#I deserve to be shot for these tips because I follow none of them.

[stxrvel]

coincidence! (2)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, we're still on the safe zone, angst if you squint, just silly writing! a/n. hi guys! finally second chapter is out! im blown away with your response!! thank u so much from the bottom of my heart! i loooooved reading your comments <33 pls remember updates are weekly or biweekly! and if you want to be tagged pls say so in the comments! see you next week ;)

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

“This is unbelievable! We're going to be rich!!!” 

“What makes you think my sister is going to give you any of that money?” 

“I created that Instagram account that was tagged in Kim Taehyung's damn story, I deserve a raise!” 

“What makes you drones think my daughter is going to give you any of that money?”

“None of you are going to get anything out of that act of feigned innocence. Honey, are you all right?”

It seemed like a light had gone on in the room, four pairs of eyes landing on your still pale, surprised face. The night had been heavy after Yuna's call and you'd had so little sleep that you didn't know how you were functioning at the moment. Maybe that was the thing: you weren't functioning at all.

When you woke up, you thought it had all been a bad dream and that definitely the first exposure you'd had to the guys in years hadn't been because Taehyung came across your books at a convention you decided not to go to and uploaded them to his Instagram account with over eighty million followers. It was impossible, wasn't it? Too crazy. 

Maybe not as crazy as waking up to your parents banging on your bedroom door saying that over a hundred thousand orders had been placed overnight and they didn't have enough book production for that much demand. 

Be that as it may, Yuna and your mother took care of the communications on the account. You went from having twenty followers (including your family and friends —your father had created an account exclusively for that and only followed you—), to almost sixty thousand in at least twelve hours. The posts you had worked so hard to create and put together were finally getting the attention they deserved, but it had all happened so fast and suddenly that it was too strong to process calmly. 

Weighing which was stronger, whether Taehyung's acknowledgment of your existence after so many years of zero contact or that your book sales shot up so immeasurably that they couldn't even keep up with demand, even if a month went by, didn't make things any easier. 

“She's obviously still in shock,” Yuna replied to your mother at your lack of response from the living room, right across the dining room where you had been sitting since you had come down from your room. Your breakfast was still untouched on the table, but that seemed to be the least important thing in the room with all the more important news. 

“Have the printers answered yet?” your brother's voice through the speaker of your father's phone rang as you blinked, reality settling too slowly on your shoulders. You didn't even want to think about what it meant that Taehyung had done that. Maybe it was simply an altruistic act, wasn't it? Maybe he felt guilt and wanted to ameliorate it somehow. What better way than to do an act of charity?

“I'm on it,” your father was sitting across from you in the dining room, his laptop on the glass of the table as he moved his hands over the keyboard and stared through his glasses at the full tip of his nose. From the way his eyes narrowed, your mother snorted. 

“Why don't you get those glasses adjusted if you know you don't see well up close, let alone on electronic devices?” the woman reached over, dragging your father's glasses until they were almost glued to his eyebrows. Your father barely gave her a goofy grin as your mother started shaking her hands. “You better move. I'll do it. You write too slow; you're getting on our son's nerves.” 

“Nah, I'm fine. I don't know if y/n is tho.” 

Silence returned and you growled internally. Well, that was enough conjecture and assumptions without any information to substantiate them, it was time to get down to business. 

 “Do you think we should take over this business now?” Yuna completely ignored your stretch and you sent her a confused look. 

Your brother exclaimed from the phone in agreement. “I call dibs on the treasury!” 

“There's no way you can keep the accounts right! You're studying law.” 

“Seojun is good at numbers, Yuna.” 

 “Ha, with all due respect Mrs. I/n, he must only be good at counting sheep.”

 “Hey,” you tried to get attention, getting up from the chair. 

 “y/n, don't talk, you're still in shock. Can you believe he once called me from the supermarket to ask if he got his change right? He didn't even move from the checkout counter. There were people booing him.” 

 “Ow, my poor baby.” 

 “I told you not to say that to anyone!” 

 “I can't keep quiet if they're speaking lies about you!” 

 “This wasn't lies! This is about my pride!” 

 “Nonsense. I'll handle the treasury. I double majored in finance and international relations for a reason.” 

 “You can't run anything without starting bossing everyone around!” 

 “It's not my fault you're a good-for-nothing!” 

 God. It was going to be a long day. 

- 

Sorting out the whole printing issue and the number of orders was difficult, but with a couple of stories, interactions with new followers and express delivery of the few copies you'd already had at home for months, the waters calmed down a bit. Now, in the stifling silence of your room, you wanted to run. 

 “Are you going to stare at the ceiling all night?” 

 “Maybe.” 

Yuna watched you from the bed while all you could do was stare as notifications continued to pop up on your Instagram account and your mail because the requests simply wouldn't stop, even though you had made a thousand clarifications to all the new followers. You were trying to focus on the bright side of things, regardless of whatever reasons there may have been for everything to have happened that way, but with your friend's incessant gaze lying on your bed it made it a little difficult. You knew she wanted to pierce your skull from curiosity, but you wouldn't know how you would answer her questions. 

 “Is there anything you'd like to share with the class?” 

 The tension had become a little more latent during the last few minutes, when Yuna saw a specific notification on the account. Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin had followed you. To describe your look of shock might be an understatement, and all you did for the next half hour was run across the room and throughout the house vociferating that you were living a nightmare. 

 Yuna has known all along that you had never been a fan of the siamese or their clan of friends, but she never knew why exactly. You had to tell her that you weren't interested in fashion, that you didn't like the kind of music Jungkook made, that hip-hop was never your thing, that you weren't interested in dilfs and you weren't interested in dance either. You had to tell her that all the things you once did with them didn't matter to you because it was painful, even if it was hard to accept.

 You couldn't remember the times you would go shopping at the small mall in town to buy the trending clothes to put together different outfits with Taehyung and Jimin, then go try them all on at your house and invite the others and even your parents to do an impromptu runway show. You couldn't remember how the genre of music that Jungkook and you listened to all the time on his iPod and your MP3 player was the same one that his entire music career focuses on. You couldn't remember the nights when Yoongi would share his writings with you and you would help him compose a song or two on the piano when he felt brave enough. Or the times when you would accompany Hoseok to his workouts and then watch him create dance routines to his favorite songs while Jungkook sang in the background. You also didn't want to remember the times when Namjoon and Seokjin would sponsor their trips and give everyone gifts without expecting anything in return. 

You couldn't remember those things. It was too much to bear for such a weak heart. 

“What do you want to know?” you sighed, your body sliding on the chair as the notifications grew. 

“How did all this happen?” 

“Why do you think I have an answer for that?” 

Yuna clicked her tongue, sitting on the bed with the cell phone still in her hands, still staring at the notification that snapped her out of her sanity. 

“It's just… this is all unbelievable, magnificent and unreal. But how come you're not so excited about what happened?” Yuna slid across the sheets, to be right in front of you, but you refused to look away from the computer. Every time you thought you had overcome and grown around everything that happened so many years ago, something would pop up to remind you that you still had a long way to go. Maybe the nostalgia was strong, but so was the anger. “Regardless of how things turned out, because I know you're not as big a fan as me, this opens a million doors for you and I don't know why you're not celebrating it like we are.” 

 “It's…complicated.” 

 “I don't think so. Tell me.” 

Yuna was unstoppable when she wanted to get answers out, but besides the obvious, of course there was something else that bothered you and kept you from enjoying this boom so much. 

 “It's just that all of this doesn't feel like it was a product of my effort,” you began, letting your gaze wander over the desk. The copies of your books you kept for yourself, the first ones you'd ever printed several years ago, lay there, as tattered as your failed accomplishment. “It doesn't feel like an achievement that my work had exploded thanks to a celebrity whose fans would buy even the toilet paper he uses. A lot of those people won't even read the book. They will just buy it and take a picture of it to say that they have the same book that the great Kim Taehyung read. Many of those books will never have a life, they will just be dust collectors and be reminders that all this did not happen because of my effort.” 

“What the fuck are you blabbering about? Of course it's the fruit of your effort! Of course you deserve it!” Yuna got up from the bed and moved the chair around the back to leave you in front of her disgruntled and almost offended face. You could see the words drawn in her face. “You worked so many years to pull this off and after so many bumps you finally can! You deserve to have what you wanted so badly. This recognition will last just the same because many other people will read them and love them and they may not be many, but you will form a solid foundation as time goes on with people who will be truly unconditional and supportive and that will grow over time. Don't look at this so negatively, maybe you skipped a couple of steps, but you had every right to. It was what you deserved after all the effort and dedication you put into this project for so many years.” 

 Yuna didn't hesitate for a second. Her very serious expression sent a shiver down your spine and you could tell from her furrowed brow that she really was angry at your perception. Perhaps she was right, but without knowing the full background of this specific situation, you were only left to shake your head in assent and send her a grateful smile. 

“I guess you're right,” you lifted a shoulder, turning your gaze back to your mail notifications.

“Of course I am!” the smile returned to her face and it didn't take long for her to look back down at her phone with sparkling eyes. “Now that we got the emotional charge out of the way, would you mind telling me how you know Taehyung?” 

Your breathing stopped for a second and you cursed yourself because it sounded too loud as you almost choked on your own saliva. 

“Oh?” 

Play fucking dumb. 

“What, did you think I wasn't going to notice? He wrote it crystal clear.” 

Yuna wasn't even looking at you, too focused on running her finger over the row of notifications. Her nonchalant demeanor only caused you to panic more. It was as if she had caught you red-handed. 

One of the best writers I've ever met in my life, damn you Kim Taehyung. 

“Ah… I didn't… I didn't really know him so let's just say…”

“He couldn't have said that for nothing, don't you think? No celebrity would do that unless it was a person they hold in deep regard.” 

Yuna had just caught you totally off guard. Maybe you should've focused a lot more on what Taehyung had written before you blocked his user from your personal account and threw the phone in the bottom of your drawer the night before and tried hard not to think about the rest for the rest of the night and all that day. 

“It's just that… uhm… we studied at the same school. But for a short time actually. I don't even remember it well actually, ha, ha.” 

Your laugh came out too constrained under your friend's narrow-eyed stare. You knew you'd have a hard time convincing her because you were a lousy liar. 

“You know, it always struck me as odd that you weren't a fan. Taehyung and Jimin are like the two extremes of your ideal type.” 

“Whaaaat?”

“And Jungkook's music is literally the kind of music you listen to, you just don't listen to his. All the other artists in the same genre you do listen to.”

“That has nothing to do with…” 

“And even your parents don't claim to know Kim Seokjin when your mother was literally a nurse. She probably worked with him.” 

“What does that have to do…?”  

“And your brother is a hip-hop fan. How come he doesn't listen to Agust D? He's the best rapper of the last few decades and he's been trending for a long time.” 

“…” 

At what fucking moment? 

“And all of them, plus Hobi and Namjoon, they all went to the same school. They're all friends. And you say you went to school with Taehyung?” 

“Ahm… well, yes, but it's not like I would have met the others.” 

Yuna looked at you, really looked you straight in the eyes as if that way she could tell what it was you were hiding or as if that solved all her guesses. It was impossible for her not to figure it out if she had already tied up all the damn loose ends. 

Since the boys had left one by one, clearly your family was the first to realize how much their departures had affected you. In the beginning there was communication and all, but when Jungkook was the last to leave you lost any kind of link with them completely. You never knew exactly what happened because no matter how hard you tried to contact them you couldn't, not even your parents could talk to the boys' parents. Perhaps they had simply grown up, matured, completely forgetting about their ordinary life in that town. 

They seemed to have disappeared from the planet. 

Until your family moved to the capital. Jungkook was just starting out as an idol, but he had an amazing debut. He had captivated the entire audience and was too successful almost from the second one. It was a torment to watch them grow professionally little by little because, although you were happy for their achievements and all, you couldn't forget that they had basically abandoned you. And your parents and Seojun had noticed. They had noticed how much seeing them all over the place was bumming you out, so unreachable when at one point they were all in your living room eating your mother's delicious kimchi and listening to your father's anecdotes. Everyone was affected by their departures, but clearly no one as much as you. 

That's why, of course, your parents and brother had made a silent vow to keep all media about the boys away from you, because they didn't even talk about it by accident in the house, at least not when you were present. 

“It must be a huge coincidence…” Yuna continued and only at that moment did you realize how much you got into your head. Your vision slightly blurred. “I shouldn't accuse you of anything for things like that, should I? What nonsense.” 

You were probably as white as a sheet of paper. 

“Yeah, it would be too weird… ha, ha.” 

God, you had to stop letting out those giggles when you were nervous. 

“Anyway, should we order fried chicken for dinner?” 

“I think I heard mom say she was going to make japchae.” 

“Ohhhhhh, Mrs. l/n's japchae is delicious!” 

You let out a laugh watching your friend spring up from the bed and head for the door. She stopped halfway out and pointed her index finger at you. 

“Don't tell my mom I said that.” 

You made a gesture to zipper your mouth shut and Yuna finally left. 

The previous conversation had been so tense that you already felt tired and ready to sleep at seven o'clock at night. Really the whole day had been so heavy for everyone that you didn't know how the lights in the house were still on. For now, you couldn't do anything else, even if orders continued to come in, now everything depended on the printer and how fast the books would come out, so you would have to wait. 

Maybe you should rest. You had asked your boss for the day off, but tomorrow you would have to continue working hard. Regardless of the incredible growth you'd had, you couldn't let your work go to waste. 

Tomorrow would be a new day. A quieter one, preferably. 

-

a/n: i'll try to have ready part 3 for next week! see you on june 13 at 11:59 pm - GMT5 time!

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592

[eldritch-spouse]

I want to know how many monsters spend their paychecks at Gallon's bar crying because they developed feelings for Santi 💀

" I just... He's so amazing man. I don't even know why I'm crying, I don't deserve him. "

The latest sad sap cries onto his precious counter. Gallon circumvents them to give Fasma a shot of plain whiskey.

" You really don't. " He mumbles.

" H- Huh? "

" Nothing. Say champ, why not have another night with the hunk if you like him so much? " The bartender tilts his head, trying to cheer up the loser, or get them off his metaphorical nuts.

The monster sniffles, looking into the distance, where none other than the incubus is seen on his knees, hands on his thighs and tongue out as he apparently waits for a woman to squirt in his mouth while her hammered friends cheer her on. Gallon follows their gaze. Yeah, seems like a standard night for the resident manwhore.

" Just look at him, so radiant, so perfect. I don't want sex, dude- I want to love him! "

Fasma grimaces, definitely not because of the alcohol. He's seen Santi effortlessly do some of the dirtiest shit he could ever imagine, the thought of kissing those lips could send the old geezer into an early grave.

Gallon continues to work. " Oh boy. " He hopes this one makes a scene. It's a bit fun when they break down and throw a tantrum because the incubus won't give them the light of day unless they're putting out.

The depressed sod sniffles. " Do you think I have a chance? I... I have his phone number. "

Everyone and their mother has Santi's phone number. Maybe their father too.

Gallon grins creepily wide. " Suuure buddy, give it an honest shot. The worst he can say is no, right? " Fasma wordlessly shakes his head in disapproval of the slime's cruelty.

His client starts clumsily tip-tapping at their phone, likely typing something extensive and heartfelt, and now Gallon has to admit he's invested. If only because he knows how it'll end, and he likes to see the light fade from a hopeless romantic's eyes.

A phone eventually pings on the opposite corner of the counter, Santi's. It prompts the incubus to come over, still sucking the cuntjuice out of his fingers, some coating his chin. He doesn't bother to look around as he unlocks his device and squints at the notification. Gallon, Fasma and the client are eerily silent while he opens the text.

The incubus reads about the first three lines, frowns, then looks up. " Gallon, are you busy? "

" Uhh... Not any more than usual, why? "

The phone is slid his way. " Write me a rejection message here, please. I don't want this one coming back. "

And just like that, he turns back around, likely to see if any of the other girls can play with him too.

Gallon has to contain a maddening bark of laughter that is slowly turning him orange. He didn't even recognize the mess of a monster looking so hopefully at him from just across the counter. Oh that has got to sting!

He absolutely loses his cool and has to muffle his cackling when the monster in question wails brokenly and buries their head in their arms, sobbing like a dejected baby.

Fasma pats their back twice. They need that whiskey more than him.

[astronautbeans]

so i just started writing because cowboys stuck in my head i guess? anyways have this completely out of context snippet that hopefully makes a little sense about Shadow and Sean (and also Legundo) <3

Shadow could feel the tension in the air well before he made it back to the ranch. And, coming over the hill, where his heart coudn't pound in his chest, his stomach coiled uncomfortably. Next to his boss stood none other than the sheriff himself.

It was nerves that sent shocks and ripples throughout his body when Sean turned his head to him, almost casually. The worst of it that Shadow couldn't tell whether those nerves were about the fact that the sheriff came looking for him or that he was currently staring at him and no one else.

Out of respect, he stepped down from his horse well before making it to the two. Nearing them, he tipped his hat and greeted them both. It took effort not to let his gaze linger on Sean any longer than he had to.

Sean clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. For a moment, none of them spoke. Shadow glanced between them. He wouldn't dare break the quiet, even if the uncertainty could kill him. Why was he here? What did he want? Did something happened? Did he know about- no. He couldn't know.

Finally, he broke the silence. He dropped his hands from where his arms had been crossed. "Ride with me, Shadow."

He looked at his boss, who nodded only once, then took Nightmare by the reins to get back in her saddle. Sean was in his seat before him, and he barely waited long enough for him to get settled before he rode off. Shadow followed easily, gloved hands uncomfortably tight around the reins. They were alone, riding off into the desert, the sun beating down upon them, and he had no idea what was expected of him here.

Logically, he knew something was wrong. Maybe it had to do with himself, or maybe it was about someone else, someone very specific — thinking of him again made him swallow, oh how he missed him already.

Finally, Sean slowed enough so they could ride side by side. He seemed to think for just a moment longer, then glanced sideways at him, attention partly on the road ahead. "You know Legundo is a wanted criminal, right?"

It took so much effort not to twitch nervously. He no longer wanted to ride next to Sean, despite this being the first time they'd been in close proximity in days. He forced a confused frown onto his face. "I am aware, yes." He shut his mouth after. Anything more and it would be suspicious. He had to play this safe.

Sean hummed. "He deserves to be thrown in jail, if not shot on sight." He paused, maybe waiting for a reaction. Leaning back in his saddle, he levelled him with a relaxed look, once again feigned casualty. "You'd report any sightings to me, wouldn't you?"

A cold shudder ran down his spine despite the burning heat. "Of course, sir." His chest felt unbearably tight. Hopefully, it wasn't obvious in his voice.

"So tell me-" and now he sounded dangerous. Shadow couldn't help the way his eyes widened slightly a the now accusatory, near manic expression on Sean's face — and there was something else to it, something obsessive Shadow couldn't immediately place. "- why I saw the both of you last night, together, and why I haven't heard about it yet?"

[kalolasfantasyworld]

Hiya Lola, congrats on 100 followers! You really deserve them all with your amazing writing and art, also, it was just in time for your birthday! So it was also a little birthday present for you as well 🥰!

If I may be a little bit selfish; may I request a fic for YuNeva in the LPoL AU please 🥺? Thank you so much, and congratulations again 🥰!

Thank you Lyra! And yes it was a bit of a birthday gift for me 💕

Now I hope you enjoy mine ^^

I'm also explaining to everyone else, because I know I said x reader, but I simply didn't get the 3 x reader requests, so I decided why not trying to write something for Lyra's OC ship who I adore.

So thanks Lyra for trusting me with your precious ship. I hope I did them justice.

Let me present to you:

YuNeva in Let's Puck out Limits

(enjoy ^^)

It was by the end of the preseason, few days before their first tournament game that Yuno was gliding from one goal to another with just his puck and stick as companions. He needed to practice, needed to be faster as if wind if his attacks were going to work against Asta. 

For that reason Yuno was greatly focusing on his footwork, making sure that his crossovers were immaculate and they probably looked this way from the outside, but he knew that he was wobbling. Just as with one swift movement he made a wrist shot lifting the puck of the ice and putting it in the right upper corner of the net he heard the ice rink’s door open. Another person set their blades on the cold ice surface. 

He turned around recognising her platinum blonde hair tied in a low braid, fair complexion and a purple training set. A figure skating one. Her name was Neva. Yuno knew that much. His captain William Vangeance seemed to be some sort of a guardian to the girl and she was allowed to work on her figure skating skills whenever the rink was free. 

They passed each other quite a few times, exchanged curious, shy looks, but none of them ever spoke up. Yuno was not the first one to start a conversation and Neva did not seem any better. She started circling on the opposite side of the rink warming up and starting with some little jumps.

Yuno skated over to pick up the puck with his stick, but he could not peel his eyes of the figure skater… there was just something in the way she moved. How beautifully she glided on the ice, shining as if she was a diamond and her footwork… it was amazing. 

Maybe..?

Yuno turned his head to the side. 

“Not a chance,” he muttered and started playing around with the puck. He kept to his side of the rink.

However as the practice progressed he subtly gazed at the girl much more often, admiring her balance and skills. Neva was no better than he was, Yuno could sense her eyes turning to him from time to time, before lifting into a jump and finishing a sequence. That crossover was immaculate…

Yuno furrowed his brows determined. He was going to ask. If asking Neva to give him some footwork tips was what he needed to do to get better, he was going to do so. He gripped on his stick and skated over towards the girl.

“Hi,” he raised his hand shyly, because openly asking the girl was not his strong suit. 

Neva wobbled, clearly surprised by him initiating contact. She halted catching herself. Her platinum hair slightly covered her face. Her lips were pressed together. Then Yuno felt his breath hitch… because she looked up. He had never seen such pretty eyes before. They were a light hue of purple and they shone like two precious diamonds.

He blinked, not sure how to start, completely thrown off. 

“Hi,” Neva’s eyes were narrowed. There was a question in her gaze, but strained with a drop of mistrust. 

“Hi,” he repeated himself flatly, suddenly brought down to earth.

“Yuno, right?” The girl asked. 

“Yes and you’re Neva.”

This was awkward. Why was she looking at him this way? He had no ulterior motives for approaching her, there was no reason to feel this way. Yet for some reason his breath got stuck in his throat.

“Do you need something?” she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Your crossover,” he pointed at her skates. 

Neva looked up at him for the first time curious, not suspicious. 

“It was really good,” Yuno would brush through his hair if not for the helmet on his head. He finally raised his eyes at her. “I want to learn.”

“Learn..?” Neva blinked, not really following. 

“How to skate like you do… graciously,” he muttered.

“It’s not easy,” Neva straightened up, but she gripped her wrist with her hand. “Figure skating requires you to commit… sacrifice.”

“Will you teach me?” Yuno blurted out. 

He had no idea why he did it, but as silence prolonged he started to realize it was a bad idea. A very very bad one. After all, none of his teammates did not become friends with Neva for a reason right? He never understood it, but maybe she did not need friends. A perfect diamond, all on her own.

He turned away, gripping his stick. 

“Not a chance,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed away from the ice.

“Okay…” he heard a whisper. 

Yuno froze on the spot. He blinked surprised, before once again facing Neva. Her head now raised high and there seemed to be a challenge in her gaze. Purple eyes glittered beautifully. 

“I will teach you,” her voice was confident.

For some reason its sound made Yuno’s heart beat faster.

[ballet-symphonie]

I’m pretty sure there’s nepotism and other shit going on at New York City Ballet, and I’ve stopped following them:

-there’s children and grandchildren of former dancers who got into the company. Roman Mejia is Paul Mejia’s son, Shelby Mann is the granddaughter of Jacques d’Amboise and the daughter of Charlotte d’Amboise and Terrence Mann (Broadway legends!) it makes me suspicious. I mean, Nilas Martins was in the company too, so I’m not surprised nepotism is still going on with the younger dancers.

-apparently there was/is body shaming? even at SAB I’ve heard rumors of kids having eating disorders. Also not surprising considering that the people who worked with Balanchine wanted a look and it was Balanchine himself who started the “skinny ballerina” trend that quickly spread worldwide. Ashley Bouder spoke up about how the higher ups body shamed her on Instagram live like a year ago, and none/few of the company members commented for support. They just posted it on their story. In general, Balanchine companies/schools tend to have a lot of body shaming, especially with how they treated Kathryn Morgan at Miami CB. CPYB (Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet) has a bunch of horror stories on Instagram account called @/cpybstories if anyone wants to read.

-I don’t know if this is really BS, but they still cast roles based on height/size rather than talent. I was hoping for Tiler Peck to do Diamonds but she got Rubies. Same with Midsummer, she didn’t/doesn’t really get Titania because she’s on the shorter side and from what I’ve heard, NYCB likes their Titanias to be tall. (I’m guessing she probably will never get Titania, just because she lacks emotion in her dancing. Saw her in Sleeping Beauty and Nutcracker and she barely acts.)

-the company is still predominantly white. Even PNB is more diverse than them. The BIPOC dancers like Nadon, Mejia, Furlan, Chan etc are only popular just because they fit Eurocentric views of POC (they have lighter skin and straighter hair) plus Nadon is only half South Asian, Mejia is half Peruvian, so they aren’t full blooded POC. The only POC in recent years that didn’t fit those ideals was Amar Ramasar. The kids who appear on stage for Nutcracker, Midsummer, Sleeping Beauty etc are more diverse than the actual company members.

-They didn’t handle Alexandra Waterbury’s case well. Ramasar should’ve been fired and in prison before the pandemic and from the West Side Story revival (that didn’t do well regardless). It also makes me mad that Alexa Malone (soloist) is still dating him and the fact that he’s now a stager too…like he might mess around with the underaged apprentices/corps and the cycle will start again

-Don’t get me started on people like John Clifford and how he wrote public, sexist comments on how he hates crotch shots because of platter tutus. He and a bunch of other older trust people still defend these beliefs to the death.

Hello, there's a lot in here!

Regarding nepotism, the company definitely has a history of hiring both siblings and relatives. I would extend this to ballet in general, many successful dancers today are from dance families, such as Chloe Misseldine, Daniil Simkin, Maia Makhatelli, Vadim Muntigirov, Dmitri Smilevsky, Issac Hernandez etc. But I don't think that inherently means that the dancers benefiting from that knowledge base (knowing what to do, where to train, how to structure their day, exta tips and coaching etc) are undeserving of there spots. I don't think you can watch Meija dance and think he doesn't deserve to be where he is.

On body shaming. Yes, none of this is positive and none of it is news either. There has been a history of toxic body shaming culture at nearly every major ballet school worldwide. Balanchine companies have had a nasty history but so have numerous Russian, European, and Asian schools. It's not a problem exclusive to SAB/NYCB.

Yes, NYCB typecasts. I'm honestly quite a fan of it because I don't think it's realistic or responsible to expect every dancer to do everything well and it results in dancers on stage in roles that they're confident in and suit their strengths- which generally leads to better performances. I don't think there's a single dancer at City Ballet who has done all three leading roles in Jewels, Peck is not an exception. I don't believe it's height/size over talent, but a complementary mix of both. Some roles have been designated by the choreographer for X skills and others have been historically dominated by dancers with X skills. And like you mention, there are lots of other factors affecting casting besides just height, acting, vulnerability, partnership, and logistics, which all play a role.

I'm not sure I agree with you that the dancers you mentioned get attention because they are POC who fit Eurocentric standards. Chan and Nadon rightfully got attention for breaking barriers and becoming the first Asian principals at the company. Both have spoken at length aobut how their cultural background and upbringing has both helped and hindered their path. I'd argue Meija gets far more attention from his father than he does from his race and Furlan (if we're considering him popular which I probably wouldn't) for his technical merit. I also think you aren't looking at NYCB's soloist rank fairly, they have Black, Asian, and Hispanic dancers at this rank. Of course, the company certainly could be more diverse but they have the self-imposed limitation of hiring nearly exclusively out of SAB. You yourself noted that the school is more diverse, this is a result of several of their scholarship and outreach programs that have been implemented in the past decade or so. Those programs are long-term investments, they are building a more diverse company now - but these dancers are still in the school. And for what it's worth, PNB is not a low bar, it is by far the most diverse major company in the US and has made hiring decisions accordingly. Approximately 50% of the company is POC which is awesome- but this realistically isn't possible at NYCB because they're not going to be hiring from outside as frequently.

Of course, if not following NYCB would make you happier, then by all means do it. But if these issues are what's causing you distress, I don't think the solution is to simply follow other companies- many of these problems exist across the industy.

Regarding the Waterbury Case, I don't disagree with you but the law is complicated. I remeber reading the case when it came out and I think the main problem is that the case wasn't able to get to discovery because she didn't have enough facutal evidence. If that had happened, I imagine things would have looked a lot different. While I absolutley believe her, she was trying to fight too many battles at once, some of which weren't directly hers, and she didn't have hard concrete proof for most of it. Everything got muddled and I don't think she had the best council either. I don't have any doubt that there's so much more here that exists only in the memories of the individuals involved. But that doesn't count in front of a court - it's about what you can prove not what happened. And NYCB's liability is limited because she was neither an employee nor a student at the time of firing.

However, while I have no comment about his personal life, I agree with you about Ramasar's line of work. It's unfortunate and incredibly disappointing how the dance world regularly absolves men like Ramasar (he's not alone) and basically gifts them back their careers. I could list a whole troupe of men who've been given second chances they don't deserve. Winning in court is an uphill battle, especially when the prosecution is often not coming from a place of strength. I just hope that the slow but steady changes happening in the industry now will prevent history from repeating itself.

And Clifford....I don't have the energy to start with. There's a reason NYCB hasn't hired him back , he's not consistently teaching or running a company, and he's just running his mouth on IG.

[handern]

Hey Devy any tips for starting an art blog when you're not in fandom spaces. I'd love to get more practice & community with my stuff but like. I'm not part of any active fandoms

I'm not sure if I'm the best to give tips about that because I'm terrible at handling my own art blog but I'll parrot what I heard here and there and ad my personal experience?

Fandoms are really what get you attention, because people recognize the characters and understand the references, roam the tags and have mutuals in the same fandoms as them. And then they follow you, interact with you, and start to recognize your art or get interested in your personal work

The magic recipe is really "posting twice a week a big active fandom meme with basic anatomy and flat colors that you shared on your main blog where you post all day about this fandom therefore have a following from said fandom"

For personal art the big idea is that it's a LOT of communication work, and personally I don't have the time or energy for that

It's one third good ideas, one third good art, one third social networking, and also three quarters of luck and one quarter being very active

- first : be ready for your personal stuff to get very little attention. I spent like 5 years routinely getting 0 notes on my own work and nowadays it's around 5 to 20, because I'm not very active. It can be really heartbreaking sometimes but it's normal

Now actual tips

- share your art, don't be a stranger! Post it on different websites and DM it to your friends or in chats if you are active in some servers

(don't feel bad if people don't share what you sent them tho it's ok, sometimes people are busy or just forget)

Self promote it! Share it on your main and promote it on your art blog! Personally I share mine three times after I posted, about 8 hours between each reblog bc of time zones (or I don't re-share at all bc I'm not following my own advice)

- share doodles and art studies. Even if you think it's bad, people actually like seeing these, and it's less pressure than to share finished polished art.

Your doodles WILL get more notes than your polished art and you WILL cry about it.

- make memes with your characters. I like to post a silly doodle or meme under my polished art these days bc I feel that it gives people a better feeling of who the characters are even if they don't know them

I have no idea if it makes any difference but I find it funny and I know that personally I really like seeing more than one piece of a character in a post, and getting the feeling that ah yes there is a story being told here (portrait facing right with neutral expression on abstract background are your enemy)

- Adding a LOT of specific tags also helps, but tumblr sucks so always check if your art actually shows in the tags you used

There are blogs specialized in general interests, so you can use the tags they follow, they're always more than happy to find more art. Things like orcs, drows, warrior women/women in armor, horror settings, steampunk inspired art, etc

- finally, don't use a multiple columns theme for the blog itself. Please. Make the art big on screen. I have a small laptop screen.

I hope you have fun with that blog! 😀

[laurenairay]

Take me for what I am – C. Kreider

Summary: Avery and Chris have a thing. But that’s all it is, right?

Word count: 2k words

Warnings: anxiety, self-doubt, some bad language, chris kreider being seductive as hell

A/N: HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY @tippedbykreider​! I hope you have the most wonderful day my love! This is just a little something from me because I adore you, and you deserve a little Chris Kreider in your life.

Title from Take me or Leave me, Rent

*

Avery Carmichael couldn’t stop looking at him. Could anyone blame her though, really? His broad shoulders, his honest smile, his long legs, his strong hands, his perfect curls – all of those attributes alone had eyes following him wherever he went, not to mention his hockey star status, and this evening was no different. She’d been in this situation so many times before; someone on the Rangers was throwing a party and somehow she’d garnered an invitation, and she’d dressed up to the nines in a knee-length velvet bodycon dress to gain the attention of the very man across the room whose attention was wanted by everybody.

They weren’t dating. She didn’t even know if she was the only one he was hooking up with, but fuck did she want him all to herself and more. More was a dangerous thought and desire to follow though, she knew that much. It was something that comforted Avery on those lonely nights when she drank wine alone in her apartment, but not something that she knew in her bones would ever come true. No, he wanted her for her body, and that was something she wasn’t willing to give up, even if it did make her heart crack just that little bit more each time.

Her pretty dresses and perfectly curled titian hair and effortless make-up were just the armour that she wore, to make herself feel confident enough to go out to get what made her feel so good in the moment, and to keep those beautiful brown eyes locked on her.

And here she was, yet again, pressed into the wall of an empty room by Chris Kreider’s hot firm body, his hands clutching at her waist, his face buried in her neck, her lips stinging from having made-out with him for the last twenty minutes. What was she doing? Was all of this really worth it? Having him in this short moment only to have him crumble away like Cinderella at the end of the night?

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Chris just hummed softly at her whisper, ignoring her words to press another gentle kiss to her skin, lips brushing ever-so-softly.

“Chris! I mean it!” Avery murmured, head spinning, unclenching one fist from his shirt to press her hand flat to his chest, pushing slightly to show him she meant it.

He groaned softly but lifted his head up to look down at her properly. “Who say we shouldn’t, hm?”

“Anyone with two brain cells to rub together?”

Chris just laughed, shaking his head fondly.

“I’m serious, Avery. Why shouldn’t we? We’re both single, both attracted to each other, both more than willing…so why not?”

There were a dozen reasons on the tip of her tongue, but none that passed her lips. All of her reasons were stupid selfish things, designed to protect only herself in the inevitable fallout, to stop her heart from shattering in the way that she knew it would if he got his hands on it properly – but she couldn’t bring herself to say any of them.

“Are you ashamed of me? Is that it?”

In what world!

“No, of course not, I just…I…”

She trailed off with a frustrated huff, stepping out from where he was pinning her to the wall to give herself some much-needed breathing room. Any moment his hands were on her, her thoughts scrambled, and any rational thinking went right out the window – and right now she needed to think. She needed to at least attempt to scrape together a little dignity to hold herself together right now, and that meant having at least a few feet of distance between her and him.

Even if the way he looked at her made her knees feel weak as jelly.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she groaned.

“Like what?” he mused.

“Like you’re imagining me with my clothes off,” she shot back.

He laughed, eyes lighting up. “Well I wasn’t thinking that before, but I certainly am now.”

Fantastic, just what her weak will needed. Avery bit her bottom lip to stop anything stupid coming out of her mouth, her eyes zeroing in on the way that his eyes fell to her mouth, only succeeding in making her tremble in every way she shouldn’t.

“You know sweetheart, if you want something from me, you only have to ask,” he murmured, dark eyes looking deeply into hers.

Avery found herself inhaling sharply, quickly shaking her head as heat rose to her cheeks, Chris just watching her with a soft smile. If only he could read her mind, really and truly, if only he could see that wanting him wasn’t the problem at all. No, there was wanting and wanting, and she hated herself for needing both. Any other girl would be over the moon to have Chris in the way she already did, so why did she have to crave more? Why was she so desperate for what she knew she couldn’t have? And yet…

“What if I don’t know what I want?”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise before they settled back into his usual confident expression, and she knew right then that he’d read into her words like she’d hoped. His smile spread slowly into a smirk that sent shivers down Avery’s spine, and ever so slowly, he walked towards her, eyes dark with intent, making her heart race and her breathing come out all shaky as her back hit the opposite wall.

“Why don’t we figure that out together?”

She couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped from her throat, Chris’s smirk shifting into a frown.

“You say it like it’s so easy. Like you can just snap your fingers and make the rest of the world disappear,” she said softly, bitterly.

“It can be exactly that easy. I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks or says,” Chris said firmly, “I want you, and I don’t care about the rest of the world.”

I want you.

I want you.

I want you.

Was he for real right now? Was this really happening

“You want me?” she said a little breathlessly, blurting out the thought consuming her mind.

The harshness in his face immediately softened, a sort-of helpless smile spreading across his lips.

“Oh sweetheart, you didn’t know?”

How could she possibly have known? All they’d ever done was make-out in secluded areas of parties, had quiet talks in quiet corners, hooked up in empty rooms in a rush of heat and teeth and hands. He’d never given any obvious indication that he wanted more than what they had always done, always seemed so happy and satisfied – but then again, neither had she. Had she really missed out on this, what she could’ve had?

All she could do was shake her head, her heart twinging slightly at the look of sadness that brushed across his face.

“I’ll get down on my knees in front of the whole of New York to declare how much I adore you if you want me to. To beg you to take me as I am, just a simple hockey player, head over heels for you in every conceivable way,” he said softly.

If the image that his words produced didn’t send her head spinning, nothing ever would.

“You are so much more than just a simple hockey player, Chris, you know that. I just can’t believe you’d want more than hooking up with me,” Avery murmured, more than a little stunned.

“I love hooking up with you, don’t get me wrong,” he said with a wry smile, “You drive me wild like no woman ever has before. But it’s not enough for me anymore – I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out if you want what I do.”

And isn’t that a thought? New York’s hottest bachelor, going crazy over her?

“I do. Want what you want, I mean,” she said, “I just, I never thought-”

“Thank fuck,” he groaned, interrupting her rambling, making her laugh softly at the relief in his voice, “I want so much, sweetheart, and I hated the thought that it was just me. You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to wake up with you in my arms after blowing your mind the night before. How much I want to show you off to all the guys knowing that they won’t just tease me for letting you slip through my fingers again. How much I want to take you out and explore the world before rocking yours over and over again.”

Promises, promises. “I like the sound of all that.”

“So we’re doing this? Me and you?” Chris said, smiling.

“I need to think,” she blurted out.

Oh fuck.

Chris froze, before his face melted into confusion. “You need to think?”

“We’ve only ever hooked up before, Chris, and out of nowhere you want more? Even though it’s everything I’ve hoped for, for longer than I care to admit? It’s just a bit…overwhelming,” she admitted.

Maybe it was a bit embarrassing to admit she was overwhelmed, but the last thing Avery wanted to do was rush into something when she wasn’t in the right headspace. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them, and it sure as hell wouldn’t end well. And fuck did she want this to work out, with all the things he’d just promised her.

“Hey, it’s okay, I get it. I just wish I’d been honest with you about how I felt sooner,” Chris said, a little sheepish.

Cue the pitter-pattering of Avery’s heart.

“Feelings are messy. That’s why both of us were hiding, I guess,” she said softly.

Chris laughed, nodding his head in agreement. It was good to know that he wasn’t angry at her for wanting to take the time to get her head straight – not that she expected him to, knowing him in the limited capacity that she already did. But it was a relief to know that he respected her and her wishes. Her hopes for their potential future were off to a positive start.

“How about I call you in a few days? See where your head’s at? Maybe take you out to dinner?”

“What happened to letting me think?” she said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you saying I can’t plead my case in the meantime?” he said simply, grinning innocently.

Ruthless. But she couldn’t deny the way his grin gave her butterflies.

“Call me. But play fair,” Avery said, trying to be firm but unable to stop the smile that spread across her lips.

“Oh I will do my very best to play fair,” he murmured.

She narrowed her eyes at the glint in his eyes. “Do you have your fingers crossed right now?”

“Absolutely.”

The unashamed smile on his face made her laugh, Chris just taking those final steps over to her, towering over her where she still had her back pressed to the wall. Her hands came up to rest on his chest, gentle instead of clutching at his shirt, and his hands came to rest on the velvet covering her hips, cupping her curves softly instead of desperately squeezing. So very different to when they first entered the room, but so much better. The look in his eyes was warm and loving, not just intense and dark with desire. His smile was sweet and playful, and he took his time to look over her, making her bask in his attention. 

Avery didn’t know what he saw in her eyes, but his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip before he ducked his head to kiss her. Softly, sweetly, slowly, he kissed her over and over again, tongue brushing over hers ever-so-lightly in a way that made her knees weak. Avery lost herself in his kisses, finally clutching at his shirt again, making his body press hers fully into the wall just like before. This time though, she knew that her heart wouldn’t be broken at the end of the night. No, this time she had hope, and she was going to hold onto that with all of her might, while she held onto him too.

[teamfreewill56-blog]

It Means Nothing

So I don’t EVER write fan fiction because I’m not good at writing other people’s characters and them being OOC drives me bonkers but I couldn’t get this out of my head. 

KyojuroxReader SFW; slight angst? Y/N is also a Hashira

She breathed a sigh of relief seeing the Rengoku manor within walking distance, “Finally home Kyojuro, how is your shoulder?”

“It is a little sore but it will be all right. I’ve had worse.” He grinned. “If you hadn’t chopped his arm off at that last second I wouldn’t have had such a clean shot to cut off his head.”

“That’s enough praises out of you.  I’ll help you rebandage it after we get cleaned up.” She pushed the doors to the estate open and let him go through first.

“Brother! Y/N!” Senjuro ran from an open room and jumped off the porch, running over to them he hugged Kyojuro who laughed and hugged him back. “You’re home! Thank goodness! Are you okay?”

“We’re back safe Senjuro!” Kyojuro assured him with a grin.

“I’m so glad! I missed you both!” He let go of Kyojuro and hugged Y/N, she hugged him back, “I missed you too.” She kissed his forehead and Kyojuro beamed, his heart filling with joy seeing how happy Senjuro was in her arms. Y/N softly stroked the young boy’s fire tipped hair, “You must have been lonely.”

“I...it’s been all right, I’m just glad you’re home, are you both okay? Are you hurt?”

Kyojuro’s stomach twisted seeing his little brother’s hesitation, and the reminder that he was in this big house practically all alone all the time. “I’m sorry Senjuro. And only a little scratch, nothing to worry about!”

“Oh! No, it’s okay brother, you’re fulfilling your duties as a Hashira, it’s important!” He moved back from Y/N’s hug and gazed up at his brother.

Kyojuro touched Senjuro’s cheek softly, “We’re done with our duties for a while, so we get to be home for a couple of days.”

“I’m glad, are you sure the wound isn’t bad? You’ll be okay?” Senjuro’s eyebrows creased.

“I promise.” Kyojuro beamed at him. “I smell something delicious, what are you cooking Senjuro?”

He smiled softly, “Sweet potatoes and salt grilled bream.”

“Wahoo! You are an amazing little brother!” Kyojuro walked towards the house, “I’ll be right back, I’m going to report to father. Go ahead and start without me!”

“Kyojuro wait,” she called after the Flame Hashira, remembering something that had been eating at her thoughts for some time now. Kyojuro turned to her, “Hm?”

“I want to meet with Shinjurou, after you’re done checking in that is.”

Kyojuro’s smile fell, she had never met with Shinjuoru, or even seen him. Despite spending most of her free time at the Rengoku Mansion when they weren’t on duty. Even when she had dinner with them Senjurou took his father’s food to his room for him, he didn’t join them. She of course knew the stories about him as the previous Flame Hashira, and Kyojuro after some time had been willing to tell her about his childhood, so she knew about his mother, she’d never seen the ex-Hashira. Even though she was a Hashira herself, and she and Kyojuro had been together for almost a year.

“Why?”

She gave him a sly grin, “To ask for your hand in marriage of course.”

Kyojuro’s face flushed, “W-WHAT!? But you’re not supposed to--”

She laughed as Senjuro stared up at her wide-eyed, “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Y/N ruffled Senjuro’s soft hair with both hands, “Besides, I’d ask Senjuro’s permission before anyone else��s.” She paused, “I’ve never properly introduced myself to him even once, I want to meet him face to face. He’s your dad and a former Hashira, it’s rude for me to come over and not greet him.”

“Those kinds of things don’t matter to him Y/N, there’s no need to greet him.”

“Brother’s right, and Dad’s been in a really bad mood lately…”

“I’m a Hashira, I’m not afraid of the bad temper of a fellow Hashira.” She met Kyojuro’s eyes, determined. “Please let me talk to him, Kyojuro.”

He nodded, “All right, come on then. We’ll be right back Senjuro!”

“Okay.” He answered timidly, “I’ll set the table.” She let him go and follow Kyojuro.

“What’s the real reason?” Kyojuro asked once they were both no longer in earshot. Y/N looked up at him with raised eyebrows but he was looking at her with a concerned expression.

“I’ll tell you afterwards, I can tell you’re wanting to talk me out of it, and I need to do this.” She paused and cupped his chin between her fingers, “No matter what happens, or what you hear, don’t come into the room. I don’t mind if you listen in, but I don’t want you in there. I don’t want him lashing out at you, I want his focus on me.”

“But it’s okay for him to lash out at you? Y/N-”

“I’ve endured worse than anything your father could ever do to me.” She pushed her fingers against his lips, “Kyojuro you can’t keep waiting for him to pick himself up, you’re an adult now, and he’s still lying in bed. He can’t break out of this alone. Besides, he’s not an evil monster, he’s just a man in pain.”

“You’re right.” He sighed, kissing her fingers he pulled them to the side and softly kissed her, she kissed him back.

“No matter what he says or what you hear, stay out. Just listen.”

“All right.” He rubbed his thumb against her cheek.

She kissed the inside of his palm and walked with him to Shinjurou’s room, she kneeled down outside the door and listened as Kyojuro gave his report and dismissed him. He looked back at her and she motioned for him to come out. Kyojuro bowed to his father’s back then stood and walked out. She walked into the room and slid the door shut behind her, keeping it open only a small crack. She walked over to the bed and kneeled down. She knew Kyojuro was kneeling right next to the door, and she just hoped he really would stay put. She took a deep breath, feeling the extra flow of her total concentration breathing constant and looked back at Shinjurou, staring out at the garden with an open book beside him and a jug of sake as well. The smell of the alcohol coated the room.

“Get out. I didn’t ask to speak to you.”

“No.” She answered calmly, “ Why did you tell Kyojuro that being the Flame Hashira means nothing?”

“Don’t back talk to me girl! What I tell my sons is none of your business!”

“It is my business when what you’re saying affects someone I love. Did you tell him that because being a Hashira didn’t provide you with a way to actually save her?”

Shinjurou grabbed his jug and hurled it at her. She let it hit her, “GET OUT OF HERE! WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT IT!?”

She didn’t move, the jug shattered and covered her in sake, she kept her fists on her thighs, even though the jug hit her forehead it somehow missed striking her eyes. Eyes that she bore into Shinjurou with determination, his eyes widened as he realized she wasn’t dodging and had just taken it to the face. Blood cracked down her face,  “I know that she had great pride in you as a Hashira and a Dad, because why else would Kyojuro work so hard to obtain it.” He reached for her and she grabbed his arm, not flinching, “I know how much it hurts to be so utterly helpless as the person you cherish fades away, and not being able to do anything. You feel like your entire body is being destroyed from the inside and it hurts so much to feel you’d do anything to be numb. To feel the poison in your chest every time you have to look at a true monster who’s still alive when you lost someone who was pure love and kindness and did nothing but good in their life.” She flattened her hand so it was resting against his, and placed her other hand on his wrist, his body shaking as he glared at her, “I know that she left you two amazing, beautiful sons that emanate her because everything Kyojuro does he does because of her. They’re not just your sons, they were hers too, they have her in them, and I can’t just sit by and keep watching you punish them for that by removing yourself from their lives and being so hostile towards them. How can you love her and yet be so cruel to the two people she blessed you with? The only two things in this whole world that are left of her? Your sons only have love for you, in spite of everything and you are the only person who can show them the full magnificence of their mother, she deserves to be allowed to still exist here, and I wish you would bring her back into their lives. I know you’re afraid of losing them, I can’t imagine how terrifying it must be for you every time Kyojuro leaves on an assignment. But you can’t protect him lying in here reading. You can’t be a bystander in his life and still hope to protect him.”

Shinjurou glared at her, frozen, but his eyes getting moist. She put her hands down and gently pulled herself from his grasp, “Excuse me.” She whispered, bowing before getting up and walking out of the room, not looking at him so she doesn’t see that he’s still frozen in place. She slid the door shut and looked down at Kyojuro who was staring into the room, tears in his eyes, he looked up at her, being brought back to the present as she moved the door. She kneeled down and gently cupped his face in her hands, wiping his tears away she gave him a gentle reassuring smile, now noticing that her body was shaking with the confrontation being over. She was feeling so many things she couldn’t quite figure out which feeling was making her tremble. She could tell Kyojuro was trying to figure out what to address first, her shaking, bleeding or that she was drenched.

“I’m fine, Tanjiro’s not the only one with a hard head, but some fresh clothes would be appreciated.” Kyojuro hugged her and led her to his room where he gave her one of Mitsuri’s old training outfits. She changed and then cleaned up her face, Kyojuro insisting on helping her bandage the cut running diagonally across the center of her forehead.

“Y/N you should have stopped it--I should have stepped in--”

“I needed to get my point across, and he needed to know I wasn’t trying to fight him.” She smiled, “I just hope he at least considers what I said. Your Dad is still alive, by some miracle given all the sake he drinks, and I just...I know you want your Dad back, and I want to do everything I can to bring him back to you. He might not listen to me still, but it was worth a shot.” She ran to the door, “Senjuro Kyojuro said he didn’t want his sweet potatoes and I can have them!” She grinned and ran out of the room.

“Hey wait a minute I did not! Senjuro don’t listen to her!” Kyojuro raced out of the room after her. He managed to get to the dining room just seconds after she did and tackled her, pinning her down, “Those are mine!” She hit him in the stomach with her knees knocking him off as Senjuro came into the room with a fourth plate. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to take--” Senjuro froze as he looked at the door, Shinjurou stood there, he looked at Y/N and Kyojuro. The pair immediately sat up properly.

“D-Dad?” Senjuro stuttered.

Link to Ch. 2: https://teamfreewill56-blog.tumblr.com/post/654545159409795072/it-means-nothing-ch2

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Could you write something based on this prompt Dick x reader! villain "I hope we never get to see each other again."

Dangerous People

Pairing: Dick Grayson as Nightwing x Reader

Warnings: Sexual assault and miscarriage. Extremely sensitive themes here, please don't read if you are triggered by such topics.

Word Count: 1.8K

Dick used to think the most dangerous people were the ones who had no morals. The people who did the dirtiest of things and had no way of redemption because there's a piece of stone where their heart should be.

He had seen it a million times over when he was Robin and then Nightwing. It had been that kind of person who took away his parents and he would learn it was the very same kind that took yours.

Detective Grayson met you one rainy night in November when you were brought into the police station in Bludhaven, cold and shivering. Tears were pouring down your face and you looked sick.

He would later come to find that night that your parents were killed by a man named Black. You told him all that you could, insisting that it was him and that they should arrest him.

As much as Dick wanted to, he couldn't just pick up a man and put him behind bars, not without evidence. Although he did promise that he would try his best to put him away. Dick could see the comfort that his words brought you.

The night he met you was also the night he slept with you. Not sex. Just sleep.

He had offered to drive you back home but you just shook your head in tears, saying that you couldn't go back home where your parents had just been murdered. And that you didn't have any money to stay at a hotel.

It was no secret that Dick had a bleeding heart, so when he saw your red and puffy eyes staring up at him, he quickly offered up his apartment for you to sleep in that night.

He took you home, and made you take a nice, hot shower before bundling you up in his spare clothes and letting you take the bed.

You repaid him the next morning by cooking him breakfast.

Thus, began the start of a beautiful relationship.

You panted, breath stuttering in your chest as Dick trailed kisses down your neck. Your fingers were carding through his hair, twitching and tugging at the roots every time his teeth grazed your sweet spot.

He held your hips to his body with a tight grip. He met your lips again with an open-mouthed kiss that swallowed your moans when his hands cupped your chest.

"I'm crazy about you..." Dick whispered underneath his breath when you cupped his cheeks. Your eyes fluttered open to see him watching you with deep blue eyes. You knew what he wanted to say, you felt it.

You kissed him again, slow and soft, conveying everything you could possibly be feeling.

"I love you too."

Falling for you made Dick want to capture Black even more. He knew of the kind of trauma that followed you throughout your life unless you got the closure you needed, so he poured his heart out into finding the man who robbed you of your family in one night.

But he was good, scary good. There was no evidence. No fingerprints, no DNA samples. No witnesses, other than you. But that wasn't enough.

He had known just how to avoid all the cameras and had left the weapon at the scene of the crime, a knife from your kitchen.

Dick felt helpless, he wanted so badly to be able to find this man and arrest him for your sake. He felt like a failure every time he would see the look of disappointment on your face when he said there were no leads.

So, he decided to go into his background. Black, a man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He was a shareholder of your parents’ company and Dick wondered if there was something behind the scenes that made him want to kill your mother and father.

But none of it made sense, according to the contracts that each of them signed, in the case of a death then there was no possible way for him to get his hands on your parents’ shares. It was already enlisted to you. And Black had known about it.

So why try and murder your parents when it wouldn't have benefitted him in any way. Could it have been out of anger? In the spur of the moment? No, everything looked too well planned for that.

It was then he got a call from another detective. They got an anonymous tip that there was evidence found at the scene. He immediately went over there only to realize there was something wrong.

The footprints were even, too even. It was unusual that there was equal pressure at all parts of his sole. The cigarette lighter underneath the table was empty.

He had been so sure that he had looked over the place so carefully. How could he have missed the obvious footprint in the carpet and the lighter under the table?

It was then his partner mused that the evidence was fabricated and that Black wasn't the real culprit. That someone was trying to frame him.

And then everything made sense.

***

Dick’s heart pounded in his ears as he ran. Never in his life did the Nightwing suit ever feel so strained against his body. He felt like his chest was being compressed and each breath was harder and harder to take. Still, he pumped his legs until they ached painfully as he ran faster to you.

His head throbbed against his skull with the information he just learnt.

His eyes skimmed over all the words in your file and his heart rate picked up. He couldn't believe there had been so much information that he had overlooked before, simply trusting your words.

It was such an amateur move that he was surprised with himself. How could he have trusted you so blindly without verifying it?

As he read the file, his heart began clenching in his chest. With each word it was getting harder to breath.

You were the victim of a sexual crime case, that was left incomplete, the name of the suspect was censored. The next paper was another case, you were the victim of a planned mugging, it stated that you sustained injuries. The one after that was a medical report, a miscarriage.

Everything started making sense. The puzzle pieces started fitting in his head. The name of your assaulter was censored because he was a major shareholder of the company and partners with your parents. The mugging was planned so that you couldn't get a paternal test done.

Your parents and Black conspired against you. They made you hold their burdens so that their sins wouldn't be revealed.

When he got home to find the door wide open, his blood froze in his veins. He rushed through the apartment to find that it was empty, you had left in a hurry. He needed to find you, especially when he realized one thing.

His Glock was missing.

Dick swallowed roughly when he saw you, jumping across the roof until he was only one building away from you.

“(Y/N) don’t do it!” He shouted, as if you would actually listen but he still bounded across the gap between you, hand coming to wrap around the gun you were holding to deflect the shot against the ground.

The sound resonated through the area and his ears began ringing but he paid no heed, quickly disarming you and throwing away the gun in your hand. You struggled in his grip, screaming and kicking at him before you resorted to roughly elbow him in the face.

He let go of you, feeling pain and stumbling back but made sure that to get to the gun you’re have to go through him first.

You were new at this, you didn’t bother to assess the situation or even try to combat him again before you were lurching for the gun that lay abandoned at his feet and he tackled you, trying to stop your struggling as you rolled around on the rough concrete of the roof.

“(Y/N) wait!”

“No!” You screamed, voice thick with tears, “No more waiting! That monster doesn’t deserve to live for even a second longer!”

You thrashed in his grip, reaching for the gun again and he grabbed your leg, dragging you back before you could wrap your fingers around it.

"Please! Just stop and listen for a second! For me!" He pleaded but you started sobbing when he pinned you down and you realized you couldn't move.

When you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, he couldn't help his own that began falling from his eyes.

"You know what he did to me. You know what they did!" You cried, "So, why are you stopping me?!"

"It isn't right, (Y/N). You can't do this! If you do then you're just as bad as them." His grip on your wrists got tighter, as if scared you would try to pull away again.

"It's too late for me." You told him, "My parents are already dead. I did it."

He knew that. But he wished he didn't have to hear it. You made a mistake, a decision, that couldn't be reversed. And you would have to live with it for the rest of the life.

"I'll let you go." He whispered. He knew what he was doing was wrong, he knew that he was going against his morals but still, he couldn't be the one to take you to prison.

You immediately stopped squirming, shocked, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. Your heart pounded in your chest; he was willing to let you go? After everything you did you him?

He pulled away, not moving from his place on the floor. Dick looked at you one last time and your throat closed at the sight of his heartbroken gaze.

"I hope we never get to see each other again." He choked out, voice strained and you screwed your eyes shut to keep yourself from crying.

You wanted to tell him that you loved him, one last time, but you knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear. You weren't going to disappoint him one more time that night.

"Good bye." You whispered, turning around and leaving. It would be the last time Dick would ever see you.

It was that night that Dick realized that the most dangerous people were those who had nothing left to lose. And his heart would break even more when he realized that you never considered him yours to lose.

He never even got to tell you he loved you.

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

[harrylilies]

The Royal Series | Pt. II

The Royal Series Masterlist

a/n: Damn okay rewriting this made me question how you all liked this before at all because that was cringey as fuck.

---

If anyone had told you or Harry that you would be texting each other from your private numbers only a week before you met, the both of you would have laughed straight to their face.

You remember how before you both parted ways that night at the bar, you stood in front of each other by your car, Farrah having been already in the car and Harry’s band having had bid their goodbyes and “we wish to see you again’s”, but Harry lingered by you.

“Thank you for coming to the show and spending time with my lame friends and I.” Harry had said with his hands clasped behind his back and a small smirk on his face as he tipped his head at you.

“Thank you for helping Farrah and I get seats so soon, and for a wonderful show, and amazing fries and conversation.” You had replied with a smirk that mirrored his.

“Will you be attending any more shows of mine?” Almost timidly, Harry had asked.

“Depends, are you going to invite me?”

His smile had widened, eyes seeming to sparkle at the initiated playful banter you replied with, “Would you accept the invitation?”

“As I said, depends if I even receive one.” You had shrugged.

He had known that this was him shooting his shot – a shot at the Princess of the United Kingdom to be more specific and it sounded absolutely mental. “Well, how do I reach you if I ever want to send an invitation?”

You had given him a smile, eyes staring into his, “You can text me, but how do I trust that you don’t leak my number?” You had teased him.

“How do I know that you won’t leak mine?” Harry had joked, tipping his head to the side as he looked at you.

You had given him a shrug with a smile he could only think of adorable and all its synonyms, “You don’t.”

Having had 5 days before his next show and deciding to go back to London, you had planned to meet for coffee at a place you knew that rarely had anyone visiting but coffee turned to staying for lunch, to trying dessert together, and before either of you had known it, you had spent the entire day together.

The following day, you had FaceTimed as you watched a movie together, Harry slipping halfway through it by saying what you had secretly hoped for and had you giggling and smiling like a young teenager;

“I never thought our second date would be over FaceTime.”

For Harry, it was embarrassing, but you had seen it as hitting a bird with two stones; 1: he considered the day before a date, and 2: he considered that one, too, a date.

But you had assured him when you replied;

“Maybe we can meet tomorrow? So that the third one isn’t virtual?”

And for the third one, you had made dinner together at his house and cried watching The Notebook.

Taking your seat at the table, beside your brother, Har, your grandmother had the family over for breakfast and was later hosting a formal dinner on the same day - two occasions you had to attend but you had informed them that you weren’t going to be able to attend dinner.

"Tiny, is it true you’re not attending dinner?" Your brother, William, asked with the nickname he and Har had created for you ever since you were an infant, as you placed toast on your plate before reaching for jam, Har helping you by giving it to you.

You hummed in confirmation, "I have plans that I can't cancel."

Sighing, William put his fork down and looked at you, "What sort of plans?"

Letting your fork down and intertwining your fingers together, you looked back at him with a raised eyebrow, "Personal ones.”

"Personal pla-"

"Oh, just let her go, will you?" Har chuckled, "It's not going to be the end of the world."

"Don't encourage her, Harry." Your grandmother replied.

"I don't need any encouragement, Granny. I have been attending dinners and formal meetings all my life. I think I deserve to look after myself for a bit, don't you think?"

The table was quiet for a few seconds before Har coughed and shrugged, "I think you're right."

You gave him a thankful smile, watching as he winked at you discreetly.

"I think Y/N knows what she's doing, Will." Kate said softly, glancing at you before looking at your brother who instantly loosened.

"Is he British?" You grandmother asked, making the air hitch in your throat before you eyed Har, who stifled his scoff, knowing that she was indirectly referring to the woman he was with; Meghan.

You only looked at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly opened.

"Well?"

"Is-Is who British?" You cleared your throat.

"The personal reason why you're not attending dinner." She gave you a smile, letting you know that she was keeping up.

"Granny!" You groaned, looking down at your plate, ignoring everyone who sat on the table as they seemed to stifle their laughter at the situation.

"Just remember," Your grandmother began, making you look at her, "You are Y/N, Princess of the United Kingdom, not someone normal. Leave the normal to the normal. If you're seeing Fred, I'll give you my blessing. If not..." She paused before continuing to eat.

Your eyes met Kate’s sympathetic ones before you looked down at your plate, "Of course." You whispered.

You were in a hurry to get breakfast done with so you could go on with your own day.

After a formal visit to a hospital, you were glad to go back to your flat at Kensington, finally feeling your muscles relax as you began to get ready to see Harry.

Although you could have your driver drive you to where Harry was, he was persistent to meet you so you could go to wherever he wanted you to go to, together.

Your driver had driven you the short distance from the palace to where Harry was waiting for you, looking around for you to make sure no one but the 3 of you was around.

“All clear.” He smiled as he turned back to look at you.

“Thank you so much,” you smiled back, “Sorry for the hassle.”

“None of that, YN.” The old man waved you off, causing you to grin before getting out of the car and walking towards Harry’s black Range Rover.

His head turned to look at you, a smile instantly making its way to his face as he got out to greet you, wrapping his arms around you in a quick hug before pecking your cheek.

"Sorry I'm late." You said, catching your breath as you looked at him.

"It's okay. Is everything alright?" He asked, his eyes on you as he took you in.

You nodded, smiling slightly. "It is now.”

Getting in the car and buckling up, Harry drove off after waving at your driver.

He glanced at you before looking back at the road, a dumbfounded smile on his face, “You look beautiful.”

You tried to stifle the wide grin, looking at the window beside you, “Thank you. You look lovely, too.”

“Did I just make her Royal Highness blush?” Harry gasped dramatically.

“Shut it, Styles!” You laughed, feeling all the stress and worry that you had carried with you throughout the day fade, “Also, I’m on AUX duty.”

Arriving at the place where Harry promised to be peaceful, you were helped out of the car by him. Gently holding each other's hands, both aware of the zoo in your stomachs, you walked inside the small restaurant.

"Oh, Harry, you're here!" An old lady exclaimed with an excited grin before her eyes moved to you, her grey eyes going wide. "Is this- Oh my, are you Princess Y/N?"

Biting your lip and afraid she'd give you any special treatment, you reluctantly nodded.

"Your Highness," She gave you a curtesy. "The place is a bit messy. It's not always like tha-"

"No, no!" You quickly interrupted her, "I love it. And please call me Y/N."

"Are you sure? I mean you're..." She trailed off, glancing at Harry who gave her a reassuring nod.

"I am." You smiled softly at her.

“Oh, dear,” she brought a hand to her heart as her face softened, “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Y/N.”

“All mine,...”

“Trisha.”

You smiled, “Pleasure is all mine, Trisha.”

Smiling at the encounter, Harry’s hand was then on your back as he looked at Trisha, "The regular booth." He informed her, beginning to walk towards the end of the restaurant with you.

You sat down, watching as he sat in front of you. "Do you come here often?"

He nodded, "Trisha here," He pointed back with his thumb, "Has seen me at possibly every state. I got lost once and I came here to use their phone and I've been coming here ever since, that was maybe 3 years ago."

"She seems lovely." You smiled.

"She is." Harry agreed before looking at Trisha who came to your table and put two menus in front of you and him.

"I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order."

You smiled at her before opening the menu and skimming through it, “What do you usually get?”

“The s-”

The sound of the door bells chiming grabbed both of your attention, the both of you looking towards it. In came a group of maybe 7 young adults, all laughing and filling the once quiet place.

You noticed it; one guy elbowing his friend and pointing at you with wide eyes and before you knew it, the group of friends were looking at you and Harry with not so discreet whispers.

"Hey," Your head snapped to Harry once you heard him. He leaned forward to talk quietly, eyes showing care, "We can leave if you want."

You slightly smiled and shook your head, "I still want to know your usual plate."

Reaching underneath the table, Harry held his palm open towards you. You glanced from his hand to his face, smiling as you placed your hand in his, feeling Harry give it a squeeze.

The truth was, Harry knew the risk he was taking. He knew that you were way out of his league; hell, if someone told him years ago that he would be on a date with someone from the Royal family, he would've laughed in their face.

Yet, something about you was so soothing. It was almost as if you had a part that needed to explored, a part that you kept to yourself – a part that was just like anyone else; normal. He didn't know what it felt like to be a part of a royal family or even know much about the formal, royal protocol but one thing he knew for sure was that he never felt this way about someone before.

He had never experienced the normalcy of how it felt with you with anyone else.

Eating Harry's usual meal, salmon pasta, you both were sharing stories that had you giggling and all smiles as if you were the only people in the place.

"And before I know it, I'm dragged in the water."

You laughed, "I can't believe you thought your friend was a shark."

"It's not all the time that people drag you into the water!" Harry said defensively but with a chuckle at the end, watching you as you laughed.

"Sure, because sharks have fingers." You sarcastically nodded.

"That-" Harry pointed at you before slumping in his seat, "That's a good point."

With his hands under his chin, Harry watched you talk about that one time you and your best friends, Emma, Farrah and Nia, decided to up and leave England for two days without giving anyone heads up.

"We went to Italy." You finished, smiling down at your finished plate at the memory before looking at Harry, leaning back in your chair.

"Got an earful when you went back home?"

You chuckled, shrugging, "Nothing I'm not used to."

"So the tabloids are true? You like breaking rules?" Harry smirked, tilting his head slightly.

With butterflies in your stomach and a grin on your face, you replied.

"Only when it's worth it."

After sharing dessert, Harry asked for the check.

Holding the paper, Harry took out his wallet as you were taking out yours, “How much is it?” You asked.

He gave you a funny look, “You think I’m letting you pay?”

“Come on, we can’t go through this every time.” You chuckled, trying to snatch the paper from him only to have him pull away.

“Not to sound too proud but you know I’m capable of paying for the both of us for whatever, right?”

“I also know that you don’t have to.” You added.

“But do you know that I want to?” He asked, taking money out discreetly.

You rolled your eyes jokingly at him, “Of course you’d use that line,” you chuckled as he shrugged at you with a cheeky smile, “Fine, I’m leaving the tips though.”

He knew that it was a dead-end so he nodded.

You gave him the money so he could add it with his, “How about we do that from now on? Switch paying and tips with each other,” you suggested, “Next time, I’ll pay and you handle the tips.”

Harry held his hand out, grinning when you shook it, “Deal.”

It felt like the night was getting younger by the second from how neither of you wanted to leave the other and it was why you decided to take a short walk together around the place since it didn’t have any people around it.

It seemed like a rom-com; you walked alongside each other, pinkies softly intertwined as you chattered.

“Uni was probably the nicest period in my life,” you told him, “Nobody seemed to give a shit who I was except for the first week or two but that was just it. We were just a bunch of kids trying to graduate.”

“What did you study?” Harry asked with a smile as the both of you walked slowly.

“Psychology and management.”

“Doubled?”

You hummed, “Was really interesting studying them, but then you have people with you who just get too into it, especially psychology, and,” you laughed, “We would go out of an intense lecture and someone would come up to you and just,” you stopped as you shook with laughed as you stepped in front of Harry, putting your hands on his arms, Harry grinning in amusement, “Harry, the reason why you don’t like ketchup on your salad is because you weren’t hugged enough as a child.”

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back. You laughed along, eyes twinkling at the sight of the man in front of you.

Breathing out with a hand to his heart, Harry looked down at you as the both of you continued to chuckle.

Maybe it was the setting of it all; a normal date with a conversation that flowed as gracefully as a river, the weather being almost perfect, you and Harry grew quiet as you stared at one another, oblivious to the rapidly thumping hearts hidden in your chests.

Gently and ever-so-softly, Harry leaned closer first, moving one soft hand to your right cheek. The coldness of his rings and the air wasn’t what caused you to take a breath in, it was the intense yet soft look he was giving you before the both of you closed your eyes, lips finally pressing against each other in a gentle kiss.

Quietly and gently, you both pulled away, still maintaining the close proximity. Harry was first to open his eyes, a smile drawn to his face as he watched you open yours.

“Only took us four dates to kiss.” You said quietly with a smile.

“Sorry.” In his deep voice, Harry replied as he still cupped your cheek.

“It’s alright,” you reached to place your hand on top of his on your cheek, “You can make up for it.”

And so, you were both beaming as you jogged to Harry’s car, Harry’s lips getting placed on your own as soon as you were hidden in the car.

It was a hot mess with how much you were both laughing, though not knowing why but judging from the way the night went – it was just happiness and excitement, two nouns you had missed using.

Driving you back was fun though it was bittersweet; the both of you sang along to the music you played, Harry feeling comfortable enough to hold your hand as he drove.

“Will you call me?” You asked quietly and bashfully, unbuckling your seatbelt and looking at him.

Harry’s heart fluttered, leaning closer to kiss your lips. “Only if you’ll answer.”

“I’ll consider it.” You teased, pulling him in for another kiss before getting out of the car.

What you hadn’t expected to find was your personal assistant and friend, Emilie, standing outside your flat door the moment it came into sight.

“The Queen wants to see you right now.”

Your smile fell as you looked at the sympathetic look she was giving you.

The 10-minute drive to Buckingham was quiet, thoughts racing through your head like colliding trains.

The walk inside and to where your grandmother was waiting for you was stressful, but you reached her.

Sitting on a chair, your short grandmother had an iPad on her lap, zooming in and out on it.

“You wanted to see me, Granny?”

She looked up, “Ah! Yes,” she nodded before handing you the iPad, “What is this?”

Taking the iPad, your eyes moved from her figure to the screen, your breath hitching in your throat at the picture of you and Harry smiling at each other stared back at you. From the little preview of photos at the bottom, you swiped to see the other familiar pictures.

A picture of you laughing and Harry talking with a smile on his face, a picture of your hand on top of his as you talked, a picture of the both of you leaving with Harry’s hand on your back.

You stayed quiet for a moment before letting a sigh, your shoulders slumping down, “This is why I’m here?”

“Are you shocked?”

“Kind of surprised, yes,” you nodded, “How is me going out with someone bad enough for you to request to see me now?”

“That someone happens to be a singer,” she frowned, feeling as if spitting out his profession, “A singer who comes from a boyband, dresses in a way that no man should, and might I add, sings for a living.”

Your eyes widened, “No man should? Why? How should a man dress, Granny? Suits for jammies and morning coats for a stroll?”

“He’s a singer, Y/N. You’re a Princess!”

“And a human, too, just like him and just like you,” you chuckled in disbelief, “And he’s bloody talented at what he does and it’s impacting so many people all around the world.”

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Long enough to actually like him.” You replied instantly.

The Queen closed her eyes momentarily before standing up, “Are you aware of how you were born to marry a royal?”

You shook your head, feeling your eyes grow tearful, “Are you aware of how much I miss running to you when I fall down or feel sad like I used to as a child?”

“You know whose fault that is, young lady? Yours,” she pointed, “The moment you decided that you were unsatisfied with your duty as a Royal Princess.”

“No,” you shook your head with a slight dry laugh, “It was when you decided that me having an opinion was too much of a privilege, Granny, especially when it comes to who I see.”

“You’re doing all this for what? For who? Him?”

“You don’t get it,” a tear fell, “It was never for anyone but myself.”

“I care about you, too, and you know that. It’s why it’s best for you to marry Fred, someone who comes from a royal line, not a commoner!”

“A commoner?” You laughed, “What year is this?”

“Don’t speak to me in that tone, Y/N. Especially when the public caught you in the wrong with the Styles boy.”

“Caught me in the wr-What?” with a chuckle, you added, “Because me meeting up and knowing people who don’t walk around with their fancy attires and royal calendar is wrong, right. Where are you going with this, Granny?”

“You shouldn’t be tarnishing the family like that, I will not allow it, Y/N!”

“Then I don’t want anything to do with it!”

And with that, you turned around, hurrying out of the room as you harshly wiped your cheeks, furiously taking out your phone and dialling the one person you wanted to see.

“Hey, love. Didn’t know you were that eager to hear my voice.”

It was your sniffle that had alerted Harry, sitting straighter as he pressed the phone against his ear, his smile and joking demeanour dropping, “Y/N? Love? Are you okay? What is it?”

“Harry, are you at your house?”

“Yeah, love, I am. You want me to come and get you?” He asked urgently.

“No,” you sniffled, “I’ll be there.”

Getting the car, you wiped your cheek again as you looked at your driver who frowned at you crying, “Can you please take me to Harry’s, Barney?”

“Anywhere you want, Y/n.”

---

You rang the doorbell, waiting impatiently on the doorstep before you fidgeted with your hands as you waited.

Only a few seconds later did you snap your head up as the door was – aggressively – opened, viewing Harry who looked like he was waiting for the delivery of his child. He instantly pulled you to his chest, resting his chin on your head. "I was worried sick."

"You told me you're not scared." You whispered after a few seconds of silence in each other's embrace.

Harry pulled back a little, looking down at you, his eyes skimming over every part of your face.

A smile made its way on his face as he leaned in, his lips grazing yours ever so softly. "I'm not scared. Are you?”

Closing your eyes, your hands found their way to the hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm not scared."

Harry closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours in an assuring kiss. Almost as if it was a seal to a deal.

[tenthgrove]

yess thank you for letting me ask you about the lore >:3c so I have to get my absolute favorites outta the way first— what kinda lore and thoughts do you have for sorbet or gelato ( <- before they get together and the earlier years of them getting together if you need a specific period ) I have to also ask are you ok if I go down the “line” and get your thoughts in other asks about the rest of the la squadra babes? Thank you sm 💖💖 I hope you’re having a wonderf day/evening

Ah! Now this is one of my absolute favourites! Apologies to anyone who has already heard me ramble about my Sorbet and Gelato backstory ad nauseam on multiple occasions, but this is really an area where I can't help myself. Besides, this is my opportunity to go more in depth where I haven't before:

(Note after writing this: It's stupidly long. I'm sorry I just can't help myself with these backstories. I couldn't decide what to leave out so I decided nothing.)

(Also please feel free to ask me more lore questions because I love doing this)

We'll begin with Sorbet, born in Naples in February 1967 if you follow the canon timeline (although by default I write in modern AU so move the dates 20 years later). His situation at birth was absolutely dire, the eldest child of an incredibly vulnerable woman and one of her clients as a sex worker. Sorbet's mother was by all means a decent woman but her severe mental illness and drug addiction made it impossible for her to be a good mother, which of course had a bad effect on Sorbet growing up. After Sorbet, she had 5 more children, all through clients, and Sorbet was saddled with much of their care.

Though he loved his siblings, Sorbet was pretty much done with this life by age 12 and was easily swept up by older boys from the local street gang, who paid him well to peddle drugs when he should have been in school. This was a very underfunded neighbourhood so nobody questioned his truancy, and within the next couple of years he had stopped going to school entirely. Shortly after this, having acquired sufficient money through his crime involvement, Sorbet left his family to stay with his new friends, moving between them on a regular basis. He also discovered his sexuality around this time and dated a few male friends, though none of these relationships got very far.

By age 16, Sorbet had earned a reputation in the street gang for skilled and passionate violence, and was selected by the ringleader to commit the group's first planned murder, in exchange of course for a lucrative reward. Sorbet accepted, succeeded, and became the group's de-facto assassin whenever needed. He continued to hoard considerable money for the remainder of his adolescence, though continued to be functionally homeless since he didn't see it necessary when sofa-surfing was suiting him fine.

Before resuming with Sorbet, let's explain the life that Gelato came from. Gelato was born in October 1967 in St. Petersburg, Russia, (Note- I previously used the city of Minsk, unaware that this is in fact, in Belarus) to an upper-middle class businessman and his Italian wife, a distant relative of French Monarchy. Gelato's relationship with his parents was rocky from the start due to the fact they would have preferred a girl after three successive sons, but any parental love they had for their youngest child broke down entirely after he was diagnosed with both Autism and ADHD at age 5, in an evaluation intending to find the cause of some behavioural issues that were really, just a response to emotional neglect.

When Gelato was 13 he, his parents, and two of his three brothers (the eldest was already an adult by this time and elected to stay behind) moved to Italy to escape some allegations of corruption in the father's business. They moved to a rural village in North-West Italy where the community was very middle-class and quite stifling for Gelato, who had enough social rules to remember in the familiar, economically-diverse city he grew up in. His behavioural issues got worse and began to include things he would later regret, such as attacking and stealing from younger children, and things he would absolutely not, like attacking and stealing from teachers. By this point the family had largely written him off as a failure, revering instead their academically successful, well-behaved older children, which absolutely contributed to the spiralling cycle of behaviour issues Gelato faced.

Then, at age 17, Gelato failed a crucial exam and was expelled from high-school. His parents kicked him out on the spot, and with no other family in Italy Gelato had very few options on what to do next. He recalled, however, one older friend having links to a street gang in Naples, and decided to see if this boy might have a route out of destitution for him. Indeed, the friend did know of a man in Naples needing assistance within the gang, but could offer no help in getting Gelato there. Seeing no other way, Gelato walked the whole journey.

Arriving in Naples, the friend's associate announced that the position Gelato was after had been taken, but taking pity on his distress, informed him of another friend who needed someone to look after an unlicensed bar that served as one of the group's main meeting points. He agreed to arrange for the small apartment above the bar to be given as payment.

Gelato accepted, but although he had now solved the problem of homelessness his life was still incredibly miserable. For one, with his pay being the apartment he had to rely on measly tips to get by, which rarely left him with enough to eat let alone anything else. Additionally, as an outsider with little understanding of the way gangs work Gelato was an easy target for abuse, and was treated like absolute shit by the bar's patrons.

By this point in time, Sorbet had just turned 18. He was, incidentally, in the same gang Gelato had joined, and a regular at the bar he worked in. For a good couple of months they took no notice of each other, until Sorbet came to be in a coincidental feud with one of the men who was violent to Gelato at the bar. When Gelato witnessed the two of them in a fight, he made the spur-of-the-moment decision to join in on Sorbet's side, knocking the patron unconscious and leaving him too afraid to visit again. For his trouble, Sorbet gave Gelato a portion of the money he looted from the fight's loser, and flirted with him lightly before going about with his evening. Unknown to Sorbet, he had just sent Gelato falling head over hills in love.

Gelato found out about Sorbet's sexuality from other patrons and, delighted, attempted to flirt with him the next time they saw each other, but his attempts came off very poorly and Sorbet actually thought he was being insulted. Angered, he dragged Gelato into the cellar to demand what was going on. Gelato, terrified, admitted having a crush, which Sorbet found to be the sweetest and most genuine thing he'd ever heard. While he couldn't promise a relationship, he did agree to show Gelato more attention in the future. But, it was only a matter of days until Sorbet found himself loving Gelato back.

This whirlwind relationship continued happily for three weeks, Sorbet greatly improving Gelato's situation through his saved money and helping him fend off the abusive patrons. Gelato, in turn, offered Sorbet a permanent place to stay in the apartment, which he accepted. Sorbet was in the process of moving his things, and they had plans to refurbish the place to make it actually habitable.

But then, everything came crashing down. One night the bar was subject to a surprise raid by the police, operating by the false assumption it was empty. Sorbet and Gelato attempted to flee but were caught, and in a panic, Gelato shot a policeman dead. Rushing to his defence Sorbet killed two more, but a fourth escaped to tell the tale. The couple knew they were screwed. Running to the headquarters of their gang they begged for protection but were informed the small group simply could not save them from a charge this serious, and gave them only a single night of shelter to plan their next move. Gelato, who remember had never committed anything more serious than minor ABH before, had an absolute breakdown over this predicament that night, and whilst comforting him, Sorbet devised a blood pact with him to stick together no matter what came.

Over the next few days, Sorbet and Gelato fled north, avoiding the police through Sorbet's skills as a criminal and Gelato's very convincing Russian tourist impression. They were almost at the French border when Sorbet awoke one night to find Gelato missing behind him. He chased his tracks to the driveway of a rural house, a tearful Gelato clutching a knife at the shut door and trembling. He informed Sorbet that he had intentionally led him to the village where his family lived, with the intention to break in and kill them as revenge for the years of abuse. Sorbet warned Gelato that this would not be good for their attempts to flee, but said he understood fully and would help him if this is truly what he wanted. Gelato agreed, and together they broke into the house and slaughtered Gelato's mother and father, additionally killing one of his brothers after he woke from the noise. The other brother, the youngest other than Gelato, was spared, as Gelato felt his role in the abuse had been comparatively more minor and he did not deserve to die. This of course, left another witness.

The massacre in the village was quickly linked to the one at the bar and Gelato was promptly identified from a comparison of DNA found at the scene to his surviving brother's. Sorbet, a known criminal, was identified soon after. Not only were the pair now known but the police figured out what their plan was and informed the French police as well, making things exponentially harder for the couple.

They made do for a while by hanging low and keeping on the move, living off money stolen from the parents' house. Eventually however, they needed more, and began making deals with local crime organisations to carry out assassinations in exchange for money or temporary shelter. While Sorbet was already a pro at this, Gelato found himself a fast learner, and soon realised he shared Sorbet's adoration for the act of killing. He felt as though he was finally coming to meet his true self.

Though the assassination deals were lucrative, they did not help the couple keep a low profile and the attacks from police were relentless. Several times, they barely escaped capture. All this was not good on their mental states, and after two years, Sorbet knew it needed to end. He and Gelato returned to Naples in the hope their old gang might reconsider protecting them, but they were met with a surprise as their old gang had been completely overtaken by Passione. Even still, the new mobsters had heard a lot about Sorbet and Gelato's exploits and agreed to get them an audience with a local Capo, Pericolo, who was impressed by the men's skills and moved by the sense of honour suggested by their love for each other. He agreed to initiate them into the gang.

Soon after this, Sorbet and Gelato recieved stands which, although not very powerful, assisted them greatly in the art of assassination. Soon, they were natural choices for Passione whenever a hit needed carrying out in the Naples area. At some point a few years in, they befriended a man named Prosciutto who had been recently forced into Passione due to his heritage. Prosciutto was also funnelled into assassination jobs and, with less of a reputation for impulsivity than Sorbet and Gelato, was the one given the order to form a new assassination squad when the need arose, around 1993 if we're following canon.

(Note, I hc La Squadra was created by Passione in response to a real life government crackdown on the Italian mafia around 1992-93, in response to an incredibly scandalous series of assassinations. In such a climate, it would make sense for Passione to want to consolidate an elite squad of its best hitmen, do avoid future problems.)

Due to personal commitments Prosciutto did not want to be the captain, so attempted to give this responsibility to Sorbet, a request the boss promptly denied. Prosciutto was, however, allowed to add Sorbet and Gelato to the team's ranks, cementing the three of them as the first members of the team.

Prosciutto would, soon enough, find another person to give the title of captain to, but that's a story for another time.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

School House Blues

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Identifying Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Warnings: N/A

Request from Anon:  Hey so I saw your post that said requests for certain characters were open and I was wondering if I could ask for a din djarin x plus size reader with this prompt please? : (19th c) I’m the town’s school teacher and you’re the gruff wanderer/traveller/cowboy/outlaw/etc. That’s come to town. You help me fix the school house and wrangle the little demons I teach. I was thinking the kid could be one of her students! Thank you so much in advance ♥️♥️

Summary: When the bounty hunter strolls into your little mining town you don’t think much of it, but with a little boy in his wake and your school house in disrepair, he becomes more than just a passing visit, but a welcome constant.

Notes: You know me too well, Western AU/historic AU Din is so good as a concept and ughhhhhh this was so wonderful to have requested and I hope desperately that it’s good!

Reader isn’t really specified as plus size just because it didn’t really come up in the story? Although she is described as being quite soft and sweet in appearance. 

Archiveofourown

He comes into town with one hand clenched around his horse’s reins, guiding the bay and white creature with a bounty hogtied swearing and cursing over its rump, and the other hand holding a little boy of no older than six at his hip. It’s quite the sight, one that momentarily distracts you from your grief at the fact you’re teaching your children out of a saloon now since your schoolhouse was burnt to the ground. 

He’s imposing or he would be if the little boy wasn’t smiling up at him with big brown eyes. It’s hard to be imposing when you’re clearly the world of a small child and it makes you smile from the porch of the saloon. You’d been organising the boxes of donations the townsfolk had put together, since all your books, slates, chalk, paper, pencils, and the like had burnt in the fire, when he strolls past. He glances over at you and tips his head, hat dipping over his chestnut eyes and it flusters you for a second when you finally see his face. 

He’s handsome, incredibly so, too handsome to be in your small mining town you think. Deep brown eyes, a prominent nose and plump lips set in a perpetual pout. His jaw is sharp and his beard and moustache are trimmed neatly, despite the bruising on his face and the layer of dirt from the road he’s truly beautiful, a thought that flusters you further. The small boy sat comfortably at his hip and playing with the fabric of his suspenders is adorable, soft round cheeks and large brown eyes, but he doesn’t look much like the man and you’re curious what the story is there. 

The boy is old enough to be in school with you, to sit and learn his letters and to read while the older kids move on to learning about science, history, mathematics and poetry. There are a couple of children his age in your class, Timmy and Mary-Beth, both just getting the hang of gripping a pencil correctly. You wonder if he won’t be joining your class soon or if he and his guardian will be out of town before you can even consider preparing for a new student. 

You watch the man hitch the horse outside the Sheriff’s office, the one that’s not got a sheriff at the moment. You hope he’s not looking for quick pay, the lawman that resided in the Sheriff’s office at the moment was just there until they could find a new sheriff. He’d have to telegram out to get the bounty money. Your last sheriff had up and left after being shot at by a couple of drunk miners, he’d decided that was enough and quite the same day. The town had been a little more unruly since and it was beginning to make you and some of the other townsfolk uneasy without someone to keep the peace. The temporary lawman had been lazy and uninvolved thus far. It was after the sheriff quit that your schoolhouse burnt down and you weren’t sure it was coincidence. 

You watch the man place the boy on his feet and say something quietly to him before brushing his hair fondly. He grabs the bounty off of the horse, and slings the man over his shoulder. It’s impressive that he doesn’t struggle up the steps to the office even with a fully grown man thrown over his shoulder, the little boy follows after him as he goes inside. 

You return to your organisation. There aren’t that many books, not like you used to have. But, while you wait for some of your teaching associates across the country to send you items, they will do. There’s enough paper and some slates for all your students to practice their writing and get their work written down which is a relief and even a globe that the general store owner, Mr Hewitt, had found in a back cupboard for you to have. 

You’re trying to lift one of the boxes of books when he comes back out again, the little boy still trailing behind him, but this time something shiny is pinned to the man’s blue shirt. You don’t think too much about it as you struggle to lift the box, your heavy skirts not helping you move much, hindering your progress and causing you to trip each step forward you take. 

You hear his boots on the wooden stairs before you see him, he towers over you, as he takes his hat off, more polite than most men in town. You get a better look at the shiny thing pinned to his shirt and realise it’s a sheriff’s badge. The same one the old sheriff used to wear, you look from it to him and then down when you hear a little giggle. The little boy is still following after him, a sweet smile turned on you this time as he leans around the man’s legs to watch you.

“Miss, I can take that.” He gestures to the box in your hand, it’s not a question, and it’s straight and to the point. But, you’re grateful for the offer and hand it off to him without complaint. He’s stronger than you, that’s clear to see, his arms thick from years of hard work.

“Thank you…” You wait for him to tell you his name, trailing off as you lead him into the saloon that has been set out for the school day. There is a black board at the front, tables and chairs littered around the room, the liquor shelves have been emptied for books to replace them. 

The fact that Mr Karga had offered the saloon for the school was a miracle and while many in town grumbled about their favourite place of vice no longer admitting them during the day time, most were supportive of the decision to help the kids continue their school. Nevarro wasn’t a large town and mining was its main source of income, but the children deserved a chance to do more than just become miners and the school helped them do that. You helped them get into colleges on scholarships, to find jobs as clerks and apprentices in other parts of the country. 

“Din Djarin.” It’s a nice name, rolls of his tongue like honey. He doesn’t smile, not really, not properly, but there’s a little crinkle at the corners of his eyes that soften his face and make him seem warmer somehow. 

“And this little one?” You smile at the little boy as he begins to bravely step out from behind his guardian to greet you with a smile. He is a quiet boy, not the usual talkative sort you find with a six year old, but who knows what he’s been through even at this young age. 

“Grogu, he’s my…” He furrows his brow, clearly thinking hard on the right word. That alone tells you he is not his son by blood, a small fact that makes him even more interesting. Not many bounty hunters would take in a small child. “Son.” he finally says. Deciding it is the best term. Grogu isn’t his by blood, Din knows this, but the little boy he’d found all alone surrounded by death, was slowly becoming like a son to him. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood. 

“Will he be joining my class? I run the school, currently we’re based here...in the saloon. Not my ideal place to teach but needs must.” You gesture around you to the makeshift classroom. You don’t like that the place still stinks of liquor or that at night it goes back to being a saloon where people drink, gamble, and fight. But, you don’t have a better place right now and the children need somewhere to learn. You can teach in any building, even if you dislike this one. 

You fit the image of a school teacher he thinks. You look like a respectable young woman, dressed appropriately, all neat and proper. Your hair pulled up and pinned away like it’s supposed to be. Everything about you is proper. Part of him wants to see you become ruffled, stop being so demure. It’s a thought that makes him frown at himself, the thoughts inappropriate especially towards a lady like yourself.

“Yes. We’ll be staying for awhile. What happened to the school house, Miss…?” He took on the job as sheriff the moment the lawman offered it, the pay was good, gave him his own accommodation and it meant he could settle down for a bit, give the kid an actual childhood. Bounty hunting was something he was good at but it wasn’t exactly safe to do with a six year old in tow. At least this job used his skills catching lawbreakers and put them to use in a place the kid could grow up. It helps that the teacher of the town is pretty too, he thinks. 

You give him your name before answering his question, “Well, after the last sheriff quit, the schoolhouse burnt down and along with all the things we had in it. Luckily it was at night and none of us were in the building. Burnt right down to the ground, nothing left…” You say it with a heavy sigh, thinking of that sweet little schoolhouse. The white painted wood, the familiar rows of desks with names carved in them, your favourite collection of university level texts at the back for the older and more advanced kids to explore. You had been teaching in that schoolhouse for the last five years and in a way it had become a second home for you, if you weren’t at your own little home, then you were in the schoolhouse marking work or planning lessons for the coming days. 

“Anyone know what caused it?” 

“No. We didn’t exactly have the mind to investigate and if it wasn’t an accident it was probably just some drunk who didn’t know any better. But, we make do and Grogu,” You crouch down next to the small child, moving your skirts to do so comfortably, “will fit right in, I think, don’t you?” The little boy smiles at you and giggles, before hiding behind his father’s leg again. 

“Have any plans been made to rebuild the schoolhouse?” Sheriff Djarin it seems is very straight and to the point, his tone isn’t unkind or aggressive, but his words are clipped, short, brusque as if he’s not quite used to being more flowery or saying much. You supposed a bounty hunter didn’t typically need to say much, but you hope he’ll become more comfortable with talking, at least to you, as time goes on. 

“No...i’ve been trying to put some pressure on the mayor to get it done but...he just doesn’t seem to care all that much now there’s a temporary solution.” You say as you begin unpacking the box that he brought inside, exercise books are brought out and sorted into piles, ready for the children to write their names on the covers and start afresh. 

He frowns, brow furrowing deep, lips turned down at the thought of the schoolhouse just never being rebuilt. It’s clear to him that saloon isn’t the place for a school and it’s even clearer that you are distressed with your new working arrangement, that you miss having a building that is entirely your own and entirely dedicated to teaching young minds. 

“I’ll sort something out. Is class starting soon?”

“Yes, not...not long now.” You double check the clock realising the kids will begin arriving in less than an hour and you feel wholly unprepared for the first day of school since the schoolhouse burnt down. 

You watch him crouch in front of Grogu, hand ruffling his hair fondly, “You’re going to stay here today, get some learnin’ in ya. I’ve got things to do, but I'll be back later, promise.” You’re surprised and warmed when he puts out his pinky finger for the kid to grab, a little promise that seems to you like something more. You wonder if the boy was scared of being left again, if this was Din’s way of reassuring his new son that he wasn’t going to leave him. The little boy wraps his whole hand around Din’s pinkie not quite understanding how the promises work yet.

“Have a good day of teaching, Miss Y/N.” He nods his head at you, grabbing his hat as he walks out the saloon with a purpose. The hat is placed on his head the moment he’s out of the doors and it’s that little element of politeness that surprises you. He carries himself like a gentleman but looks like any other rough and tumble man wandering the west. But it’s his treatment of Grogu that confirms the sort of man that he is. 

I’ll sort something out. You smiled to yourself realising that perhaps the new sheriff would be the best thing to happen to this town in a while. Someone who actually got things done for once. 

“Do you want to find your seat? Maybe do some drawing before class starts, Grogu?” You ask the little boy smiling at him as he nervously shifts from foot to foot, looking back out the doors as if hoping his father would walk back in. It’s clear he hasn’t had to do this before, be separated from him and left with a stranger, but you put on your softest smile and gentlest voice and wait patiently for him to nod his head before offering him your hand. 

He takes your hand and you help him get settled into his seat, you decide to put him near the front so you can help him easily and get him settled near you. He only knows you after all, and you think being around all the kids and far away from familiarity might be too much. You give him some paper, scrap bits that you don’t need anymore and a pencil leaving him to draw while you get ready for class.

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

The school day goes...well, it’s hectic and your hair is frizzy and falling out of the updo you styled it in that morning by the end. The children are unsettled in this new environment, the older kids, those nearing adulthood frustrated by the younger kids who can’t seem to focus or be quiet. Your brain feels too large for your skull and you sigh out a goodbye to your students as they leave out the saloon doors, one or two shoving through the swinging shutters much faster than needed. 

Grogu is the quietest of your students, sweet and attentive, he doesn’t speak a word, but follows your instructions well. He is behind on his writing letters and reading, that much you know from working with him, but he’s a quick learner and applies himself with a determination you rarely see. He doesn’t always play well with others. At lunch time you’d noticed him stealing food from the other children. It continued despite giving him your own lunch knowing his father hadn’t had time to prepare him something after coming straight into town and getting to work. He doesn’t share well either, but seemed to understand when you sat him down and talked to him about it. You suppose that being away from other children and only travelling with your father figure who would share his food with you without a thought, it must be confusing. The manners that he now has to observe, the rules of society that he’s never had to worry about until now. He looks suitably admonished despite the gentle way you chose to talk about it with him, that alone makes you think he’ll likely stop stealing the children’s cookies and be more willing to share. 

“David, careful!” You call out when one of your older students nearly gets trampled underneath the sheriff’s horses’ hooves as he runs across the thoroughfare without looking. 

“Sorry, miss!” David calls back over his shoulder, still storming ahead your warning lost on him. 

You sigh heavily and rub at your temples, stress enveloping you. A tug, swift and sharp on your skirt has you looking down. Grogu has a hand fisted in the fabric, pulling to get your attention. Once he has it, his arms open, hands up towards you, opening and closing, a universal gesture to be lifted. 

It surprises you, he is...quiet and reserved. You expected time to be needed before he was comfortable with you in any respect, especially after having to tell the boy off. Instead, he lets you lift him to your hip, hands reaching for strands of your hair and twisting them, surprisingly gently between his chubby little fingers. 

You watch your students run in different directions through town, their books and lunch pails in tow. Some stop on the open green, playing games together before their parents demand them back home for dinner. The warm little body in your arms is a soothing presence and the boy almost looks like he wants to say something, but just makes a soft cooing sound instead.

“Not much of a talker are you, little one?” He almost shrugs his little shoulders before looking up at the sound of heavy footsteps and clinking spurs. The sheriff leads his horse up to you, eyes following David with a shake of his head. Clearly, just as bemused as you at his lack of common sense.

Grogu smiles and giggles happily at the sight of his father, arms reaching out for him. You pass him over to Din, trying to ignore how close you get to the man to do it. He radiates warmth and smells woodsy mixed with some sort of soap he must use. This close you can see little birthmarks dotted across his neck. 

You step back once the boy is settled in his arms and smile, soft but tired. “Sheriff, how was your first day on the job?” 

He gives you a humoured smirk, one you’re not expecting, it takes you aback slightly. He looks...charming, approachable. Little dimples at his cheeks that soften his features in a way that makes you want to step closer. With a huff, not quite a laugh, he says, “Eventful.”

“That makes two of us, sheriff.” He notices the tired creases beneath your eyes, the once unrumpled appearance now dishevelled, hair coming out of its updo and blouse and skirt wrinkled and creased. You look like you’d had a rough day and he hopes Grogu wasn’t part of the cause. He still hadn’t figured out how to discipline the kid, he always turned those big brown eyes on him and he just couldn’t tell him no. 

“Din. Call me Din.” 

“Then you should call me Y/N.” There’s a moment of silence. You stare at him, at the way his hat casts shadows over his face, at the gentle hold he has on Grogu, the open top buttons of his work shirt and the dig of suspenders into his shoulders. He stares back at you. The gentle softness of your cheek, the marks that make your skin your skin and not someone else's. 

“We’re going to start building the schoolhouse as soon as the wood shipment gets here, I sent a telegram off today to get some good lumber in.” It surprises you in the most delightful way. When you said the mayor had been dragging his heels you meant it, but you hadn’t expected this new face to come in and make a start on what the mayor had been reluctant to do. 

“We’re?”

“I’ve convinced some of the men around town to pitch in and I know a thing or two about building.” In truth he’d intimidated more than persuaded. Most of the men were lazy, and had more concern for their own vices than for helping out. But, a mixture of convincing them they’d get their saloon back and reminding them that he was now the town’s sheriff seemed to get a few of the stronger and more skilled townsfolk to agree to help. 

“You’re the sheriff. You shouldn’t be building the schoolhouse, Din. You’ve got more important things to do.” You feel bad that he’s doing this, being quite so involved, when he’s starting a new job, one that takes up most of his time. Being a sheriff is a full time job, almost 24 hours a day 7 days a week. He has people to keep in line, criminals to catch, laws to enforce, and building a schoolhouse wasn’t on his list of priorities. It’s sweet and makes your heart ache oddly, but you feel guilty for adding another thing to his plate. 

“This is important, Miss...Y/N. The kid can’t learn in a saloon forever and you can’t work here forever neither.” He can see how desperately you want your schoolhouse back and something in him wants to provide that for you, to care for you. He tells himself it’s also for the kid, that his son deserves a proper schoolhouse to learn in. That all foundlings, all little children deserved a place to learn, like he had growing up in the covert.

“At least...at least let me and the children bring food and water down once you get started. I...you’ve not even been here a whole day and you’re already doing more than anyone else ever has...Thank you, Din.”

“It’s my pleasure, meg ba'jurir” You do not understand what he calls you, but you recognise that cadence, the rhythm of the language. Can almost see the symbolic nature of the alphabet. It surprises you that he knows what you’re sure is Mando’a, having only heard one other person in your life ever speak it. Mandalorian family groups were uncommon, but where they were they seemed to keep people in order, to value community. It made sense that he would take on the job of sheriff, adopt a child not of his own blood, if that were the case. 

You bite your tongue and don’t ask, you don’t know him and it is too personal to ask about his upbringing, culture or heritage. Perhaps, after you know him better you can ask, but you can almost hear your headmistress at school reminding you about manners and decorum even in a little mining town. 

“He didn’t...he didn’t cause any trouble today did he? He’s not used to being around others or...we’ve been on the road for a long time now.” He looks down at the little boy sitting at his hip, who’s playing with the metal star on his shirt. He knew that Grogu could be difficult, sweet, adorable, hard to say no to, but undisciplined and not used to the rules that people usually abided by. 

“I...I did have to have a word with him today…” You can already tell Din’s disappointed. He clearly loves the boy, but part of loving a child is wanting better for them and getting in trouble isn’t part of that. 

Din sighs heavily before catching the boy’s eye, “Ad’ika…”The boy clearly knows what’s going on and hides his face in his father’s shirt, suitably embarrassed about his behaviour. You think that’s enough to probably deter him from stealing from other kids in the future. You also think you might bake him some treats and use them as an incentive to work hard. You suspect bribery would work well with Grogu. 

“He paid attention beautifully and he’s already doing so well with learning his letters, but he’s...he’s quite…” You try to think of the best way to say that the boy just can’t resist taking other children’s food. 

“You don’t have to spare my feelings, Y/N. You can tell me.” You look Din in the eyes, deep brown meeting your own and sigh out before speaking.

“He likes to steal the other children’s food. I gave him my lunch and he still tried to steal Charlie’s cookies and Mary Beth’s macarons. I know he’s probably used to food being a thing he can just have since you’ve been travelling as a family unit…”

“Osik... I forgot to give him lunch. I am a terrible father…” Din looks at his feet, free hand rubbing over the scruff on his jaw. You feel the instant need to reassure him. 

“You’re not a terrible father. You just came into town this morning, immediately took on a job, and instantly went to work. You’re not a terrible father.” You hesitate, but reach forward anyway, a hand on his arm giving a quick reassuring squeeze. 

“Vor entye, Y/N. Thank you. Have you eaten?” 

“Oh…” You hadn’t really thought about it, that you’d given your food to Grogu to stop him going hungry and that you’d spent all day teaching with little more than the porridge you’d made yourself that morning to keep you going.

“Don’t even think about lying to the sheriff.” You did in fact consider lying to him, but the look he gave you reminded you of an overbearing mother hen who wouldn’t let you get away with it. Combined with the fact he was indeed the new sheriff, you felt it best to stick to the truth for now. 

“No...I haven’t.” You admit, feeling suitably admonished by him and a little guilty for even considering lying about. 

Din adjusts Grogu on his hip and nods his head behind him towards the street, “Come, I’ll buy you dinner at the café.”

“You don’t have to, Din. I can make dinner at home.” You think back to the soup you were going to make that night, and even though you haven’t the energy in truth to make dinner, you can’t ask him to buy you it. It is too much and unnecessary. Any good teacher would have made sure their students were fed. 

“You kept my ad fed in place of yourself. I’m buying you dinner.” His voice left no room for argument and so you found yourself following after him across the street towards Reeva’s Café. 

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

Din’s presence in town becomes apparent very quickly. He does not allow the men to wander drunk through the streets, start fights, or harass women. He does not suffer law breakers or those who cause the peace to break. He is swift, effective, and there isn’t a member of town who doesn’t respect his authority even if some don’t particularly like having to listen to him. 

For you it is a refreshing change. You don’t worry about the children wandering around town in the evenings or about walking out of your home at night. You don’t worry about your meager belongings being stolen or a fight breaking out in the saloon on an evening and ruining the few bits you have for the school. 

He is quiet and polite, not much of a talker, but everything he does shows a man of honour and good morals. He is sweet with the children as well. 

It had become common place for him, while waiting for the lumber to begin the schoolhouse, to come into the saloon while you were teaching. He said it was because the day time left little for him to do as sheriff, but you think he just enjoys helping with the children. They make him smile. A real smile. 

Sometimes he just sits with his son on his lap and helps him with his letters, other times he wanders between tables helping those who need it or using his presence to quiet the children after an exciting lunch break. Reminding them to respect you, their teacher, and listen.

Your favourite, and the childrens’ favourite times were when he’d sit down and tell them stories of his travels. For a man who didn’t speak much, Din Djarin was a natural born storyteller. 

That’s how you found yourself taking a step back, sitting on one of the saloon bar stools off to the side as Din took your place at the front of the class. He had an ability with the little ones that amazed you, none were ever scared of him despite his height, posturing or the guns holstered at his side and slung over his back. He always managed to make them smile and laugh, always got their curiosity going and inspired them equally. He made it a point whenever he talked to your class to share stories of both men and women he’d met who’d done amazing things, you could tell he was trying to get the girls in your class to see they could be more than housewives or washerwomen and you appreciated it. 

“So there I am standing toe to toe with the biggest grizzly you’ve ever seen…” He gestures with his hands, standing at the front, arms out front to show just how large this grizzly bear was. His voice took on a different, more dramatic quality then normal. Grogu clapped his hands from his seat on your lap, the little boy having grown increasingly comfortable around you.

“Now this grizzly has to be 8ft standin’, and he’s the angriest bear you’ve ever seen and i’m sure that’s the end of me. I’m about to become a grizzly bear’s dinner, Sheriff Djarin stew!” You laugh along with the kids at the prospect of Din becoming stew for a grizzly bear, you’re never sure how much is fiction or truth in his stories, although part of you wouldn’t be surprised if they were all completely true. He was...he always seemed larger than life despite being so quiet. Like some sort of figure out of a western story.

“When out of nowhere, charging between me and this mean grizzly, comes the largest bull moose I've ever seen…” 

“What’d you do?” Mary Beth pipes up, big blue eyes open wide. 

“Well, I got the he-” He stops himself looking at you, you raise an eyebrow reminding him that cussing around the children would not do well for him, “-out of there as quickly as I could! One thing you should never do is stay around to fight a grizzly, never ends well to go toe to toe with one. That moose was being kind and giving me a chance to get away.” It amuses you that he always manages to twist a moral into the story. This time about kindness and helping those weaker than yourself, along with a healthy dose of not getting into situations with angry grizzly bears of course. 

“Well, I think it’s time I let Miss Y/N, get on with her mathematics lesson.” Groans and grumbling rises up from your students as you place Grogu in his seat and begin making your way to the front. You watch Din frown at them, hands on his belt, leaning into one hip more than the other. He is the perfect picture of a disappointed father. Lips twisting downwards, pulling on his moustache. 

“Hey, now! Miss Y/N always makes your lessons fun so don’t you start giving her trouble or else i’ll have to stop coming in for story time.” It’s a threat that promptly has them settling quietly in their chairs and getting their books and pencils out.

You rest a gentle hand on his arm when you reach him, quietly telling him thank you. It’s heavy with meaning. Thank you for being there for the children. Thank you for providing them with stories. Thank you for always settling them and reminding them to respect me. Thank you for thinking about the schoolhouse. Thank you for settling the town and keeping the peace. 

He just nods at you with the smallest hint of a smile, enough to make you feel the tiniest bit flustered as you watch him walk to the chair where he’d left his hat, holsters, and lasso. 

“Say goodbye to the sheriff, children.” You tell them as all of you watch him make his way to the doors. He stops before them and tips his hat at you all with a smile, but the moment he’s out the doors it drops and in his place is the hard sheriff who won’t stand for trouble. 

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

Once the lumber comes in and the plans have been drawn up and approved by yourself, at Din’s insistence, the work begins. The schoolhouse design had been run past you because Din didn’t want to miss anything that was needed or that would help you teach. He had told you not to worry about size, scale or cost, that the community was pitching in and that the mayor had found a fund tucked away somewhere for the school. The fund miraculously appeared after Din had a long meaningful chat with him.

He wouldn’t tell you that he’d made threats against the mayor about digging up some of his dirty laundry, but he had. The mayor had a lot of skeletons in his closet and also a nice stack of credits he was sitting on in his own personal mayoral vault. The fact that the mayor had been so reluctant to rebuild the schoolhouse when he easily could have almost made Din see red, but he didn’t think it would look good if he beat the man to the curb as sheriff. He was supposed to be upstanding and law abiding, if he wasn’t why would any of the townsfolk be? 

A few days into the project you decided it was time you made good on your promise to come to the site during lunch time with the children to bring water and some food. You and the children collect pails of water and the baked goods you’d made the night before, trudging through the streets. You held Grogu on one hip, the small child the slowest of his classmates, and carried a heavy pail of water in the other, so heavy your shoulder slumped down on that side to accommodate the weight. 

The children were happy to help, after all, many of their fathers and older brothers were working on the school site and it was a chance in the school day to see people they cared about. You were also sure they wanted to ask the sheriff a multitude of questions and beg for a story, but you’d reminded them that they weren’t there to get in the way or interrupt the work, just to offer food and water.

You’d reluctantly admitted to Reeva that you found the sheriff attractive, after the older woman badgered you day in and day out about the time you spent with him. You could admit he was handsome. His eyes were deep brown and spoke more words then he often did. He had both a look that could intimidate and also soften into something warm and safe. The beard and moustache he sported made him look ruggedly handsome and his shoulders were broad and wide. He looked like he’d stepped out of a story book or from an illustrated newspaper short story. Rugged but clean, dangerous but kind. 

You had to admit though that this was your favourite look on him. As you came upon the building site he was busy sawing a plank of pine in two. His shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow exposing his strong forearms and thick wrists. His suspenders had been flung off his shoulders, resting at sides no longer covering the strong back that was tensed as he worked. The top few buttons of his shirt had come undone, almost indecently so to show a pronounced collar bone, strong neck, and dark chest hair and the brown hair on his head had begun to curl from the sweat he was working up. It shouldn’t have been attractive. He should have looked like any other man working up a sweat, you shouldn’t have wanted to wipe his brow and brush your fingers through the curls of his hair. But you did. 

Taking a deep breath to compose yourself you look down at the little boy at your hip, “Should we go say hello to your father?” 

“Papa!” He clapped his hands at you in confirmation. You’d slowly learnt that papa was one of the only words he said, you weren’t sure if he chose not to speak or simply couldn’t. But, given his increasing aptitude with writing his letters, you thought it likely that he simply chose not to speak. 

The call instantly has Din’s head popping up from his work like a startled deer and you watch as his eyes roam across the children until he catches sight of his son at your hip. The smile that lights his face is so bright that it’s almost blinding, there is a longing you feel whenever you see his happiness to see Grogu. Some deep part of you that desires that sort of family bond. He loves his son so deeply, it doesn’t matter to him that their blood isn’t the same and part of you wants desperately to be part of that love and happiness. 

“Children, hand out the food and water, will you? But be careful!” You remind them as they run towards familiar faces, it is still a building site after all, and the last thing you need is a child getting hurt in any way. 

Din finishes sawing the plank before striding over to you, hand pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. You look...radiant. The summer sun shining over you, causing your skin to glow, your hair to shine. Your smile is as soft as your eyes and you're gentle in the way you hold his son to your hip, like he belonged there. Like the two of you belonged together. Din can admit that he enjoys your company more than he probably should, he can even admit that a part of him deeply desires you, wants you to join his family unit, become part of his aliit. You’re tender and kind to all the children you teach, your children as you often call them, and you’re incredibly kind to Grogu who you treat with more understanding than most school teachers ever would. You keep order in your classroom through kindness and mutual respect, not through fear or punishment. The maternal shine to you draws him to you in a way that, had he not been Mandalorian, he might be ashamed of. But, family is everything to him, Grogu is everything to him and if he is to put down roots here, he can’t help but consider putting down roots with you.

It’s a silly thought though, you’ve not known each other long and he isn’t well to do or gentlemanly. You’re far better educated than him, kinder than him, and it is a pipe dream that he doubts will ever come to fruition. It doesn’t help that he struggles at times to even talk to you, let alone make his feelings known. 

“Miss me, Ad’ika?” He calls to the little boy, carefully pulling him from your arms when you offer him. If you allow yourself to, you can almost imagine he’s taking your own child from you, that the two of you have formed some sort of family. But, you are just his son’s teacher and he is just the sheriff of your small town. 

The boy babbles at him, not real words, nonsense, or attempts at words that don’t translate, but you can see that improving. Can almost imagine what settling down here can do for the boy, give him a chance to learn, grow, make friends, and find some stability and safety. 

“He’s been itching to come over all day, they all have. I was struggling to get them to focus on their history lesson.” You had 15 children all desperate to get out of the saloon and visit their fathers for lunch. It had been a...very difficult lesson to say the least and you still felt a little frazzled. 

“History?” The boy tugs at his father’s hair and you watch him wince as he speaks, pulling little chubby hands from brown curls. 

“The fall of the empire and the rise of the republic. Not the most riveting subject for them I'm sure, they much prefer when I tell them about different societies rather than politics.” You want to say like Mandalore and the Mandalorians because you want to draw him in, desperate to have more of his time even when he’s already doing so much for you. You enjoy the odd hour here and there when he takes over your class and becomes the teacher, where you can just sit and listen, learn yourself. 

“Mandalorians believe that our history is our future. We learn it as soon as we can walk.”

“So it is Mando’a you’ve been speaking?” It warms you to see him open up to you like this. He is a private man, quiet, and insular. While he can yell with the best, and demand attention, can intimidate and even persuade, it’s all part of his job. The face he puts on as sheriff. He is quiet about himself, sharing little and not so often. You revel in the trust placed in you wherever he tells you a little something more about himself. 

“You noticed?” Most people don’t even know Mando’a exists, let alone recognise that the words he slips into his speech are such. He finds they slip out more around you, than with others. He’s comfortable with, he is happy to share himself, his culture with you and it...it is a startling discovery about himself. He has been insular and closed off for longer than he would like to admit. 

“I can’t speak it and I..I don’t know it well, but, I recognise the cadence. I grew up in Naboo and there was a Mandalorian there, she used to speak it when I would sit and practice my letters with her.” Atin’a Caivass was a kind woman to you even if she could be hard. She had been one of your teachers, always pushing you harder, to do better. Yet, it had never felt frustrating or like a chore, the Mandalorian had always made it a desire to impress her, but also to prove to yourself that you could. She had always been kind to you and the other children, gentle but firm, like you were one of her own. You saw similarities with how Din treated the children. He was kind and gentle, but never overlooked an opportunity to firmly correct their behaviour or mistakes. A perfect balance. Not too soft and not too harsh. 

“You never learnt?”

“She was very protective of it and I...I was always too afraid to ask.” You confess. You had always been fascinated with it, like any young child when faced with a new language, but you had always believed it something sacred, and had worried that you would offend her if you asked to learn. “Ad’ika? What does it mean?”

He can’t help but laugh at your pronunciation and sounds it out for you, “Ah-Dee-Kah, it means little one.” 

“Ah-dee-kuh?” You are even more beautiful, he thinks when you butcher his language, trying so hard to get it right that your eyebrows scrunch together and your eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Ah-Dee-Kah” The little one squirms in his arms and he places him on the ground, only to watch him plunk himself on his bottom and play with the dirt. He had always had a fascination with dirt and rocks, more so than any of the toys he had actually brought or made him. 

“Ah-Dee-Kah”

“Perfect.” You smile blindingly at his praise and he wonders if he can forgo his job as sheriff and simply teach you Mando’a every minute of every day. “You can always ask. If you want to learn. It’s nice to hear it from another person’s lips, not just mine.”

“I would like that very much...maybe when you’re less busy? You’re rather booked up at the moment, what with being sheriff, storytime for the children, and building a schoolhouse. You’re a busy man, Din Djarin.”

“I like to keep my hands busy.” You look down at your feet before looking back up at him, unsure how to respond to what you were sure was meant as a perfectly innocent comment. Din almost swears, osik, once he realises how that sounds, lifting hand to the back of his neck to rub it. 

The silence that you fall into isn’t uncomfortable necessarily, but feels almost solid, like a physical thing and not just the quiet that comes with two people not talking for a moment. There’s a tension there that is not wholly unpleasant but hard to describe or pin down. 

Seeming to remember the pail of water you’re carrying you place it in front of him, “Water, so you can clean off or if you’re thirsty. There’s some pastries somewhere as well, to keep you all fed...Can’t have you keeling over on us or else we’d never get our schoolhouse.” 

You take a step back and cast your gaze around, making note of where each of your 15 kids are. You’re caught watching Jerome splash water on Annie, about to go and tell him off when you hear splashing much closer to you. 

You thought he couldn’t excite you more than he already had. Thought that Din Djarin couldn’t possibly tempt you more, cause your well-mannered sensibilities to crumble further. You were utterly, terribly, ridiculously wrong. 

There’s something to be said about the man pouring half a pail of water over his head to rub away the sweat and dirt from a hard day working in the summer sun. He flicks his head back, long neck outstretched as water droplets fall like mirror glass over his tanned skin. His hair sticks to his skin, kissing it in a way you realise you desperately want to and his shirt clings to broad shoulders with the familiarity of a lover. 

You spin back around away from him flustered, determined not to look as you march towards Jerome. You decide in that moment that perhaps it’s best not to bring pails of water at lunch time. You might just not survive to see the school built. 

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

For the next two months your routine features lunch time trips with the children to bring water and sometimes food to the men building the schoolhouse, and the odd afternoon story time hour when Din feels confident enough to leave the others to continue working without his guidance. Each day the schoolhouse comes together more and more and each day you fall a little bit more in...in whatever these feelings for the sheriff were. 

You also have the startling realisation that Grogu has wormed his little way into your heart in a way that none of your other students have. You have a soft spot for the little boy, especially as he becomes more vocal, begins to say more little words, including the delightful name ‘Miss Y/N’. 

Din is a temptation in himself, each time he teaches you another word or phrase in Mando’a and his lips wrap around syllables or every time he works hard to build the schoolhouse muscles pulling taut underneath the weight of wood. He tempts you in a way that no one ever has and you can’t quite explain what it is about this man that makes you desire to be in his presence, to kiss him, to hold him, to be close to him both physically and emotionally. You want to know everything about him, to understand him better than you understand yourself. 

In some ways it is a relief when the schoolhouse is finished and in other ways it feels like a loss. Part of your routine, part of the day where you always see Din was no longer needed or necessary.

When you bring the children over at lunch time, it’s to show them the finished building, the one they’ll be in come Monday morning once you have the time to move all the books and other odds and ends into it. They’re all excited as are you, to see it...it strikes you in the heart so badly that you can’t move your feet, can only stare at the building with tears in your eyes. 

It’s beautiful. Not large, but larger than the old one. Freshly painted white, with a school bell hanging out front. It strikes you that this isn’t just a schoolhouse, but it’s your schoolhouse. Din had been adamant about building it for you. 

“Children, why don’t you go inside and take a look? You’ll be here on Monday!” You wave them all off as they run ahead and up the wooden steps, throwing the door open none too gently. “Careful! We only just got it!” You call out and receive a series of sorries back. 

“Shall we go find your buir?” You look down at Grogu, who’s hand is holding the heavy fabric of your skirt. He smiles up at you and nods his head with a quick little ‘papa’ that has your heart warming. 

You hear him before you see him, “Now don’t go breaking the tables when we’ve only just put them together, girls!” Already laying down the law to 3 of your children as you enter the schoolhouse. They had seemingly been swinging on tables in a most ill-mannered fashion that has you putting on your teacher-face and raising an eyebrow at them from behind Din. They promptly stop and return their feet to the floor with an abashed look.

“Sorry, Sheriff. Sorry Miss.” They call to you both before scurrying away in hopes of avoiding punishment, leaving you, Din and Grogu alone in the main room for the building. You let it go. It isn’t an issue, they need to learn to respect things, and not damage them, but that does not have to come at the cost of punishment when a quick look and a reminder does enough. 

Din spins at them calling out to you, faster than he seems to have expected, looking decidedly dizzy for a second before the mask of sheriff falls right back into place. 

“Y/N, how do you like it?” He opens his arms wide and gestures to the main room of the schoolhouse. A large blackboard already nailed to the wall at the back, rows of tables and chairs set up so every child could see you. A desk at the front for your things. It is sweet and fits your needs infinitely better than a saloon ever would. You even note the bookcases along the walls, enough space to place many of your books for the children to have easy access for when they wish to learn something more than you could teach them. 

“It’s...it’s wonderful, Din. It’s beautiful. I...I can’t thank you enough...I...I’m a little lost for words.” You can feel the happy tears starting to pool in your eyes again, the gratitude making you a little bit emotional. “I don’t think I can ever repay you for this.”

“You...you don’t need to repay me, Mesh’la. This...you and the children deserve a school, a place to teach and learn. You don’t have to thank me or repay me for doing what the damn mayor should have done in the first place.”

You nearly don’t do it. Nearly let that fear that wells up inside you and the proper manners, the belief that you were about to be far too forward than was ladylike, stop you. But, you think back to his kindness, his gentle nature, the calm and order he’s brought to town. The son of his that you have a large soft spot for. The handsomeness of his features, the sharpness of his profile. The gentle hand he always places on your back as he helps escort you somewhere. The respect he shows you at every turn and his willingness to share his culture and upbringing with you. You think of all the things that make up the Din Djarin you know and you think of what he has come to mean to you. 

With a silent prayer and an apology to your late headmistress for being more forward than is ladylike, you push yourself forward and into him. Lips soft and chaste lifting to meet his, only briefly. You do not push for more than a second of contact, but it is enough, you hope, to get the thought and intent across. That he is someone you would like to get to know more, that he is someone you could happily be courted by, even marry one day.  

He doesn’t even have time to blink, it happens so fast. One minute you are standing a few steps away from him thanking him, the next your lips are pressed to his in the shortest sweetest kiss he’s ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of. It takes another second for him to realise what’s happened before he’s reaching a hand out to cup the nape of your neck and drag your lips back to his for a significantly more substantial kiss that leaves you a little breathless. 

When you pull away from each other you don’t go far. Din presses his forehead to yours, hawkish nose pressing into your cheek, a soft touch that grounds you with his presence. The hand at your neck, rubs a soothing thumb across your skin. Your own have chosen to grasp at the suspenders over his shoulders, to keep in close proximity. 

“I’d very much like to court you, Miss Y/N.”

“I think i’d like that, sheriff.” 

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

Mando’a Translations

 Meg Ba'jurir - roughest way I could get to someone who educates or a teacher with meg being who and ba’jurir being educate

Osik - Shit

Vor entye - Thank You

Ad - son

Ad’ika - Little one, term of endearment for small children

Buir - Father also Mother basically parent. 

Mesh’la - Beautiful

Aliit - Family (Clan)

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

Taglist for this fic: 

@lex-ham​

[oliverwxod]

Upside Down (Peter Parker)

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warnings: Mentions of doing the do, (they’re both in their twenties btw) 

Summary: Queens is reunited with the East Sidder as Captain America would put it. Peter Parker comes face to face with an old friend he thought had left for good.

The trail had gone dead. He had wasted his time, his energy and that small piece of hope he had been holding onto all these years. He had put so much into this, only for it to lead to nothing, a dead end. 

He perched on the side of the roof, looking down at the final set of co-ordinates in his hands. The rain was falling more rapidly now as his brows creased in anger and frustration at the wild goose hunt he had been sent on. 

He could see the expanse of the Upper East side of Manhattan, somewhere he was very familiar with, but avoided at all costs, avoided since her.

He had lied for her time and time again and Peter Parker never lied. Yet here he was having lied to his friends, to Aunt May and most importantly to MJ. 

But when he got those tip offs a mere 2 months ago he had to follow them up. He couldn’t stand not knowing, hoping there was that chance that she would still be alive. Yet here he was and here she... wasn’t. It was some kind of practical joke- it had to be. Sure he had a lot of enemies, but none with this style, her unique way of always letting him know where she was. 

That’s why he supposed it hurt so much. Peter never understood how the co-ordinates always ended up in one of his pockets or his bags but they did- it was something she had always done and that’s how he knew where to find her- for years. 

Until she died. Killed right in front of him on a mission. 

His arm twitched slightly, shivers trailing slowly from the back of his neck to the rest of his body, spider senses coming alive. He was being watched, he knew that feeling and it wasn’t a good one. 

Yet somehow he felt surprisingly calm, as if he knew he wasn’t going to be hurt as if... his head moved to the left as he caught the swiftest of movements, yet nothing was there. 

Not even a second later he felt a presence to his right. 

“Lovely day isn’t it” the innocence of the voice annoyed him immediately. 

His blood ran cold and he thought he was going to throw up, stomach clenching tightly in pain, head turning to watch the side of her face. She didn't spare a glance at him, feeling the hatred he was feeling. 

Peter didn’t speak, he didn’t think that he could. 

“I always think Manhattan looks nicest when raining in the evening, don’t you?” she asked, her voice light and pretty as always and it pissed him off, she looked at him this time, a smile on her face as she met his eyes. 

“you look good” she spoke. “in fact- you look great have you been-”

“what the fuck are you doing?” he spoke bluntly “where the fuck have you been?” 

“Ouch. It’s good to see you too Pete” she spoke, mock offended at his coldness towards her. 

“What is this?” he glared at her. “you’re mean’t to be dead. I watched you die” 

“oh yeah” she said brushing it off “forgot that happened” she shrugged, she really did not forget it and he knew that. 

“How are you not dead?” he asked still glaring. 

“You almost sound disappointed that I'm not” she pouted. 

“shut up” he spoke “and tell me, no games” he demanded. 

“ugh okay, you’re no fun anymore Pete” 

“Y/n” he glared, a final warning. 

“I thought I died too, but guess I didn’t in the end” she spoke shrugging it off casually. 

“Y/n” he spoke again. 

“okay okay” she said her voice drifting off. “you’re not going to like it though and you can’t be mad”

He frowned, stepping up from where he previously was perched so he could sit down, legs hanging over the side of the building and matching her sitting position. 

“It was scary” she said her voice serious now “I've never really been scared of death before, until it happened - or well nearly did.” 

Peter shivered at the thought, he couldn’t imagine it either, even though he had many close experiences. 

“When I fell, when the bomb went off, I thought that was it for me, I really did. I can’t remember what it felt like immediately but it hurt, I know for definite that it hurt a lot and for a long time until... suddenly it didn’t because I wasn't really with it anymore, I thought I had died.” she said, twirling with her thumbs in an anxious way, Peter knew she didn’t want to carry on but she did and he wasn’t going to stop her. 

He deserved to know. 

“Stark found me” she said, curiously looking to see Peter’s reaction. “he helped me, rehabilitated me and kept me away from New York” 

Peter felt betrayed, his Father figure in life hiding something that big from him, but he couldn’t be mad because Tony Stark had given his life for the world and he only ever sought to help people, even if he went out it in the wrong way some times.

“he’s dead” Peter spoke. 

“I know. That’s why I'm here, Steve called” she said gently. 

“so that’s why you’re back? Captain America calls and suddenly you’re back here?” Peter spoke in anger. He was hoping she had come back for him and was disappointed when hearing differently. 

“He said he needed everyone back together” 

“That’s impossible because everyone's not here anymore Y/n” he seethed in anger. “things have changed since you’ve been gone” Peter was confused as to why Steve had even phoned her. It had been years since Tony had died, it didn’t make sense as to why now.

“I’m sorry Peter, I wish things were different” she sighed. 

“You let me think you were dead?” he spoke in almost disgust. 

“It was for the best” she said, not being able to meet his eyes. She couldn’t, she couldn’t bare seeing the anger, the pain - all that she had single handedly caused him. 

“Bullshit was it for the best, that was cruel and heartless Y/n- but I suppose that’s always been you” he spat. 

Y/n looked taken aback and hurt by his comment. Peter had never been one for harsh words and spiteful tones. 

“What does that mean?” she asked offended, standing up from her spot, the side of the roof no longer covering her, exposing her to the rain and wind, vulnerability showing visibly. 

“oh come off it, you know exactly what it means” he stated shaking his head twice in disbelief that he was about to say this out loud. “I loved you” 

There it was, the statement he had always held back. Before she had left him twice on the same day on that fateful day. He clearly remembers that morning, it was a grey and dull day and he had woken up alone, sheets pressed against his bare skin as he rolled over to be met with an empty space that she normally preoccupied. 

She didn’t normally leave straight away when she woke, sometimes she did, but that morning had felt different. They were never in a relationship, they never got to the stage of even talking about what they were, but they for certain knew that they were young and wanted to have fun, the no strings attached kind. 

Peter never realised his feelings for her until she had gone for good.

“No you didn’t” she replied glaring at him, a scowl on her face as she looked straight at him, eyes tracing down the slope of his nose until they reached his lips, she tore her eyes away in anger. 

“You’re really going to turn up after all this time and tell me what I did and didn’t feel?” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“You were in love with someone else Peter” she spoke loudly. “It was always MJ this and MJ that” 

“I wasn’t- It was alway you-” 

“shut up” she almost shouted. “If it was always me then you would have chosen me!” 

“y/n-”

“you’re with her now aren’t you?” she asked, already knowing the answer. 

“y/n”

“aren’t you?” she said slightly louder, she watched as he sighed, confirming her question even though she already knew, it didn’t hurt any less. 

“does she know about us? Our past? Where you are now, because come on, I've been leaving you close for months now, she must be suspicious of something? Because I know god damn well you wouldn’t tell her, because that’s who you are Peter” 

“who I am? and what is that Y/n huh? Who do you think I am?” he angrily spat.

“I’m leaving now” she spoke, turning away. Peter was having none of it as he watched her go to jump off the side of the building to the next. He shot a web at her back, watching as it latched onto her jacket, pulling her backwards and straight into him. 

“Let me go” she growled at him, fighting against him. He grabbed her only to be pushed back against the wall, he thought quickly, his hand shooting out another web, latching it onto her wrist and pinning her to the wall so she couldn’t move, watching as she rubbed at her wrist with her free hand. 

“Peter” she glared. 

“I deserve to know. Now tell me, I can wait all day” he glared. 

“won’t MJ get worried-”

“Y/n” he warned. 

“Are you going to tell her?” 

“tell her what?” he asked. 

“About us, about all those nights we spent together, how you would fuck me until- ” she knew how to wind him up and get under his skin.

“That was before me and her, she doesn’t need to know.” Peter cut her off.

“But I'm back now” she spoke. 

“That doesn’t change anything” he said, but he didn’t believe it for one minute, because it did change everything.  

[pocketfulofrogers]

Love Me Anyways

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: What is there to say? You’re a dark and twisty assassin and Steve Rogers is definitely... not that. When you get an opportunity to run, will you take it?

Notes: Tiny bit of smut and angst with a happy ending. If you feel like you’ve seen/read this before, you may have. I’m reorganizing and this was previously part 1 of Haunted Woman, Broken Lover. When I originally wrote this, it was meant to be a one off, but sad endings don’t always feel right. I then struggled to turn it into a series, so here is HWBL reimagined with a different ending as a one shot. The series will still be a thing, but now I actually feel good about it!

They call you a ghost. It isn’t for the way you seem to slip through walls or the way you look at death as a reflection. It’s the hollowness of your eyes that earns you the nickname. Hazed over orbs coated in grey.

Clint asks you if they’ve always been that color, you tell him you can’t remember anymore.

Fury lets you run your own thing after you agree to attach yourself to the badge. He’d rather not know how exactly you get the job done, so long as you’re on their side.

You’re solo most of the time, it’s better that way.

They learn quickly how deadly you are, leaving your enemies questioning the validity of your existence and holding the same vacant stare as you. It wasn’t just physical injuries you specialized in.

The first time you met Steve Rogers was an accident. You had a rogue Armenian scientist tied up in his basement. He had been about to run when you appeared at his kitchen table, and, for a moment, you thought a heart attack might get him before you could.

You were sat before him, leaned forward with your tools on a bench beside you. A small blade aching to break skin sat hot between your fingers, but so far, your words had been enough. Steve opened the door, barreled down the steps, and stopped in his tracks. You locked eyes with him and, in a flash, you saw something hauntingly familiar within the blue.

That’s when something inside you shifted.

He took one look at the scene before him and shut it down immediately. You slipped away when he called it in and left no trace of your existence except for a long thin line gushing red from the scientist’s throat.

Steve find’s the plans for a chemical attack on his desk that night and where to find each accomplice wrapped in a pretty bow of nylon. Alive, your note assures him.

“She’s like a cat. Brings home dead things to show her affection.” Clint says one day. You promptly shove an elbow in his gut.

He learns how to spot your work past blubbering grown men and catatonic stares. Natasha tells him you hold your liquor well, Clint comments on your gambling abilities. He asks if your eyes are naturally that color, they tell him you don’t like to answer that question.

Later he asks Fury how they found you. He’s not sure how you became what you are today, but he knows this world has not treated you well, yet here you are, working to protect it regardless of what had been done to you. That’s the only reason he didn’t order Clint to take you out.

“So, she’s good?” Steve asks.

Fury pauses for a moment. “For our sake, I hope so.”

The next time you see Steve Rogers, you’re slinking through the Triskelion halls trying to stick your nose somewhere it probably doesn’t belong. He bumps into you, grabs your arm and your side to steady you. You know he can feel the scars beneath the thin material of your shirt and jump from his touch.

He shakes it off. “Tell me,” He starts. “Do you have an actual name or are you really just a ghost.”

You think for a moment. “Y/N.” He raises a brow, both your voice and an answer surprising him. “What, were you expecting a cryptic answer on the relativity of life and death or something?”

He chuckles. “Guess not.”

A moment later, he gets distracted, turns a way for a split second and then you’re gone.

“Yeah, she does that.” An agent passing by comments.

You continue on your path, leave him the gift of a solved problem on his desk sometimes. He sets up cameras and lasers, trying to catch you just once. It takes him a few months to realize the janitor drops the files and notes for him. You and Natasha laugh at his expense.

He starts to leave files in various places he knows only you could find. The worst of the worst. Men and women he thinks you’d be happy to cross off. You can’t tell if he leaves them for you, or because they’re just terrible people. Either way, the change in narrative surprises you, but you never bring it up. You’re the last person that would ever judge someone.

Natasha taunts him over it.

“It’s a modern-day love story with an assassin twist.”

“Why not that one?” “She doesn’t like Oklahoma.” “How do you know that?”

“She sent booze as thanks for your last tip. Are your cheeks seriously red right now, Rogers?”

Eventually, you concede and stop leaving him only the locations of gift-wrapped bodies with detailed lists of committed crimes. Complete with proof, of course, you weren’t lazy. You start to send him alive leads, people that can be questioned. Sometimes they’re unharmed, usually they’re mostly coherent. He’s surprised by the change in narrative, but he never brings it up. Sometimes people change, but that was none of his business.

Natasha is sure to point it out, though, consistently.

“You see him more than anyone else.” “That’s not true!” “…” “He’s here more than you, so it’s only by default.”

“Wait, you left that guy alive?” “Steve needs to question him.” “What about that one guy I needed answers from?” “You didn’t say please.”

“I’ve known you longer.” “He leaves me sex traffickers.”

When a body comes up dead that shouldn’t have, your signatures blatantly displayed, they send him to bring you in. He doesn’t believe for a second you could kill a kid, but he’s the only one who can get close enough. Fury’s only half sure you won’t kill him.

You battle with the idea of running, knowing they’ll never find you if you don’t want them to. You saw the evidence; you knew you were screwed. Fury told you from the very beginning that if he ever sensed you had turned, he’d take you out. No warning, no questions. Still, you wait patiently in your living room.

The window by the fire escape opens and Steve slides through, tip toes his way in and around the corner only to find you sitting there, an amused smirk tugging your lips.

“What calf exercises do you do? They look fantastic.”

He rolls his eyes and catches site of the artwork around him, the soft whites and greys of your walls and furniture giving spotlight to their colors. He never even considered you could have a home. You follow his gaze and shrug. Assassins can have taste too.

“The diplomat’s son, did you kill him?” He asks. You watch him silently. “Fury thinks you did.”

You walk slowly towards him, watch him curiously and tilt your head. “And if I did?” You prompt.

“I have orders to bring you in.”

You’re a breath away now, gliding your fingers along the Kevlar of his arm and trailing your way to his jaw. You trace his collar with a fingertip, watch as the pulse of his jugular quickens. You look up at him and he swallows thickly.

“And if I don’t want to?” You graze tentative fingers along the edge of his jawline. “Tell me, Captain, would you kill me?”

He hopes the eagerness in your voice is misplaced, the envy misinterpreted. Or perhaps the girl who surrounds herself with death does it with the idea that it may one day take her.

You don’t give him the opportunity to dive into that rabbit hole.

When you place your lips on his, soft and remnant of something sweet, he can only taste the brilliance of life. He wraps himself around you, slips in his tongue when you’re startled by his sudden switch. You thought you’d leave him shaken enough to slip away, disappear with the rising sun.

But now? Now you’re just as hungry for him.

He carries you, lays you across your bed. He runs the pad of his thumb along every scar left behind by a blade, places a kiss on each one from a bullet. You knot you fingers in his hair as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh, scream his name when he brings you higher than you’ve ever been before.

When he slides into you and stretches you deliciously so, you allow yourself to feel just this once. He catches the shift in your eyes, convinces himself his mind is playing tricks on him when the grey haze appears to fade.

He moves slow before he finds his pace. You dig fingernails into his back and trail them down hard enough to make him hiss. He nips you from shoulder to jaw, hips rocking into you, and you swear nothing has ever felt this good.

You lay there in silence, sweat coated limbs still entangled. He sighs heavily and you just know he’s about to ruin the moment.

“Stay.” You whisper. He looks down at you wrapped around him. “I’ll go with you in the morning, just stay tonight.”

He tightens his grip on your bicep and nods. “Ok.”

You’re still awake when dawn breaks, you had gotten lost in the simple rhythm of his heartbeat. A dream that one day life could be even just an imitation of normal. The thought makes you sad more than anything else.

You slip from his arms, grab a bag, and pack the essentials. Watching him sleep, he seems so peaceful, so good. You ache to wake him and stick around long enough to fix this mess. He deserves that.

Could you do it? Forget your past and pretend to be anything other than the hollow shell those before carved you into?

Ah, but this was your MO. Slip away in the dark when things took a turn either way. ‘Flight risk’ has always been written on the back of your eyelids. You weren’t quite sure why you felt you owed Steve more, but you did.

He awakes to a bright sun and a cold spot beside him. There’s a torn piece of paper where your head should’ve been. He brushes his thumb over his name and opens it. It states your innocence and exactly who he should be looking for, where to find them. At the bottom is a separate line.

‘Careful, Captain, or I just might be your future.’

Three years later.

You grab the tiny umbrella in your drink to twirl the ice around again. Undoubtedly a nervous habit you picked up in response to the very crowded beach bar you’re currently sitting at.

It was an alert you received in the middle of the night notifying you of your cleared name a year ago. You can’t be sure how whoever it was reached you, but the screenname ‘Tiny Dancer’ gave you a few ideas.

In that moment, reading those last two words you’re free, something changed. Perhaps it was months of being on the run from people who you allowed to know you well enough to track you that left you felling so drained. 

Of course, you thought about the beautiful man you left behind first, knowing that there was no one in this world who would fight harder for your freedom. You wanted to go find him, you really did, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you felt different this time. Like maybe this was your chance to start over. A chance to live a life that had been stolen from you so long ago. 

The bartender, a lovely middle aged man who strictly wore floral button ups, watches you down the rest of your drink and is quick with the refill. You try to thank him, but he waves you off.

“Anything for my favorite customer.” 

You push your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Are we not friends by now?”

He barks out a laugh and leans forward against the bar in front of you. “Friends get invited to drink with me, which you do almost everyday. Family gets invited to the cookout. Which is Sunday, by the way. Show up early and bring an appetite.” He shoots you a playful wink before pushing off to help another customer. 

You lean your head back slightly to feel the warmth of the sun and tune into the sound of the crashing waves. It’s the lightest you think you may have ever felt with the sand sticking to your bare legs and salt water in your hair.

Nothing could interrupt this perfectly blissful moment. 

Well, almost nothing.

“Sand looks good on you.” A deep voice says beside you and you smile, face still tilted towards the sun.

“Took you longer than I thought.” You turn to Steve still smiling. “How long can you stay?”

He moves his sunglasses from his eyes to the top of his head and looks around for a moment taking in the view. When he turns back to you, the smile that breaks across his face almost stops your heart.

“As long as you’ll let me.”

[iwriteficsandmore]

In Search of Something Special

So tired. Have a test on thurs. But i was so overwhelmed that i needed a distraction. I let myself write blindly and this came out. Hope you guys enjoy and sorry about the spelling errors x3

It'd been a long time since anybody had you feeling like such a piece of trash. Not so much because you had done something petty or worth the hate, but more because of how they treated you. And after months of it, it was only natural that it had you down on the floor like a beaten pup. 

Years had gone by since you last had been on the dating scene. Not because of anything bad. You were just much more involved in your own life and career to bother. Now that you were back and after a handful of less than stellar outings, it was clear that nothing much had changed either.

"Chivalry is truly dead and gone." A long swig from the cold beer in your hand at least did something to lessen the sting.

"Well, someone's partying ahead of time."

Red feathers swaying downward in front of your face told you exactly who dared interrupt your pity party for one. You hang your head back and meet eyes with the Winged Hero who only hovers over you with his gaze turned down to meet yours. Any other day you would've been fine with seeing Hawks. You were fellow heroes who worked near and around the same area. And although he seldom needed any kind of help in his neck of the woods, he was always a ray of sunshine to have when in dangerous missions that seemed like too much of a hassle to do alone.

You were both around the same age give or take a few years, and though your reputations weren't near the same caliber, it was obvious from the first mission you had together that you two worked like a charm. 

If only other things worked just as smoothly.

Heaving a sigh, you lift the can of beer and share a weary half-smirk with him. "Hope you're keen of drowning in booze if you're looking to join."

That characteristic smirk of his disappeared and turned into a quizzical frown without a warning as he landed.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh nothin' much." God, you'd only had about half a pack and you were already losing yourself a bit there. Certainly the heartbreak didn't help. "Just mourning how I only seem to catch total pieces of shit with honey is all."

Those golden eyes of his narrowed as if trying to decipher your mess of a sentence before they widened. Hawks approached where you sat and had a seat beside—the narrow space of your condo's rooftop where no fence kept one away from the edge just wide enough for two.

"You went on another date?"

"Yep. And was met by none other than yet another piece of shit."

"What happened?"

You sniffled, the words stuck in your throat as if not wanting to come out due to shame. Relying on Hawks had become more of a constant in your life than you'd like to admit, and he knew this too. Over time it was easy to see that aside from being good coworkers you two considered each other good friends. It was easy to talk to one another and bitch about work or any particular thing when not out catching thugs. All that made it easier to talk to him about the more intimate side of your life and get an inside on how to get a good guy.

But half a year of trying to find somebody with no fucking luck whatsoever had you're hopes running dry that there truly was any good man out there for you. And it wasn't anything new that when things went south, he was the one to answer your calls in the middle of the night. The one that the next day would come with cheap but delicious take-out from the most obscure, small diner he knew and tubs of ice cream to share for dessert over over-the-top comedy movies.

Bad as it sounded, Hawks was your fail-safe. The one constant you could count on that would be there when you needed it. And you knew how fucking horrible that was because he deserved better than to be stuck with your sorry ass. 

Yet you couldn't help telling him. You couldn't break out of that cycle or from that security that he gave you.

By the time you finish telling him what happened, he's already through his third can. You already cracked open your seventh from another six-pack to have for yourself.

"You have the shittiest luck with guys I've ever seen," he says with a slight grimace.

"I wouldn't think it crazy that I was cursed as a baby or something to just die by my lonesome at this point. That would at least explain things."

Hawks leaned forward, his cheek pressing against his knee as he brought his foot to rest on the ledge. His enormous wings cradled the two of you, the tip of the one closest to you holding you back a bit by your hip. You had huffed about it halfway through your story but no matter how much you protested he said he wasn't about to leave an unbalanced drunkard unbuckled on the ledge of a roof. You hated how he babied you now. You were a hero, god damn it, you could take care of yourself just fine, drunk or not. Hawks wasn’t budging anytime soon though and you were too tired to protest much past the first minute or so.

You legs dangled over the edge and the way you swayed them underneath you had your total attention. "Is it really too much to ask for someone who’s not a complete ass? I really don’t want to live the rest of my life alone."

"Is that really so important" he asked.

For you it was.

You'd seen what a great life your parents had had over the years of a long marriage. Through hiccups, they had stayed together to work out their problems and had lived together through it all. They always said one could never live without the other and it was a promise they kept when not days after her mother died, her father followed suit.

That’s the day she learned that sadness was the deadliest kind of killer. And in her case, loneliness wasn’t that far behind. 

More than wanting to avoid being alone, you just wanted to share that kind of love with someone. 

"I never really wanted this life of glitz and glamour that came with being a hero," you admitted through your own thoughts. “But I worked for it because I thought it’d make me happy. It wasn’t until after my parents passed that I realized...sharing life with someone you love is the kind of life I've always wanted. Now that I know what I want all this just seems...hollow.”

“Well...you’ve got me.”

His nonchalant reply had you chuckling. “I don’t think you heard a word I just said.”

“I heard you,” he corrected. “And I meant what I said.”

A sudden heaviness hits you as you turned to face Hawks. He avoids eye contact with you as he lays down on the ice-cold concrete instead, the glare of the rooftop lights hiding his eyes behind his vizor. 

“Whether it’s as friends, or as something more than that, you’re always going to have me.”

Why does he sound so serious? The way he tilted his head to let the glare disperse and finally meet your eyes told you that he was serious. 

Your cheeks suddenly turn a dark color that you hope was hidden well enough in the dark of the night. 

Hawks? Chicken-brained Hawks? 

Now that there wasn’t a possibility that had ever crossed your mind before. At least not seriously. All you guys had ever been was good friends. Sure, the media was always asking if you two were an item from how often you were seen together in and out of work, and you always promptly shot the idea down as soon as it came up, but was there any real merit in it? 

Was there?

No, there couldn’t be. You were comfortable with him, yes, and you really appreciated him for all the times he was there for you, but it just didn’t feel like...being in love. 

At least not the way that you imagined it would be like. But words your father had once told you when you were but a young girl came to mind at searching for the meaning of what ‘being in love’ really was. 

“How did you know mama was the one, papa?”

“When I realized what having her near me felt like.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I suppose we can say it’s a very calming feeling. A very...warm one, too. And I’ve never felt more at peace with myself and who I am than when I’m with your mother. Loving her taught me that...love is truly our one and only peace on earth. And without her, I will never know peace again.”

Peace.  

That’s what your father experienced and what he called love. And...a part of you could tell that you already knew that peace. Feeling so at peace with yourself with another, so comfortable that it’s like you’ve known them all your life—yeah, that was definitely a feeling you were familiar with during long drawn-out movies nights and cheap take-out. 

At the realization, you can’t help but chuckle and wonder how long this dumb bird brain had been hiding this. Or maybe he hadn’t been hiding it at all and you were just too dense and caught up in your dumb search to notice. Still...if this was the path you wanted to go through, it would crumble down walls that had been build through years of your friendship. Walls that would not come back up intact if things didn’t work out if at all. The risk was there but you also knew that something like what your parents had—that kind of loving peace—was worth the risk. 

“You’re so full of yourself, you know that?”

Hawks chuckled. “I’ve been told worse.”

“By who?”

“You, of course. And all have been more than accurate, I’ll tell you,” he said with another chuckle. All those laughs though didn’t last before he became somber. “But I don’t mean to push you into anything; I was just tired of holding it in and watching you get hurt so many times. But if don’t want to, we can just forget what I said and go back to how things were. I won’t hold it against you. And I promise that nothing will change between us.” 

Before you can answer, Hawks stands from his seat. The wing that been caring for you the hold time brushes against your bare arm sending chills down your spine as it pulled you back from the edge ever so slightly. A single feather stays behind as he heads to the door back inside—a gesture of his that he always made a point of making without any words.

A way for you to call him if you needed him, no matter the time or place. 

You hold it by its quill and twirl the feather between your fingers. 

Peace. That’s what you wanted. Mine—no...ours.

Your hesitation lasts only a brief moment when you hear the door finally open and you speak out without thinking. Your voice is just above a whisper but it isn’t him you’re speaking to. Your lips brush against the single feather as you speak and you know that alone stops him in his tracks. 

“A date.” The feather moves ever so slightly and you know you have his attention. Flustered, you try to make an excuse but it ends up as lame as can be. “I mean, only if you’re okay with it! Like you said, I’m not trying to force you either and I don’t know if I’m emotionally ready for another one, but...but if it’s you...I don’t think...I’d mind.”

“How does take-out and a movie sound to you then?” 

His voice reverberates across the space that separates you and forces you to look back at him. Funny how you’ve never noticed how bright his smile could be, or maybe this is the first time you’ve ever seen him smiling like that.

That peace returns and is accompanied by a flutter in your stomach. The good kind. You twirl the feather around as it brushes against your lips every time making your cheeks warm with anticipation. 

“Perfect.”

[closetedotaku01]

can i rq for insecure s/o that have a beautiful body but she recently gained weight and kept overthinks it, but none of her friends are helping her out cause they think her body is nice and keeps taking her insecurities lightly.. for kuroo and oikawa pls

Imagine for Kuroo & Oikawa with insecure FEM S/O lacking a support system.

A/N: Wow I love this ask with my whole heart. Even chose two of my favorite characters. And may I just say these two might be the best in this situation, given that they’re captains, and aside from Bokuto captains are very aware of their teams and the general mental state and morale of every person on their team, so they might be the best people for this situation.

TW: Body image issues, self-esteem issues

Now: Imagine time!!! 

Kuroo Tetsurō

-Kuroo would notice you spending more time in the bathroom. More time picking out outfits. And your generally more disgruntled demeanor

-He can tell you’re unhappy, but he cannot tell what about. As far as he knows there’s nothing that’s happened. But he figures you’ll tell him in time whatever is bothering you.

-And then one day he’s out with you and your friends and one of them compliments your outfit and your body.

-He sees the way you immediately flush and reject the compliment. It’s not a humility thing or a simple deflection out of embarrassment, he can see you wholly and fully rejecting the compliment. You don’t even look like it made you feel good.

-He takes your hand in his and is about to ask you if everything’s okay when one of your friends whines about how pretty girls always fish for compliments

-He notices how your chuckle is feigned and your eyes look beyond hurt, watering a bit. How you squeeze his hand slightly.

-Your mutter out something he can’t quite make out over the sound of everyone else talking, but it’s something along the lines of you mentioning your weight gain. And it clicks for him.

-One of your friends talks about how you still look “fine” and he can’t take it anymore. You’re far from fine. As far from fine as it gets. You’re magnificent, an absolute treasure, and fuck them for not noticing that the most beautiful girl in the entire world is not happy

-Fuck them for not seeing it. Fuck them for hurting you. He is not having it.

- “I’m sorry everyone, we’re headed home now,” he says, already standing up and grabbing your purse to hand to you.

-You follow his lead solely because you’re scared if you don’t you might burst into tears in front of everyone and you don’t want to cause a scene.

- “Awww come on where’re you going? Why can’t you guys stay?”

- Kuroo doesn’t miss a beat, “I need some alone time with my gorgeous girlfriend.” He turns to you, speaking barely above a whisper, “You ready to go, love?”

-You nod at his gentle words and head back to your apartment together.

~~~~

When you enter your apartment, Kuroo immediately pulls you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to you, tucking his body into yours, head into your neck, arms wrapped tight around you.

The tears you’d been holding back fall freely from your eyes and into his shirt, “I’m sorry, Tetsu I--”

He pushes you back, holding your shoulder at an arm’s length, “What are you apologizing for, love? You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.” You can’t meet his eyes, forcing yourself to stare down at the visible extra weight you’ve put on.

“For… not looking like the girl you fell in love with,” it’s all you can say before the sobs start pouring out. Hating your body. Hating yourself. Hating yourself for putting the most caring man you’ve ever known through this with you. 

The sobs tear through your body leaving an aching wreckage in your chest and your stomach and your back and your throat. There’s nothing left undamaged. Every bit of you is in so much pain and is shaking, like the pain you’ve been feeling finally exploded and is trying to escape by any means it can, fighting to escape even through your shaking fingertips. 

Kuroo puts his hand to one cheek and wipes the tears on that side, he bends down so his face is in front of yours, “Look at me.” His voice is soft and comforting filled with the love, care, and respect you had grown used to, but these words were packed full of them. Even when you knew you didn’t deserve all the affection.

He inhales deeply, “Deep breath in through your nose,” he exhales softly, smiling with his eyes as he blows lightly on your tears sending coolness into your burning cheeks, “And out through your mouth.”

You copy him as he repeats this until your breathing steadies. Until your heart has stopped slamming against your chest. Until the pain in your body is reduced to a dull ache.

Your eyes are still on his, and he’s looking at you with passionate love and fierce compassion, “There she is. There’s my beautiful girlfriend,” he says with a shy smile.

“I’m not---” a sob threatens to reappear, but you catch it in your throat.

“Love, you are beyond gorgeous. Your body is so sexy and still so adorable and pretty. I don’t know how you do it,” he kisses the crown of your head, “you mean the world to me,” a kiss to your forehead, “and if you call my world anything less than a goddess, anything less than perfection,” he kisses both of your eyelids and the tip of your nose in quick succession, “I will have to fight you.” He punctuates his sentence by planting a kiss on your lips.

“Tetsu, just because you’re my boyfriend, doesn’t mean you have to lie to me. It actually means you shouldn’t lie to me. And I know I don’t look good like this.”

His shoulders fall. And he has a sad expression on his face, but his eyes are still happy and you can see the smile tugging on his lips as he looks down, “Oh I get it,” he takes a long pause, “you think I have bad taste.”

You hit his arm playfully, “Tetsu, I’m serious!”

“So am I!” he shoots back, chuckling lightly.

“Okay, love, I know you don’t believe me. But you are seriously gorgeous. Completely, out of this world gorgeous. Beyond any person, place, or thing I have ever seen. The whole cosmos comes together to make the Earth and everything in it and around it, and the only part of any of it that’s worth seeing is you.”

His words feel raw and sincere, but you’re about to reject his kindness when he says the words you’ve been waiting for, “But you don’t see yourself that way. And that means you’re wrong…. But you do deserve to feel as beautiful as you are. And to feel as happy as you always make me. So if you want to come with me on my runs or if you want me to help you with anything let me know. I think you’re gorgeous but more than anything you deserve to be happy with how you look. So I’ll be right there by your side to get you there safely and healthily.”

You start to tear up again, your chest welling with love for the man before you. You collapse into his hold, and he holds you tight. He pulls away slightly to get a look at your face, “On one condition.”

You nod.

“I disagree, but I still believe that you don’t see yourself as beautiful. So even if you disagree ... can you please believe me when I say I know you’re absolutely bewitching.”

You nod again, and he pulls you in close to his body, happy to have brought you peace. 

Oikawa Tōru

-It wasn’t intended to wound you. In full honesty, it wasn’t intended for you. But you’d heard it nonetheless and it was roaring through your mind.

- “Pretty people never date down.”

-You’d heard in passing as you walked down the street. But the words bounced around, rattling everything in your mind.

-You never thought of yourself as particularly pretty, but you’d certainly done yourself no favors by putting on a healthy amount of “relationship weight”.

-You tried going to your friends, desperately craving some semblance of comfort or hope for your relationship with THE universally recognized pretty boy Oikawa Tōru.

-They shot back sarcastic comments about your “pretty girl problems”

- “Former pretty girl problems" was the only thing your brain could shoot back, determined to push you into a hole with the crushing anxieties you had about your body now doubled up with losing the person you loved and trusted most in your life.

-You walked into your apartment, your boyfriend on his laptop watching and rewatching one of his games, taking notes on his performance as well as the performance of each of his peers.

~~~~

“Hey baby how was your day?” his words are unfocused. Almost like he’s reading from a script as he jots down more notes and rewinds to rewatch the same play again.

“Terrible,” you say, honestly believing he’d be too caught up in his game to care. Who’d care for the ugly girl they were stuck with anyway? He probably stuck with you out of sheer pity.

He immediately paused the game and turned back to face you, “Aww no, what happened, baby? Come here.” his arms were open wide for you on the couch. 

“You know you can leave,” you said before you could think better of it. You regretted it. You didn’t want him to know that. You selfishly wanted him to stay with you forever, even if only out of pity. But… he did deserve better.

“What?” he asks quirking a brow, aware of how serious you sound, “I don’t want to… leave. Do you just need some alone time, Y/N? I can go on a run or something if you need some time to clear your head.”

“I meant ... leave me,” you say, your voice weaker and higher this time as tears that you hadn’t even felt forming started blurring your vision threatening to spill any moment.

He was in front of you in a heartbeat, “I’m sorry. I’ve been focusing too much on other things, haven’t I? I promise I don’t wan--”

“No the problem is you’re focusing too much on me!” your voice comes out as a yell and you see the half-step he takes, backing away from you, “you deserve better Tōru. You should want to leave.” With that, the tears spill over and your legs give in as you fall pathetically to the ground.

This moment is the very reason he should leave. You can’t even hold yourself together. You’re not pretty, you’re not strong, you’ve yelled at him when he’s done nothing wrong… you hardly deserve him.

You feel his hand meet your cheek and you flinch slightly at the contact, but neither of you move. His hand drifts down to your chin, lifting your face up so your eyes meet his. Your anger and sadness triple down on you when you see he’s got a fake smile on, his eyes rimmed red, tears forming because of you.

“I love you. I am not leaving you. Full stop. So please tell me what’s bothering you, baby.”

You want to ignore him. You want to grab your things and leave so he can get started on finding a better match so he wasn’t stuck dating down. With his body and mind and humor and kindness, he’d have no trouble. He had a million fans on standby at any given moment anyway.

But you don’t. You don’t pack. You don’t leave. You instead, pull his body into yours, desperately clutching his shirt with whitened knuckles, sobbing into him. 

With time you let his strong arms bring you peace. With your body molded tight against his, you eventually match his breathing, steadying yourself. His smell grounds you, the feeling of his hand in your hair calms you, and the soft, gentle praises he coos into your ear center you. Effectively, he slays every intrusive thought in your mind.

“You’re so perfect for me.”

“I never want to leave you.”

“You’ve made me the man I am today. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“I know the path to being my best self, is a path I’ll only be able to walk with you by my side.”

“You’re my whole world, baby. Please stop discounting yourself.”

“I wouldn’t change one thing about you, baby. Not even your stupid jokes. Not even the way you tease me.”

“I love your mind and the way you think. How kind and passionate you are. How you support me through everything. How you take such good care of me and everyone you love. God, I love the way you love. I love how wholly and completely you give love. And I love your body, baby. I love how pretty your face is, how perfectly your body fits with mine, how completely, mind-blowingly sexy you are. All of you. There’s not one part of you I am not head over heels in love with. We’re an absolute knockout of a couple, but you are by far the better half. Baby, please believe that because it is the truth.”

Every word is woven between kisses and touches and the easing of your whole body and mind. There was no way these words were planned. They were genuine. You could hear the authenticity in his voice, even though the unpleasant raspiness that had formed as he desperately tried to hold back his own tears. He had you whipped. Completely convinced.

You belonged here right in his arms. Right up next to him. As close as the world would allow any two people to get.

After you’d calmed down completely he asked without looking at you so he could keep you close, “What happened?”

You told him everything. The words you heard. How they beat around in your head, leaving a cold thunderous ache throughout your body. How your support system had failed you. How he had saved you from the treacherous thoughts that were certain to continue sending you spiraling downward if he hadn’t fixed everything simply by being him. And how much you treasure him.

He let out a breathy laugh, that soon grew into a full-on laugh as the tears finally left his eyes.

“It’s not funny Tōru!” you pout, basking in the sweet sound of his deep laughter.

“I know,” he says, still laughing. He clears his throat and does his best to stifle down the laughter, but it keeps bubbling up, “I know, baby. I know. But you know how I feel and you know that’s not going to change.”

“Then why are you laughing,” you ask, giggling as you wipe the last of your tears from your face and wipe the ones from his. 

“All I can think of,” the laughter breaks through his sentence, but he regains his composure, “is that you think I’m the prettier one.”

You hit his arm as you two laugh on the floor behind the couch, perfectly at ease with the man who you adore, and who adores you.

~~~~

Also just a reminder: Weight =/= beauty. So whether you are plus-sized, or thin, curvy, or flat, your body is perfect as it is. Just please stay healthy and happy and that’s all it takes. “Fat” does not mean ugly. “Skinny” does not mean ugly. Please stop associating these words. They’re not the same.

Beauty is your kindness and your compassion and your integrity. Your will to fight another day, your will to stand up for others, your will to give voice to the voiceless. It’s the way you look when you’re passionate and the way you constantly bring joy to others. So while I personally do understand associating my worth and my beauty with my weight, we all know that it’s just incorrect. Beauty does not fall into any physical mold, so please don’t try to hold yourself to a mold that was created by people who profit off your insecurity. You are you, and that is a goddamn blessing. You are you and that is more than enough. Your body is perfect. Please be kind.