was Mexico, where you went inside the pyramid. Jeff traded his ears for a big Mexican hat, Ben too. They played with the maracas while Toby, Sally and Hoodie went into the glass shop. It was a recipe for disaster, but you followed regardless. Sally tried on every. Single. Princess crown while Toby looked at the glass pieces a bit too closely. He started ticking while holding one, even though the sign said not to touch them. It flew across the store and collided with a whole other shelf, all of them broke and he started apologizing furiously as Slender messed the employees’ mind to make him forget about the accident.

He had to pull Toby out of the store and drag him to the boat ride, you patted him on the back daringly as he had the guiltiest look. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea for slender to go on the boat ride, he was far too tall and had to bend his knees to look like a grasshopper while Sally smiled and sung along with the cartoon characters. When you got off you could hear Slender mumbling something about his back.

Norway didn’t have much to do but Sally begged to go on the Elsa ride, Hoodie accompanied her happily. Toby as well, but he was really enthusiastic about the songs- he knew all of them. Him and Sally harmonized during the chorus for “let it go”. Since there were a shit ton of little kids there L.J was about to combust. Surprisingly he stayed super silent with occasional grumbles, making mental notes for when he got out of the park. He had to ditch the group to shop for Candy, which he found in China.

Jane was absolutely fascinated with the Zodiac garden there, watching the beautiful plants in the morning sun. Masky tried to relax by watching the show inside the pavillion but Toby caught up to him. He really couldn’t sit still and Masky had to scold him for sitting on the rail he wasn’t supposed to sit on. After, you found E.J playing with Sally with the marionettes and BEN with a cup of Boba. He seemed to be enjoying it- a lot. It was the funniest thing to watch him suck up all the tapioca stuck in the ice, his cheeks got super red and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

Jeff was gladly giving Toby his Mickey Mouse ears. In the afternoon you moved to Italy, where L.J was getting complimented for his “stilts”. There wasn’t much to do in Germany or America so you guys went to Japan. Laughing Jack was a lost cause, going straight for the candy while Jeff was mesmerized by the samurai swords. He was looking around to see if he could steal one, but how in the world would he hide that- definitely not in his pants. You caught on quick.

“Just ONE” he pleaded with you as you pulled him away from the glass. “Don’t do this to meeee” he screeched at you like a starved man asking for food.

Trying to throw hands and hit you while you grasped onto his hoodie. You managed to bring him with you as you walked out of the store. Passing by Masky who was trying to get away from Toby- he was fanning masky with those big fans. Jeff sat sourly as you ordered food, a stressed Masky came soon after. He was glad to have some quiet from the ruckus outside, enjoying a meal with you. When he was done he went outside to have a smoke from his fanny pack.

Going back to the store with Jeff on a tight leash AWAY from the swords you found Sally playing with the plushies and L.J taking packs and packs of candy. You stood and stared at him as he loaded up on the strawberry gummies. “What?” He deadpanned as a few fell down from his pile. You just laughed and helped him hold some of them, putting them in your backpack and walking out of the store because- y’all are criminals, and you steal.

It was now late afternoon, and you only had a few countries left to complete the full round of the park. Toby got lost in France, you all spent about twenty minutes looking for him and apparently Slender too who disappeared soon after. Then out of some room came one of them.

“where where you?” Jane asked.

Slender stepped forward “at the show, there were some magnificent castles and I think I’ll have to visit. Maybe even take ideas for house redecoration” he nodded.

Then out of nowhere appeared a cast member holding the hand of one shaking Toby, whose eyes were puffy and cheeks red. “Did you lose this little boy” she asked slender, he shook his head yes and gave a sigh.

The lady was in absolute awe of the group, especially daddy dilf slender. “How IS it that you see through that mask” she mused, taking slender’s head in her hands even though he was super tall. Her mouth was open as she pulled him super close to observe his (non-existent) face. BEN was snickering and you looked back and forth to see slender pretty flustered at the lady’s proximity.

“Leave him alone” Jane smacked BEN behind his head and took him by the ear. You followed them to the U.K. She threw him in one of the phone booths and held the door so he couldn’t escape. You could hear him complain from inside “let me outttt” he said muffled. Jeff caught up and went into the one on the opposite side, playing with the buttons on the dial. When Slender came back he took out a Camera to snap pictures of BEN and Jeff. You stood to the side while he did, obviously both of them didn’t notice. They were pretty candid and when they saw what was happening they ran out of there, only to have their spaces replaced with Sally and E.J, who had to pose with her for the picture.

The sun was starting to set and you guys only had a couple things left to do, one of which Jeff almost exploded in wait for. He wanted to try test track so bad, the line was gruesome and he tapped his foot impatiently in wait. BEN kept tampering with the car parts on display, making doors open and lights flash in boredom. Toby waited outside with Slender because he had anxiety around going too fast in a car and possibly reliving trauma. Jeff, on the other hand, was so excited when it was finally time to go on. He let you sit next to him in the front with BEN in the back. The ride was entertaining sure but the best part was probably Jeff’s face at the end. The car went so fast that Jeff’s cheeks were pushed back with the wind, stretching out his carved smile and flapping as he waved his hands in the air.

Then when it ended he wanted to steal one of the cars from the display.

“I can turn it on and take the safety off” BEN tuned in cheekily.

“Yessss” Jeff said with a fist pump, “which one should we get?” He asked.

“The red one” BEN decided.

“Guys nonononon” you tried complaining but they were dedicated.

“Stop complaining” BEN said, distracting you while Jeff snuck up on you from behind. Covering your mouth with his hand and restraining your arms with another “This is for not letting me take that knife”.

Picking you up and throwing you in the backseat of the car before revving the engine. With tears of joy in your eyes you saw Slender appear in the rear mirror of the car, tendrils waving around in fury. If BEN wasn’t dead yet he would definetly be now, Jeff turned paler than usual. Thank goodness he saw what was going on. They were about to drive off in one of those Toyotas- forget about mass murder, they were about to commit grand theft auto.

Next was the Nemo ride, but BEN was absolutely petrified of being near water so he waited outside with Slender-who very much could not fit in that shell car as much as he tried. Sally really liked it, she went with Toby and you went with Jane. Masky and Hoodie went together. Needless to say all of you enjoyed it very much, and the aquarium after was great too. Jane sat where she could watch the Dolphins and you could hear Toby and Sally’s footsteps running around from tank to tank.

“Do you think Slender will let me take a shark home?” He asked Masky, who told him no. But when they were outside Toby went straight to Slender. “Can I take a pet home?” He pleaded. Slender gave him a strict no but Toby continued to beg, “how about a seahorse?”, “not even a starfish?”. He got shot down but quickly recovered when you guys went to Soarin.

All of them- they loved flying. Even through it was just a ride, it was exhilarating. Passing through the sea and waterfalls, even the castles where Slender would have smiled at (if he had a mouth). Toby yelled like a mother fucker the whole time, luckily Masky was sitting next to you and hoodie- away from earshot. Jeff got the bad end of his shouting, making a face like he was about to murder poor Toby. But the brunette was so distracted by the lights and scenery he didn’t notice. E.J was pretty fascinated too, the height scared him a bit- he was used to being on the ground. Then you all shared some food from the cafeteria and went outside to watch the light show from Canada.

It was such a nice moment, with the sun already set and a hazy glow lingering in the air. You took a deep breath in, the ambiance felt like something unreal. The Epcot ball was illuminated by purplish lights in the background and across the lake you could see all the countries monuments lined with white lights. Slender had Sally on his shoulders so she could take in the view. It made you so happy to be with all of them in an instance like this. You looked back to find L.J eating his candy. With BEN and Hoodie next to you, Masky was leaning on the railing with his elbows next to E.J. and Toby was about to fall asleep. He got pretty startled when the fireworks started, but Sally’s eyes lit up with happiness. She cheered as you watched the group, it was such a kindling time with them. You couldn’t wait for the next day of the trip.

#ben drowned #slenderman #creepypasta #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #creepypasta masky #sally williams #brian thomas #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader

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kentos-filmcamera · 3 years ago

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10 times, 1 occasion - Inumaki Toge

2. Gift

A/N: aaaaa i woke up to a lot of notifs, i’m so glad everyone is liking it so far! thank u sm for reading! just a quick clarification, I’m setting the reader as non binary; i will be using mostly they/them pronouns and sometimes she/her but i will avoid to do so. happy reading!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Megumi!” You called, waving to the underclass man. He offered you a tiny smile and a wave back. You let go of Toge’s hand to pull him into an embrace. “You’re taller! How much you’ve grown, my boy!” You’ve known him since forever, way before you met your fellow second years. And you always loved to pester him.

“I’m the same exact way since you last saw me” He deadpanned as you pinched his cheeks, his voice as plain as you remembered it to be. You only laughed and ruffled his hair, earning a groan.

“Where’s my hug?” You heard the voice of Gojo Satoru resonate through your ears for the first time in a while, and the most annoying phrase in existence was what he chose to say.

You turned to look at him, unimpressed, your expression matching Fushiguro’s. You were met with his usual cheeky smile and raised brows. He extended his arms and did ‘grabby’ hands as children did. Oh my. This man was annoying; and to think you even considered you missed him in the first place.

“Up your ass” You replied and moved his arms away from nearing your torso. He gasped dramatically and pouted like a wounded puppy. You only gave him a pat in his shoulder “Glad to see you’re... Well, alive”

“Don’t speak to Gojo-sensei like that!” You heard a foreign voice, the same one you heard from a far moments ago. You turn to look at the boy with the pink hair with a raised eyebrow. Something in your head clicked, as did your tongue. You pointed at him.

“Sukuna’s vessel” You said. Even up in the mountains the hottest gossip was the kid that ate one of Sukuna’s fingers and actually withstanded to house the spirit inside him. It was the talk at the dinner table for weeks. Your sister was specifically interested in it one night, making her spill hot soup all over your lap when she was in charge of serving everyone that night.

“Itadori Yuuji” He corrected. You stared at him up and down and gave a tiny smile and a nod.

“And this is Nobara Kugisaki” Panda indicated to you, as you turned to face the ginger that looked at you with gleaming eyes. You waved shortly before introducing yourself to both.

One of their faces lit up “You got attacked by a special cursed spirit last year right?” The boy you recognized as Itadori spoke. Your face blanked and drained of any color as you tensed. The only remedy you found was to nod, your jaw clenched shut as Inumaki reached in to rub his hand through your shoulders. It relaxed you, but you didn’t remember him being this touchy before.

“Idiot! You don’t remind other people of their trauma!” Kugisaki hit him in the back of the head, noticing how your attitude shifted in seconds.

“But! It was awesome! You were the first first year ever to expand a complete domain!” Itadori protested, but he slumped realizing how far you were. Your eyes looked as if they were in another galaxy, your mind taking them far as you spaced out. You hated doing it, but it came rather involuntarily when you were avoiding getting hurt. “You’re so skilled”

“It wasn’t awesome. I—“ You sighed, and accepted the compliment, your mind returning back to the scene. “Thank you. I’ve been training since I saw my first curse” You gave a light thankful bow to him before turning to Toge “Walk me to my room?”

“Sake” He nodded, and led you ahead. Panda passed onto you the duffle bag and gave Inumaki the remaining handbag as you two walked in silence towards the second year building.

Your room was exactly as you left it, except for the made up bed. You remembered that morning clearly; you had always been an organized person, but when Maki pulled you out of your bed for what would be your last mission for a while, you didn’t have the time to fix it before leaving. As you looked around, you heard the sound of bags hitting the floor and the generic sound of typing on an electronic keyboard. Then your phone vibrated shortly on the pocket of your jacket. Taking it out, you read the new message.

[ Inumaki Toge: i laid the bed after you left. i knew you wouldn’t like to find it all messy after all this time ]

“Thank you” You spoke as a response. You stood in place, arms crossed and thought. Inumaki chuckled at your tongue poking out from the corner of your lips. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have liked to find the bed unmade after months” You smiled briefly at the warmth spreading through your chest, opened the windows and looked at your space.

On the bed, your new uniform was laid down, awaiting your return. You asked for both the option of wearing pants and a skirt, depending on the type of mission, you settled with what seemed more comfortable. Your closet was empty, as you didn’t know for how much you were going to be away, except for a few pieces you stole from Maki’s closet. Everything Toge gave you, you took with you, and you wouldn’t take things from Yuta without his permission. You looked at the picture on your nightstand of the five of you, taken by Gojo as you exited a training session. You laughed with Panda as Maki, seemingly angry elbowed you in the ribs, Inumaki and Yuta enjoyed the moment quietly, both smiling. Fitted on the inside edge of that picture frame was a strip of pictures you took at a carnival, in a picture booth with Inumaki before exorcising a curse haunting the house of mirrors. One of the most difficult, terrifying missions you could have ever taken, in your first year nevertheless. But getting some Italian food sponsored by Gojo’s wallet at 2 AM on a Saturday was a great way to end the night.

“Heh, look, you had spiky hair” You mentioned, taking the picture strip out of the frame and handing it over to the boy, who passed you another picture from your board by your desk in exchange. It was a selfie Gojo took with you and Maki, as he found you both sneaking in after getting piercings and tempura in Shibuya, taking Ijichi as hostage to drive you there. Remembering the event, you flipped down your septum, and checked for your five lobe piercings and your helix. Due to your family’s cursed technique, piercings were more than cliche, but on the ear, not on the nose. You opted for a septum for whenever you had to hide it. Your phone vibrated again.

[ Inumaki Toge: i always liked that piercing on u. u look very cool ]

[ Inumaki Toge: you’ve always looked cool :)) ]

“You flatter me too much, Toge, thank you” You turned away to hide the blush on your cheeks. Soon, you received a tap on your shoulder. You faced a flustered Inumaki with a dianty box in his hands. “Uh, you shouldn’t have, I—“ You were perplexed, trying to find the reason why he would give you a present.

“Bonito Flakes” He insisted, shoving the gift into your hands and pointing to the door with his head. He wanted to give you some space, to read the letter and to change back into your uniform.

“I’ll be quick, I promise” You gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before he rushed to leave the room.

You prioritized changing into your uniform, deciding for the navy high rise wide pants with slits on their outer sides going from your mid-upper thigh to the bottom of the piece, made for better movement in battle. You buttoned up and tucked the navy jujutsu high jacket, of which you wore a shorter version, with a classic white collar from your button up peeking out from underneath. You scouted your bag for the tiny chain you hung from the eyelet of the collar, it was a family heirloom, a protection chain; if anyone touched it in battle, your cursed technique of choice would come into effect. Besides, it made you look more classy.

You fixed the puffy long sleeves, the form and the material more breathable, flexible and comfortable for you. You reached out to your closet and fitted the white patent ankle boots, almost tripping while doing so.

“I’m okay!” You shouted back, responding to a soft knock on the door. They were similar to Inumaki’s own shoes, but more stylish. In general, you were more stylish than him; or anyone else in both campuses. You finally fitted your black arm band, which had strapped in a box of needles, a rather thin rope and some thread.

You sat in your bed and took the box between your hands, circling around your fingertips. You removed the decorative bow and cut through the sealing tape with your fingernails. In between the folds of tissue paper, you found a golden ring. Your lost ring. It looked different, but you could recognize that oval shaped emerald anywhere. You touched it several times to check if it was real or not. And it was. You rushed to find an explanation to this, prying the letter open with your fingernails.

“Hi,

As I’m writing this, I’m not sure when you’re coming back. Or if you’re even doing so. Writing this letter gives me hope for your return, as so did getting you this welcome back gift. It’s the ring you took so much pride in owning. Oh, well, part of it. I remember how you got rushed to the infirmary, wailing, touching your damaged hand to see if you had your ring. But you didn’t. I went back to the scene myself that same day, and the next, and the one after the other to find your missing jewel. When I found it, it looked terrible. It was dirty, bent, and the emerald had a crack in one of its corners. It took me some work, but I found someone that could restore it. It’s the original stone, and the original material but it had to be reshaped. I know you like signets, so I hope you can find appreciation in this one too.

You looked once more at the piece and let out a teary chuckle. You had suffered so much the loss of that ring. It was a present from your grandmother, now deceased. You hated yourself incessantly for losing it. But now, it was back in your grip. You slipped it into your ring finger and before continuing your lecture, you fanned your under eyes to avoid ruining the hint of makeup you currently wore.

If you’re reading this, I am so glad you’re back. I missed you, so so much. I’m glad to see you in good health. And I’m sorry everything happened the way it did. You didn’t do anything wrong. I know how you feel. Please trust me. Thank you once more for allowing me to speak to you through written words. You’re the only one I want to write to, anyways. I don’t have the patience for anyone else. Welcome back, cookie.

I love you.

Yours, Toge”

#jujutsu kaisen #inumaki #inumaki toge #jjk inumaki #toge inumaki #inumaki x reader #jjk fluff #10times1occ

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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

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hello! <3 once again will not have a new full-chapter update of ✨ian and mickey take over the alibi✨ fic for a day or two, but wanted to post this little fluffy preview featuring the first appearance of our girl bazooka gallagher-milkovich!!! hope u enjoy:’)

—

“Hey, Mick. C’mere. Look at this one.”

Mickey glanced up from where he was elbow-deep in a series of sudsy dishes in their too-small kitchen sink. Once again Ian had made some sort of pasta dish for dinner, with tomatoes and basil and some fancy fresh mozzarella (that he was surprised the little dingy grocery store on the corner even carried)— and even though Mickey grumbled about “fucking gourmet bullshit” and “I’m fine with ramen, man,” he’d still helped himself to multiple scoops of second servings while they’d eaten their first meal at the little circular table from Ikea they’d assembled earlier that afternoon.

Now Mickey was on dish duty— Ian was trying to get the two of them to divvy up household shit equitably, since the usual rule at the Gallagher house was “leave dishes in the sink until they start to smell, then blame someone else for them”; and Ian was leaning back in his chair at the table, scrolling through pictures of various dogs on the websites of the local shelters— when one listing caught his attention.

Pit Bull Puppies, Chicago area NEED HOMES FAST, 8 months old

He clicked on the link—there were a series of images of dogs from the same litter, most of them already claimed. Ian scrolled to the last available listing, holding up his phone for Mickey to see as Mickey strode towards the table, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

“Look, she’s got blue eyes. You guys match.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Stop being soft. Gimme your fucking phone.”

This friendly pittie comes from a troubled past and needs a loving home. She was found in a barn outside the city that is well-known for illegal dog fighting along with her brothers and sisters. She isn’t trained yet, and needs someone patient to give her a loving and active environment. She’s a sweetheart, and because she isn’t trained we would love for her new family to give her a name!

Ian saw a crease form between Mickey’s brows as he read the listing. “Sounds like a lot of fuckin’ work.”

Ian could sense Mickey’s hesitation, his gut impulse to immediately put a barrier between himself and this new, fragile thing to take care of, especially after their conversation the other night— but beyond that, he could also see that Mickey didn’t even believe himself as he said it. It was an impulse response, for Mickey, to immediately put up walls— and it was getting easier and easier for Mickey himself to be the one to tear them down.

“Yeah, but it’ll be fun. We can go see her if you want, decide if we think she’s a good fit.”

Mickey swallowed, his eyes still fixated on the picture on the phone screen. “Yeah, but it’s got, like… y’know. Trauma and shit. What if we fuck it up even more?”

Ian smiled. “We won’t fuck her up, Mick. We’ll give her a loving home with two dads and a shit ton of dog toys.”

Ian saw the gentle worry creeping into Mickey’s eyes at the word “dads”—and, okay, maybe that was too soon. Mickey had said he’d be fine getting a dog, and was excited about it the whole time they’d been furniture shopping—but in a weird way this did feel like a trial run for a kid, in a way they were both hyperaware of. There was so much there—this was Mickey’s first real try of taking care of someone that was totally dependent on him, after years of shutting out and pressing down those dark chapters of unwanted fatherhood.

Except it wasn’t just Mickey taking this on; it was both of them, together. Ian tried to show him that, as he reached a hand out to press against Mickey’s lower spine in a grounding touch, pulling him closer.

“Hey. Wanna just visit, to see if we click with her? It’s just a fucking dog, and an excuse to see some adorable puppies.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, then pursed his lips. He stared at the picture again. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Thank you so much for coming by—this sweetheart is the last of the litter, I’m so glad you both saw the listing so quickly!”

The dog shelter employee, a caricature of a kind-faced middle-aged midwestern woman wearing a cardigan and khakis, led them through the well-lit hallways, turning them into room filled with scattered dog toys and two folding chairs.

“This is our little meet and greet area, we’ll bring her in just a moment.” She shut the door behind her, leaving Ian and Mickey in the mostly-empty room.

Mickey’s eyes darted around curiously. “This doesn’t look like a fucking dog shelter, man. It looks like a preschool.”

Ian smirked, settling into one of the chairs while Mickey remained standing. “It’s a dog rescue center, I guess. Probably run by lots of people who are way too into the dog thing.”

Mickey shrugged, capturing his lip between his teeth contemplatively. “Whatever. And they’ll just let us take it home? If we want it?”

“Yeah.”

Just then the door creaked open—and in came the shelter worker once more, carrying a bundle of grey wrapped in a worn towel. She placed the puppy down on the floor.

“Like the listing said, she doesn’t have a name yet—but here’s our girl!”

The puppy rose to stand on her four legs— a little grey pit bull, with ice-blue eyes and a too-skinny frame, the lines of her ribcage jutting out through her thin fur. She was tiny—definitely smaller than Ian had realized from the pictures, and definitely smaller than an 8-month-old pit bull should be based on the bits of googling he’d done on the L ride over.

The puppy stretched her limbs out long, then stumbled over her too-big feet slightly to race towards one of the dog toys in the corner of the room. Once she captured it in her mouth she circled back contentedly and flopped down on the floor in the middle of the room, starting to chew on the corner of the bone sleepily.

“She’s so little.” Ian crouched on the ground— and he could tell he was doing that little baby-voice thing he always did, where his voice went up ten pitches and went all fuzzy around the edges that Mickey always gave him shit for, but in this moment he didn’t particularly care.

“Hey there, girl. You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Ian could tell Mickey was rolling his eyes behind him. He reached out a hand to pet the puppy’s fur—it was soft, velvety and warm. Slowly, the dog inched closer and wriggled herself to sit pressed against Ian’s lap, letting the bone fall out from the corner of her mouth and nestling her chin to rest on Ian’s upper thigh.

“She’s a little sleepy,” the shelter worker added. “She’s been pretty mellow since we received her, but we think with some good nutrition and some exercise she’ll have loads of energy. It’s just a matter of getting her back into good health.”

The scrawny puppy was sleeping now, her chin still tilted on Ian’s leg and her eyelids drooping shut.

“Mick, d’you wanna pet her? Her fur is so soft, it’s ridiculous.”

Mickey bit his lip again, staring at the scene from where he was still standing a safe distance away, a few paces behind where Ian was perched on the floor.

“Yeah, guess so.”

He kneeled beside Ian, tentatively reaching a hand out to stroke the dog’s head— almost like he was scared he’d hurt her, like he was scared he’d do something wrong. The corner of Mickey’s mouth ticked upwards a bit at the contact with the puppy’s soft fur— and then he rubbed her head again, giving her a gentle pat. The puppy’s eyelids lazily opened, her tail starting to sweep side to side against the linoleum floor.

“Uh. Hey there.” Mickey chuckled uncomfortably, but his uneasiness was starting to melt away. “Do I gotta, like, talk to it?”

Ian grinned. “You can do whatever you want.”

Mickey ran scratches against the dog’s scalp, then down her sides.

“She’s kinda skinny. I can feel her fucking ribcage.”

Responding to the touch, the puppy lazily rolled over onto her back, exposing her tummy to welcome belly-rubs. Mickey grinned, and reached out to scratch at the puppy’s tummy.

“You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you? That’s right. Yes, you are. Such a good girl.”

Ian smirked—and filed Mickey’s puppy-talk away in his mind as something to make fun of him for later; but not right now, when Mickey was still learning to do this, when the defensiveness and self-judgement had only just drained from his system and he was still second-guessing his every move.

The puppy nudged her wet nose into Mickey’s hand and licked at his palm; and Mickey laughed, almost jolting in surprise. His eyes crinkled as he looked over at Ian.

“This is the friendliest fucking dog I’ve ever met, man.”

Ian felt his lips curve into a smile. Of course Mickey hadn’t met dogs that were this bubbly and friendly; half the dogs he’d had exposure to were chained in Southside front yards, trained to rip each other’s throats out and bark viciously at people walking by. Ian hadn’t really been near many dogs either; but seeing his husband immediately melt in the presence of a puppy, the innocence and awe seemingly radiating off of him, made something warm pool in his stomach.

“Yeah, she’s pretty special.” Ian reached a hand out to try and pet at the puppy’s head, and she turned her neck to nip at Ian’s wrist with her pointy puppy teeth.

“There’s some of that feisty energy we’ve been hoping for.” The shelter worker smiled knowingly. “Are you two interested in taking her home?”

Ian lifted his gaze from the squirmy puppy rolling on the ground between them to meet Mickey’s eyes.

“Mick?”

They called Debbie to pick them up from the shelter, since the logistics of taking a brand-new puppy on the L with them without a leash or collar seemed like too much to handle, even if she would probably just sleep the entire time. Debbie had spread an old towel in the back next to Franny’s car seat and Ian plopped the puppy into the middle seat, opting to sit shotgun next to Debbie while Mickey kept Franny and the puppy company in the back.

They were almost back at the Alibi now, and Ian was half-listening to Debbie prattle on about what slobs her new roommates were, and how she had half a mind to U-Haul with Heidi— when he tuned in to Franny and Mickey’s conversation in the backseat, the puppy sleeping soundly between them.

“What d’you think, Little Red— what’s the best dog name you can think of?”

Ian noticed Franny furrowing her brows from where he could see her in the rearview mirror. “Hmmm. How about… Queen Justice? That’s the name of my favorite wrestler. And the name I gave the fish Mommy got me.”

Mickey chuckled, and Ian raised an eyebrow at Debbie, cutting her monologue off mid-sentence. “Wait, you got Franny a fish?”

Debbie sighed. “Yeah. I felt bad about the move, and Monica and Frank never gave us shit like that when we were little. Figured I’d try to be a good mom or whatever.”

Ian smiled, reaching out to softly punch her in the upper arm. “That’s actually kinda cool, Debs.”

In the backseat, Franny was still thinking out loud.

“We have to name her after something you like, Uncle Mickey. That’s what Mommy told me about naming Queen Justice. What are your favorite things?”

Ian twisted in his seat to turn towards Franny and join the conversation. “Probably beer and guns, but neither of those things make good dog names, Fran.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Here’s a fucking relationship quiz then, lover— what’s my favorite type of gun?”

Ian rolled his eyes, contorting even more in his seat to twist and face Mickey. “I don’t fucking know, Mick.”

“A bazooka, bitch.” Mickey ran his hand over the sleeping puppy’s silky fur, scratching behind her ears. “Bazooka Gallagher. Or Milkovich. Or whatever. That’s a pretty good fucking dog name if you ask me.”

Ian felt a smile creep onto his face. Bazooka. “That’s honestly kinda perfect.” He reached his arm into the backseat to reach at the puppy. “Hey there, Baz. You like your new name? You ready for us to take you home?”

Bazooka’s eyelids drifted open, her tail starting to drum against the back of the car seat in a reaction to all of the attention. Franny reached down from her car seat and gave Baz a little peck on the head, and immediately Baz started licking all over Franny’s face, making her squeal and laugh and wriggle in her car seat as Baz shifted to stand on the seat and leaned closer to Franny’s face.

“It tickles! Uncle Mickey, she’s licking me!”

“Allllright.” Mickey reached to scoop the puppy off of Franny, wrapping Bazooka back in the discarded towel on the carseat and holding her like a baby in his arms. He scratched at Baz’s head again, then smoothed down her fur.

“We’re gonna take you home real soon, Bazooka Gallagher-Milkovich.”

#xoxo love u all #have not been able to write much after the Events of this week but this happened to day and i was happy about it!!!!!#also i love that i am truly just writing about.... my own dog as a self-insert shameless character lolol #how did this happen #shameless #shameless fic #gallavich fic #gallavich fanfiction #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #debbie gallagher #franny gallagher #ian x mickey #ixm #bazooka gallagher milkovich #gallavich

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