#I’ll always be the first to say that Din is a good man. but being good is a conscious choice.

[corellianhounds]

The opening sequence of Season 2 of The Mandalorian is still one of my favorite things to come out of recent modern storytelling

[testrella]

CRAZY RICH ASIANS..! G. SATORU X READER

𝜗𝜚 | CHAPTER FOUR : tutoring.

NEXT… CHAPTER FIVE : accidental kiss.

you sat at the grand dining table, chandelier dimming the area hanged above you and textbooks of different curriculum surrounded you. you were diligently working through difficult math questions with megumi, breaking down each problem step by step. the room filled with flashy decor and high ceilings only further echoed your explanations.

“alright megumi, for this one i want you to do it on your own. if you get stuck, look back at the previous problems we worked on.” you said in a patient and encouraging voice.

just as megumi was about to start to solve the problem before him, the one and only satoru burst through the custom wooden doors with a mischievous grin on his face. “good evening miss.l/n, megumi. how’s the tutoring session going?”

megumi sighed, clearly in annoyance and frustration. “it was going well until now.”

you warmly smiled at satoru. “it’s going well mr.gojo. megumi doesn’t seem to be having any trouble with his studies at all.”

satoru leaned casually on the back of a dinning chair, his eyes twinkling in excitement. “please, call me satoru. there’s no need for you to be so formal.” he then glances at the textbooks, “math, huh? i always found it interesting how numbers can just..add up. almost like how we keep running into each other.”

you chuckled at his light joke, “it’s quite the coincidence, isn’t it?” you asked while turning to megumi, giving him your full attention.

megumi could only roll his eyes and mutter, “more like the world’s way of conspiring against me..”

satoru quickly ignored megumi’s comment and continued, “so, miss.l/n, do you enjoy teaching? you must be very passionate about it if you’re able to put up with this brat.” satoru playfully ruffles megumi’s hair but his hand was quickly slapped away.

“teaching definitely wasn’t my first nor second choice but i’ve grown to love it.” you replied, “seeing bright students like megumi and being able to push them to be the greatest is rewarding.”

satoru’s goofy grin only widen. “you know, you have a way of talking that’s just so captivating. your students are lucky to hear you speak everyday.”

a light blush spreads across your face, from your ears to the tip of your nose. “thank you satoru, that’s very kind of you to say.” som would find it odd calling him by his first name but it came out so casually it made his heart flutter.

megumi groaned in annoyance, loud enough to snap the eye contact between you and his guardian. “can we please get back to the math problem?” he clearly has grown uncomfortable with the tension in the room.

but satoru couldn’t let some lousy kid ruin his shot, he was just on a roll! “of course, of course i’ll let you go after one more question.” he said while glancing back at megumi and then setting his eyes on you once again. “what do you do in your free time when you’re not inspiring the kids of our future? maybe we could find some common interest.”

before you could answer, the heavy double doors of the dinning room swing open once again. it was satoru’s mother, an intimidating figure with a very stern expression. her eyes quickly examined the scene before her, narrowing her eyes on you.

“satoru, what is this?” she demanded. “who and why is this woman tutoring megumi?”

satoru quickly shifted his demeanor. going from a playful, flirtatious puppy to a presentable young man. “mother, this is miss.y/n l/n. she’s megumi’s teacher and tutor. an excellent tutor i should add.”

his mother’s lips thinned as she continued to examine what seemed to be every feature of yours. her lips soon turned into a disapprovement line. “i was not aware we were seeking…employment from the outside world. especially from someone who looks..well inexperience.”

your face flushed in embarrassment, feeling like you entered uncharted territory. but you stood up and bowed out of respect, maintaining your composure. “mrs.gojo, i can assure you that i am very much qualified to tutor megumi. i’ve studied in-“

“qualifications on paper mean little. experience and dynasty is what matters when it comes to our family. megumi is like a grandson to me, and he deserves only the best our family can provide. surely my son didn’t cheap out on you, did he megumi?” her icy gaze turned into a warming, innocent expression as she turned to megumi.

“mother, that’s enough. miss.l/n is more than qualified to tutor megumi. after all, she’s the reason he hasn’t been expelled from his academy.” satoru said as he stepped forward in your defense.

but being the stubborn woman she was, she wasn’t going to let it down without a fight. “satoru, i will not let our family’s name be tarnished from subpar tutoring. you could’ve asked me to arrange a private tutor for him. this is unacceptable.” she whispered to him, quiet enough to keep megumi out of it but loud enough to bring you down.

being clearly hurt, you began to gather all your things. “i completely understand, mrs.gojo. i apologize for the inconvenience and if i caused any offense.”

satoru’s eyes flashed with saddens as he turned around to see you leave. “miss.l/n, please, you don’t need to leave. you’re more than capable of educating megumi. please, have a seat.” he said while pulling your chair out.

his mother’s gazed shifted to satoru, her expression hardening. “satoru, you may be the head of this family but i still have a say in what’s best for this family.”

tears began to form in your eyes, was your presence truly a burden to the family?

satoru took a deep breathe, desperately trying to remain calm in front of you. had it been any other person, he would’ve listened to his mother in a heartbeat. “miss.l/n, i’m very sorry for my mothers behavior. your help is appreciated, and i know how much your deeply care for megumi. please, continuing tutoring him if you’re willing to.”

you hesitated to answer, your eyes flickering between satoru and his mother. “i appreciate your efforts but i don’t want to cause any more trouble.” you whispered.

“you’re not causing any trouble,” satoru said while gently grabbing your items and placing them down on the table. “my mother is. this is my home and you’re more than welcomed to stay.”

with his persistence, you felt comfortable to sit back down in your seat. you nodded in agreement to stay, avoiding his mother’s sharpening glare.

he turns to his mother, “we can continue this conversation in my office, away from megumi and my guest.” he spat out.

his mother eyes only blazed with anger as she stomped out the room. as her heels clacking slowly faded away you let go a breath you were unaware you were holding in.

“i’m really sorry about that. she’s..a difficult person, to say the least. it’s her away or the highway type of person.” he smiled apologetically.

you attempted to reciprocate the same smile but you were still a bit shaken up by the interaction. “it’s okay satoru, i’m glad you stuck up for me.”

megumi let out a sigh of relief, “so, does that mean you’ll continue to be my teacher and my tutor?”

you could only chuckle as his concern comment unintentionally lightened the mood. “of course i will, megumi! now let’s get back to that math problem.”

satoru took a deep breath as he approached his home office. he knew what- or who awaited him before the wooden doors. he braced himself for the confrontation. the heavy doors creaked, revealing his mother sitting in his high black leather chair, her posture being straighter than paper.

“mother,” satoru greeted but not in his chirpy tone like he would use with you or megumi. it was natural with not emotion behind it.

“satoru,” she replied, it was more viscous and icy. “we need to talk.”

he closed the doors behind him and walked over to his desk, leaning against it while placing both hands on it. his demeanor is in all seriousness, a rare sight to see. “i already know what you’re going to say, and i’m telling you right now- miss.l/n stays.”

her eyes narrowed, “is her qualifications that impressive, or is there something more to your interest in her?”

satoru immediately backs off the desk and avoids her gaze. “miss.l/n is an excellent teacher. like i said before, she vouched for megumi when he was near expulsion. she cares for his education and future, there’s nothing more to it,” he expressed.

his mother stood up from his chair and clasped her hands. “very well, i’ll drop the matter for now. but there’s another issue we must discuss- your status as a single man.”

satoru’s brows furrowed in confusion. “what about it?”

“you are the head of the gojo family,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “it’s time you start fulfilling your responsibilities as the leader. you need to find a suitable spouse and provide a worthy successor.”

he sighed, running his hands through his white hair. “well i’m aware of my responsibilities, mother. but i don’t see why we need to rush any of this.”

“because you’re nearing thirty, and it’s past time you start settling down. if you don’t find a worthy partner before your cousin’s wedding, i’ll take matters into my own hands and find one for you.”

satoru’s stomach turned into knots knowing his cousin’s wedding was less than a year away. his jaw clenched before he spoke up, “by a ‘worthy partner’ you mean somebody who fits your exact standards?”

“precisely!” she said while giving him a small peck on his cheek. “someone who comes from a prestigious and noble background, with proper upbringing and connections that could further benefit our clan.”

satoru exhaled sharply before speaking his mind. “and what if i want to marry somebody who doesn’t fit the standard? what if i want to chose for myself?”

his mother laughs. she laughs in front of his face for asking such a silly question. it takes her a good minute before she calms herself down. “your personal desires are to be put aside. you will do what’s best for the family.”

he could only stare at his mother. “and what if what’s best for the family doesn’t come from a prestigious background? what if it’s someone genuine and cares about me?”

her voice was steely. “then she’ll spend everyday to make herself into something she’s not. go ahead and bring some commoner into this family.”

the tension was thick. satoru felt his mother’s words pierced through his chest and mentally suffocated. it hurt because she was right, she was always right.

“you may think you have a choice,” she whispered, “but remember your decisions affect more than yourself.”

she quietly excuses herself out the office, leaving him in a mental battle of doubt. the weight of his family’s expectations were catching up to him and started to drag him down to the depths of hell. he sat down as he ran his hands through his hair. it would mean nothing to bring a regular girl into his clan other than to prove his point. but he couldn’t help to think about you and the rare moments of genuine connection he felt around you. his breathing slowed down and his nervous fidgeting stopped. maybe, just maybe, there was a way he could follow a path that’ll satisfy both him and his clan.

series masterlist | my masterlist

tag list is open. please inbox me your username. also, i’d like to apologize for such a late and short chapter. testifying in court takes longer than you think ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) 

tag list: @roscpctals99 @poeticlovefanpage @mistyheart @sureconfused @chilichopsticks @lightshowerrr @faeryminnyx @0001010dog @myabae @nivi @therealestpussyeater @kolpvii @sleepykittycx @browrm @tojisworm-5 @universallystrangeravenue @catobsessedlady @shivzypuff @nico707 @invisible-mori @peqch-pie @dilflover-3 @lovelivelaygh1324 @moOsin @gojoracle @foliea @honoredalone @goldenglow149 @portgas459ace @misorastars @hyori2 @selysixn @silkija @prettylvne @r0ckst4rjk @ritsatoru @starlostwish @yihona-san06 @zoeyflower @mx-mekla @iaminyourfloors @gabi-moureira @thesharkcollector @misorastars @hyori2 @selysixn @miffysoo @lordbugs @mimidonottouch @moonlightazriel @bubybubsters @manyno @rixyaaaa

[aestheteangel]

Synastry aspects that I personally don’t like.

before i start please read that I am not an official astrologer so take this with a grain of saltttt too haha. Just for fun.

North node square north node ( I’m sorry but each one lives in a whole different worlds, completely different perspectives, mindset, somehow not letting each other move to the next step)

Chiron in 7th house overlay. ( now Chiron isn’t always bad, but there’s kind of.. pain it gives , it’s not any better in other houses, but I’m saying romantically, there could be hurt during the marriage... if you want Chiron overlays in synastry please lmk)

Pluto/Uranus in 12th house overlay. ( now Mose of y’all know 12th house overlays arent so good eventually, but i think Pluto or Uranus being there could be harsher than any other planet , could indicate so many things, one of them unpleasant endings in the relationship, finding truth about something suddenly, betrayal..in worst cases you won’t be able to forget each other )

Saturn 8th house overlay. (Sure y’all know why..)

Mars conjuct Mc/10th house. ( uhhhh it just don’t give me nice vibes when both are seen in public eye. Could be arguing in public a lot, the mars person makes it hard for the 10th person to forgive them. Works even in composite chart )

Mercury square Saturn. ( a lot of judgements and misunderstandings)

Chiron opposite asc/Venus.

Saturn opposite Neptune. (Broo)

Moon opposite moon. (Now tbh Im not really sure of this one since nobody complained about it and it could indicate “slight” emotional understanding difficulties with each other that can also cause attraction. But I’ve seen this aspect with some couple that really can’t stop hurting eachothers emotionally . )

Another moon aspect, ofc moon is the first thing you should observe In synastry s, it simply represents how each other’s emotions play with the other. now moon square moon. Obviously most of y’all know why, literally each one is on different page when it comes to how they view emotions which makes it pretty hard to understand each other’s feelings with the square aspect. ( believe it or no I have this one with my man, even knowing it I’m still with him lol. yes the attraction is definitely there due to other loving aspects and also with this one, it gives attractive energy yes. but still, he don’t understand my emotions and my point of view, struggles with analyzing me sometimes or what I even think , even when I try my best to throw him an obvious sign about something, without me speaking, he don’t get it where everyone else does same goes for me 🤣😭. he sometimes thinks I mean something the opposite of what I meant. Bottom line is with this aspect you need to speak each other’s feelings and what you want to tell the other cause it’s way too impossible to understand eachother with no words spoken. 😓 AAAA THIS IS THE ONLY STRUGGLING PLACEMENT WE HAVE AND ITS NOT EVEN A SIMPLE ONE)

Mars in 5th house, ( Now this is NOT a red flag, bUTTTT i always read about this placement represents a “not lasting relationship “ and tbh every fling I had I had this placement with, literallyyyy very guy I used to dm or talk to even for a couple of days, attraction at first but then boom, you din yourself not talking to them anymore for god knows what reason lol, so there’s something interesting about this placement. 🤔🤣 ( pink for flings 🤣)

Mars 1st house.... ( uhh you know what? Wait for part 2 😛 )

But before part 2 I’ll make my next post positive I promise, I didn’t even want to write red flags placements because it shouldnt be taken seriously haha. So next post will be about .. hmm wait , what you guys want it to be about?

Synastry observations

Natal chart observations

composite observations

Solar return observations

— Y’all literally if u find one of these placements in your synastrys it’s totally okay lol, I have multiple of these w my man and tbh some of them don’t really play this negative way for us, but i just did them for fun , ofc don’t take these TOO seriously 🥰

[popcornforone]

Saftey

A Din Djarin Fic

Day 23 of Pedrotober

Masterlist

So yesterday was quiet a lot wasn’t it. Marcus being Naughty in my fic, then the Gladiator drop & that photo shoot. We were fed. It had always been my intention after that story to do a small soft one, but this one is now even more needed.

Synopsis:- You try to reassure Grogu in moments of desperation.

Word Count:- 750

Warnings over & above:- trauma, life & death situation, survival, but it is mainly soft & sweet this.

Thanks for the read peoples. I am overwhelmed with love when you share these & like them it means the world. It’s giving me confidence to write the book. So thanks & thanks to @norththelemon & @alyssamariag for creating the prompt list.

You hold onto Grogu for your life & his. He’s petrified. This Tatooine sand storm is the worst for 300 years. You’re only supposed to be here for 3 days on a reconnaissance mission to monitor a few weird activities, while the Razor Crest is repaired. Din has gone to go & claim a bounty while you do some work for the locals. He asked you to look after Grogu, Grogu was hesitant at first clinging to his dad but then he saw you pack some biscuits & dried frogs & suddenly he was your new best friend, eager to come with you. You set up camp for what you thought was just going to be short over night.

But then the stand storm came in & youve Been out in the desert for 5 days now. You have enough food but supplies to last about 2 more days as you always over pack but after that you are in trouble. You’re not even sure you can venture outside afraid opening the tent door might cause sand to flood it & suffocate you both. The last thing you want Grogu to see is you struggling.

Grogu hasn’t slept at all in those 5 days & you cling to him, trying to rock him to sleep as the wind howls outside & the tent is battered by sand. A noise you will never forget. The smell inside the tent now fowl.

“It’s okay kid, I got you, Din is coming to find us I promise” he coes. At least one of you believed the lie you’d just made up. Grogu gargles & you keep him tight & whisper to him. “I’ll never let you go kid, it’s going to be okay”.

Has it been a week, day or hour? You are not sure. But the second you hear a swosh noise, you know what it is. An ominous black glow you can half see. Swipe swipe. You clutch to Grogu to keep him safe. You hiss after seeing light as the tent is sliced open. There in the blistering heat & light shines a man of silver (technically beskar) wielding his dark saber.

“Peli, I found them” you smile & feel Grogu wiggle for freedom but you keep him close, not sure if you are both dreaming this or not. As your eyes close & you feel yourself fading you hear Din say. “Don’t go now, stay awake, I thought I’d lost you both once already”.

Eventually you come around & slowly return to normal. You sit in Pelis work shop for a few hours after you’ve showered & cleaned up & Din & Peli have looked after Grogu. He didn’t want to let go of you for a good hour. He saw you as safety now. This upset Din a lot. Grogu was his ward, but the connection youd created soothing him to tell him you’d be safe, had lasting input. Din looks at you with affection, not that you can see it the helmet is staying on but you can also feel it, you protected his world. He has bathed Grogu & wrapped him in a fluffy towel. He walks across as you sip your hot drink & he sighs.

“Here” he says & outstretched his arms & you take the swaddled creature & rub him. He starts gargling & coeing, touching you as you hold him. “Thank you” Din says.

“You shouldn’t thank me Din, I should have seen the storm coming” you shake your head & rock grogu. “& I will always be eternally greatful & thankful that you came to save us”

“Couldn’t leave my clan behind could I” his gloved finger traces across your chin. You sigh. His touch even when he’s covered sends chills down your spine.

“Din”

“Shhh” he rests his helmet against your forehead. The cold beskar making you shiver but also is a comfort. “I want to make this all up to you.” He whispers through his modulator”

“How?”

“Well how about when we get back to the ship & Grogu is asleep, I remind you exactly what you mean to me”

“Oooh” you sound a little disappointed. As much as you will get kisses from Din it will

Be in complete darkness or you will be blindfolded as he makes love to you.

“Don’t look sad baby” he says & lifts the bottom of his helmet to kiss your cheek. “I think you’ve earnt a night with the lights on…”

[colormepurplex2]

As Fate Would Have It | 'Kismet' My Ass

↳ Producer!Yoongi x Bartender&TattooApprentice!Jungkook ⤜ Reincarnation/Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,490 ⚠️ Crass language, drinking, smoking, vaginal sex, anal sex (mm)

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

Jungkook

If it weren’t for the lack of being paid during his apprenticeship at Electric Fox Tattoo, Jungkook wouldn’t be working the bar at Chuck’s. But, as it is, the lights don’t stay on with hopes and dreams. He’s nearing the two-year mark of his apprenticeship and is hopeful he won’t need to sling drinks for much longer.

Tattooing isn’t Jungkook’s first love, but it’s the one he chose to pursue. Maybe, once upon a time, he tried following his dreams, but it always felt like something was missing. So, instead of trying to fulfill some unobtainable fantasy, he turned his sights elsewhere…something much more tangible.

“Whatcha dreamin’ ‘bout, sugar?” Jocelyn’s throaty voice snaps Jungkook out of his fugue and back to the raucous din of the pub. Jocelyn laughs, the sound all gravel and sex. “Hope it was me.” She winks at him before grabbing his hips as she slides around him to the other side of the bar.

Jungkook clears his throat and directs his attention to the man waiting patiently on the other side of the bartop, a polite smile on his face. “I’d be dreaming about her, too.” The man chuckles. “And maybe you,” he adds with a wink. “I just need another round of beers and a bottle of soju, please. Can you add it to the tab for our party?”

It’s not uncommon for large groups to gather for one occasion or another at Chuck’s. After all, it is the best place to get cheap drinks in large quantities. Jungkook glances over the man’s shoulder, accessing the room and his mental catalog of party tabs that are going on tonight.

There are only two groups this evening, though, one a bachelorette party and the other a birthday, he thinks. “The birthday party, right?”

“That’s the one!” The man flashes Jungkook a broad smile, deep dimples popping in his cheeks. “Not every day your best friend turns thirty.”

“Yeah, guess not,” Jungkook says. “It’ll be just a moment.” He moves to begin pouring a set of glasses with the beer on tap. It’s a new blend, some sort of IPA hybrid, he believes. Heard it was good, but he’s yet to try it himself.

“Thanks, man!” the guy says. He tries to gather as many glasses as he can but is short on grabbing the last few and the bottle of soju. “Um, would I be able to get a hand? If you’re not too busy.”

Jungkook looks at the handful of patrons waiting and is about to apologize to the guy when Jocelyn steps up beside him and pats him on the arm. “You take care of it, sugar. I’ll be fine servin’ these handsome gentlemen,” she tells Jungkook. However, her attention is sweeping across the men standing along the bar, the words intentionally smoky and full of dripping sweetness.

Jocelyn is all charm and Jungkook is confident she could flirt the pants off a priest if she wanted. “Thanks, Jo,” Jungkook mutters, leaving her to pander and flirt her way to hefty tips from the guys waiting to order. With her luscious, umber skin and mischief-filled light brown eyes sitting atop the tight leather mini skirt and purple lace corset she has on, he’s sure she won’t have any problems doing so.

Grabbing the extra cups of beer and the bottle of soju, Jungkook uses his hip to pop open the access door hidden in the bartop. It clicks shut behind him, and he follows the man towards a cluster of partygoers waiting on the other side of the bar.

A tingling sensation slices across the back of Jungkook’s neck, making him roll his head back to try and itch it away. It lasts only a moment, the movement of his head helping to dispel the sudden sensation, though it lingers like a phantom, sending chills over Jungkook’s arms. He tries to shake it off, putting his attention back on the man he’s following.

“I’m not getting drinks on my own next time,” the man proclaims, breaking through the conversation hanging around the table. “Had to borrow one of the bartenders. Everyone say ‘thank you’!”

A loud round of gratitudes greet Jungkook as he hands off the drinks, setting the bottle of soju off on the table once the glasses have all been taken. “It’s no problem, guys. Enjoy.”

As Jungkook turns to head back to the bar, his eyes catch on the man sitting quietly at the far side of the table. Deep brown eyes meet his through a fringe of black waves. There is something about the man that—

A hand clapping on his shoulder breaks his line of thinking and pulls him around. His gaze shifts to the owner of the hand, the man he helped.

“Thanks again, truly.”

“Sure thing.” He continues to turn back to the bar but something seeping into his periphery has him slowing his retreat. A deep, dark green tinge, the color of fresh cypress needles, bleeds in around the edges of his vision. No matter where he looks, he can’t focus on the source. “Fuck,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Maybe I’m finally going crazy.”

Jocelyn has cleared the queue around the bar and a lull settles in as Jungkook pushes back through the divider. Long lacquered nails drag along his tattooed forearm as Jo gains his attention. “You okay, sugar? Why don’t you take another fifteen? Things are slow here, and you look like you could use it.”

Jungkook blows out a quick breath. “Sure, yeah. But, you yell if you need me, okay? I’ll just be out back.”

“Let me need you later, and we’ll call it even.” She bites her thick bottom lip and winks at him.

Despite the weird feeling he’s experiencing, Jungkook can’t help but smile at her antics. They’ve been fooling around for months now, and maybe that’s just the thing he needs tonight to get his head straight.

Jungkook isn’t even sure what’s wrong. He just suddenly started to feel out of sorts. Thankfully, the green hue has dissipated, and that tingling on the back of his neck is gone. With a heavy sigh, he pushes through the door that leads to the kitchen just as a rowdy, out-of-tune chorus begins behind him.

💞💞💞

Yoongi

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday, dear Yoongi, Happy Birthday to you!” The singing fades, replaced by jovial whoops and a chaotic round of applause that draws most of the eyes in the pub to the table Yoongi is sitting at with his friends.

“Okay, okay,” Yoongi says, holding his hands up in front of himself. “That’s enough. Thank you, guys.”

His friends settle down, giving him good-natured claps on the back and holding up their amber-liquid-filled glasses in cheers and salutes. Yoongi plasters what he hopes is a genuine smile on his face as he holds up his own beer in salute before taking a small sip.

As far as birthdays go, this one is apparently supposed to be special. Though, Yoongi doesn’t quite understand what all the fuss is about. He doesn’t feel any different. He might as well still be twenty-nine for all the difference a year has made.

Yoongi is certain that he could have spent today, like any other day, at home, and it would have been just fine. But Namjoon insisted they go out to celebrate. Yoongi doesn’t mind, he really does love his friends. He likes to think they help keep him balanced with their extrovert natures.

“How’s that new track coming along?” Hoseok asks before flagging down a passing waitress. “Can we get another order of wings from the kitchen, please?”

“Damn, I knew I forgot something,” Namjoon adds, giving Hoseok an apologetic smile. “I think I was distracted by the eye candy behind the bar.” The whole table titters with laughter and low whistles.

“I can ask for her number for you if you want.” The waitress smirks, jutting her chin in the direction of where the scantily clad bartender is slinging drinks behind the oak bar top.

Namjoon drops an elbow on the table and rests his chin on his upturned palm, eyeing the waitress with open amusement. “As beautiful as she is, she’s not exactly the one I was talking about.”

That earns him a giggle from the waitress. “Hmm. Well, I’ll go put this order in, and if you need anything else, his name is Jungkook, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help you…” she trails off, her top teeth scraping over her bottom lip.

More laughter fills the space around the table as she saunters away. Yoongi sighs, trying not to groan aloud as he shifts on the hard surface of his seat. He’s used to his friends' antics, but for some reason, hearing Namjoon talk so boldly about the attractive male bartender has a surprising amount of jealousy coursing through him.

Which is completely absurd but doesn’t change the fact that as soon as Yoongi laid eyes on the man when he approached with the drinks and soju, Yoongi felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs and that the world was closing in on him; tinged in green and licking heat across the nape of his neck. The sensation lasted only a moment, but the jealousy that swept through him from seeing the man so close to Namjoon lingered.

“Sorry about that,” Hoseok says, leaning in toward Yoongi. “I was asking about your latest track. How’s that going?”

Yoongi presses his lips into a thin line, trying to concentrate on his friend. He gratefully accepts the small measure of soju that Seokjin pours for him, throwing back the shot and finishing off his beer in quick succession. Hoseok waits patiently, and Yoongi can feel his friend's eyes flicking over his face as he does so.

Finally, unable to stall any longer, Yoongi opens his mouth to speak. Only for the thick, bitter taste of cigar smoke to get lodged in his throat and choke him up. Namjoon reaches over and slaps him on the back a few times as Yoongi coughs through the burning sensation.

“I-it’s good. Al-almost d-done. Sorry, ex-excuse me,” Yoongi wheezes out, pushing back from the table. “I’ll be right b-back.”

💞💞💞

Jungkook

“Man, fuck off with that,” Jungkook coughs, waving a hand in the air to dispel the thick grey-blue cloud of smoke that Taehyung just released into the air. There is already the astringent taste of alcohol burning the back of his tongue, though he hasn’t consumed a single drop, and the last thing he needs is something else to clog his throat.

“Come on, I’m celebrating!” Taehyung pulls another drag from the thinly rolled cigar of tobacco.

As much as Jungkook loves his friend, he doesn’t care for the finger cigar he’s puffing away on. “Whatever happened to celebrating with champagne? Or, you know, just something less stinky.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes but stubs out the cigar on the outer brick wall in the alley behind Chuck’s. He followed Jungkook out here a few minutes ago, pulling off his kitchen apron and tossing it aside. “What’s crawled up your ass and died? I literally just told you that I landed that huge contract so I can finally quit this joint, and all you can do is gripe at me about my choice of celebratory treat?”

Jungkook puffs out his cheeks and kicks back one of his feet to lean against the wall Taehyung just stubbed his cigar out on. He looks up at the night sky, squinting as if he might see the stars amid all the light pollution of the city.

“Sorry, Tae. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I can’t seem to keep my head on straight tonight.” Jungkook drops his head, chin meeting his chest, and rubs at the back of his neck, fingers pushing at the neckline of his shirt.

Taehyung steps closer to Jungkook. “Since when do you like flowers?”

“What?” Jungkook asks, glancing sideways at Taehyung.

“Your tattoo,” Taehyung says.

Jungkook drops his hand and looks at the tiger lily tattoo on his arm. “I’ve had this for years. What do you mean?”

“Not that one,” Taehyung huffs before grabbing at the back of Jungkook’s shirt. “This one. Looks fresh.”

A fresh tattoo?

“A flower? I don’t have a flower on the back of my neck.” At least Jungkook doesn’t think he does. He has so many tattoos at this point that it’s possible he forgot about one. But, surely, he believes, he’d remember getting a flower besides the one on his arm.

Taehyung pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the back of Jungkook’s neck. “Are you sure about that?”

The picture on Taehyung’s phone has ice threading through Jungkook’s veins. A cluster of long, thin pink and coral-colored petals with soft scalloped edges in bright, vivid detail sits right at the base of his neck.

“What the fuck is that?” Jungkook exclaims, snatching Taehyung’s phone away to get a closer look. The momentary flash of tingling he felt earlier comes back to him, and that ice melts into a hot gush of magma. This could only be one thing; but—no, Jungkook shakes his head, that’s impossible…there’s no such thing. “It can’t be.”

“Can’t be what?” Taehyung asks, his attention waffling between the picture on the phone and the peek of the tattoo above the neckline of Jungkook’s shirt. “Looks like a peony to me.”

“Nothing. Forget it.” Jungkook shoves Taehyung’s phone back into his hand and kicks off from the wall. “I’ve got to get back inside. Congrats, by the way, about the contract,” he mutters.

Jungkook knows he’s being rude, leaving Taehyung hanging like that. He just can’t muster up the ability to do better right now. Not when he’s pretty certain that—no. Again, no.

It’s. Not. Possible.

Slipping back inside the restaurant brings an assault on Jungkook’s senses. The din is too loud, the smells too pungent, and the lights far too bright. It’s a short trip down the hall to the bathroom. Jungkook rushes, fearing he might sick up on his own shoes if he delays even for a second.

The impact of Jungkook’s body slamming into a person coming out of the dining room pulls him up a few feet short of the restroom. His stomach heaves, a dry cough choking its way up his throat. As he sucks in a sharp breath to regain his constitution, all Jungkook can smell is the intoxicating scent of whoever it is he bumped into. It’s a soft mixture of cologne and clean laundry, a scent Jungkook enjoys above most others.

“I’m so sorry,” the man gasps, reaching to steady Jungkook with large hands on his shoulders, but Jungkook moves away before he can make contact. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No, you’re okay. I shouldn’t have come down the hall so quickly. Sorry about that.”

“Are you okay?”

Jungkook waves a hand in the air, wanting to dispel the situation as quickly as possible. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Don’t worry about it. Excuse me.” He goes to step around the man, but a hand on his shoulder stops him once again.

Frustrated, Jungkook snaps his eyes up, a biting remark laced across the tip of his tongue. The words die there, slipping away like a smooth sip of water down his throat.

Beautiful dark eyes sitting beneath a fringe of dark hair meet his. They widen slightly, the lips below them popping open on a soundless gasp. The man from the birthday party gathering in the dining room stands before him, seeming far more familiar to him than just from the passing moment earlier.

“Do…Do I know you? I swear I've met you somewhere before,” the man says, his brows pinching in consideration.

Jungkook clears his throat, throwing up one of his shoulders in a nonchalant half-shrug. “I’m one of the bartenders. I helped your friend bring out drinks earlier.”

The man licks his lips, and Jungkook can’t help but watch the motion in utter fascination. “Right, okay.” His eyes drop to the floor, and he shakes his head before looking back up at Jungkook. “It’s just—well, it’s not that. I don’t think so, at least. I swear, I know you from somewhere else. I feel like I know…” He trails off, shaking his head again. “Never mind, sorry. I must sound completely crazy.”

Only, it’s not crazy. It’s not crazy at all. Well, yes, it is. But, not like that. Jungkook knows precisely what the man is talking about because he feels it, too. There is a resounding alarm ringing in his head, telling him exactly what this means—confirmation of what this means. Yet—no. He refuses; he’s never believed in that.

“Don’t worry about it, man.” Jungkook pointedly steps back, putting distance between himself and the man.

Jungkook watches as confusion and uncertainty cloud the man’s eyes—eyes of such a beautiful, deep, rich color that it hurts a little to think he can’t stare into them for a moment longer.

“Okay,” the man says slowly, as if he draws out the word, which will grant him precious seconds longer with Jungkook. Jungkook shares this sentiment but refuses to acknowledge it…because that’s a very dangerous line of thinking.

The man blows out a shaky breath before giving Jungkook a tight smile and moving around him toward the bathroom door. Jungkook clenches his fists by his sides, doing everything he can to resist reaching out and touching the man as he passes.

It’s such an intense and visceral feeling that Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. Better the ache of pain in his mouth than focusing on the way his chest constricts watching the man disappear behind the door to the men’s room.

“Fuck,” Jungkook growls under his breath, forcing himself to turn on his heel and march back to behind the bar.

For the remaining few hours that Chuck’s is open, Jungkook loses himself in work. He avoids the birthday party, even when asked for by name. Colette, one of the waitresses, apparently offered it to the group, which only added to Jungkook’s surly attitude, though he tried not to take it out on her or anyone else. 

By the time he’s clearing down the bar with Jo, she’s picked up on his mood and has promised to make him forget all his worries. It’s a familiar routine, taking her home on the back of his bike, her body pressed against his, and her warm breath tickling across the nape of his neck as she holds on tight.

Only, tonight, he doesn’t like the feel of her breath on his neck, which still tingles if he thinks too long about it. He tolerates her body against his until he pulls up outside his apartment and kills the bike’s engine. Jocelyn is all nimble fingers and hungry lips as she keeps her promise of trying to make him forget his woes.

It works for a while, the slap of his skin against hers, the feeling of her tight cunt sucking on his cock with every snap and roll of his hips. She likes it when he’s rough, so the fist around her braids and the feral growl that rumbles in his chest has her keening loudly and meeting every one of his thrusts with enthusiasm.

Jocelyn arches her back, letting her body move under Jungkook’s will. Letting loose the handful of her hair, he grips the meat of her hips and doubles his efforts, pounding into her at a relentless, punishing pace.

Ever the eager bedmate, Jocelyn tosses her head back and looks at Jungkook over her shoulder. However, instead of her lively eyes of light mocha staring at him, all Jungkook can see is a pair of darker browns, like rich espresso. Eyes that met his just hours ago, yet ones he’s certain he’s known for longer—eyes that see into his soul.

“Jung—”

Jocelyn’s moan of his name turns into another, deeper, spell-binding sonnet.

“—kook! You have to stop before we are caught!” Those brilliant eyes meet his over a shoulder covered in layers of blue and white silk.

Jungkook laughs softly, the man hushing him for a second before they both fall into fits of quiet laughter that soon dissolve into heady moans of pleasure. “I’ll never stop. Can’t when you feel this good…when my heart sings for you so,” Jungkook groans, swiveling his hips against the warm ass pressed against his front.

Yards of silk bunch around his hips and drape over his thighs, a cooling kiss against his heated skin. The beautiful call of a swallow in the distance draws Jungkook’s attention from the man bent over and writhing on the length of his cock. The thick weave mat digging into his shins stretches out around him, meeting corner to corner of the small room.

Large, open windows look out on a garden that is quickly succumbing to the thick blanket of twilight. Lanterns hang from the exposed beams overhead, illuminating Jungkook’s hastily discarded lamellar armor and helm. A beautiful Hwajodo folding screen separates the sleeping space, where Jungkook and the man are, from the seating area, where there is a low table with an abandoned teapot and half-filled cups littering the top.

“I love you,” the man moans.

Jungkook gasps, jerking back and falling off the edge of the bed and right onto his ass. “Fucking hell!” he barks, pain smarting up his back from the sudden impact.

“You okay, sugar?” Jocelyn whips around and crawls to the edge of the bed, looking at him with bewildered concern.

Jungkook shakes his head, trying to dispel whatever the fuck that was that invaded his mind. It felt so real, like an intense wash of deja vu, only instead of fucking Jo, he was balls deep inside—

Jungkook rubs a hand over his face to ward off that thought and the erotic image it produces.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Shit.” Dropping his hand from his face, he gestures at her with it. “Turn that ass back around, I’m not done with you yet.”

Jocelyn laughs, the sound sultry and inviting. It has Jungkook’s half-hard cock kicking back to attention. He pushes up from the floor and climbs onto the bed, grabbing handfuls of her ample hips as leverage. 

The warm, silky walls of her sex welcome him back in. She moans in appreciation as he uses the grip on her hips to work her over himself. Jungkook watches with rapt attention as the thick length of his cock disappears into the snug heat of her body over and over again. He’s so wrapped up in the sensation that when her soft, rounded hips turn into firm, angular ones under his fingers, he barely notices.

Layers of silk obstruct his view, but he knows if he were to lift the fabric, he’d see a glorious ass resplendent with porcelain skin—skin untouched by others, skin that is pampered and cared for as is customary with the royal blood that pumps beneath it.

The prince, whose name is a fleeting caress across Jungkook’s mind, turns those molten brown eyes on him once more. Strands of inky black hair escape the knot on the top of the man’s head as he throws it back in ecstasy—pleasure brought to him by Jungkook.

As quick as the flash of images comes, Jungkook finds himself once again on his ass on the floor.

“What’s goin’ on with you tonight?” Jocelyn asks with a sigh, slumping to the side and staring back at him with a furrow between her brows. “If you didn’t want to fuck tonight, all you had to do was say so.” Her eyes pointedly drop to his quickly deflating erection.

If only she knew what had just happened, maybe she’d understand why his body isn’t responding how he wants it to. The all-too-real feeling of his body railing the prince lingers with confusing sensations. Jungkook feels like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on his head, sending icy threads down his spine; he’s all too hot and cold at the same time.

“Fuck it,” Jungkook growls. He draws his knees up and rests his elbows on them, dropping his face in his hands. Peeking between his palms, he silently curses his dick for faltering once again. Not even the prospect of Jocelyn’s wet cunt can bring him back around at this point. “Just get out.”

Jocelyn scoffs, “Whatever, asshole.” She rolls her eyes as she climbs off the bed and begins to snatch her clothes off the floor. “Knew I should never have hooked up with you to begin with. It’s always the hot ones. Why is it always the hot ones?” She’s grumbling to herself as she tugs on her clothes, and before Jungkook can even think of apologizing, she’s gone, his apartment door slamming shut in her wake.

After a quick wipe down with a washcloth in his bathroom, Jungkook flops onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling, not bothering to put clothes on. His thoughts are far too scattered and incomplete, making his head ache too much to do more than sulk.

“What the fuck is going on with me?” he whispers into his quiet room, the words laced with anguish and the subtlest hint of dread—because, deep down…he knows exactly what’s happening.

💞💞💞

Yoongi

The beautiful warrior places featherlite kisses along Yoongi’s shoulder, the blue and white silk gujangbok long since discarded. As much as Yoongi was worried about being caught with his lover, he was more concerned about trying to explain the cum and dirt stains on his ceremonial garb.

“I should go,” Yoongi whispers into the quiet of the evening air. The swallows have nested for the night, leaving just the chittering of insects and other dark-dwelling nightlife.

More kisses nestle along Yoongi’s throat, slowly stirring his passion to life once more. “Stay with me. I will sing for you, but only if you stay.”

Yoongi sighs, turning over onto his back so he can look up at the exquisite being looming over him. Shiny black hair, tendrils hanging loose from where they’ve escaped the knot at the back of his head, and liquid brown eyes that frame a straight nose; he is absolutely breathtaking.

Even with the lamps casting harsh shadows across his face, his lover is still the most strikingly handsome man Yoongi has ever laid eyes on. Yoongi considers himself blessed with the luck of a thousand star wishes to have found him.

“I wish I could. But, I have a duty to fulfill.”

The man sighs, pulling back from the trail of kisses he was leaving across Yoongi’s chest. “Your duty is to me. I am your—”

“You are my sun, my moon, my stars…everything to me. And I swear it now, by the gods, that I will have you. But…”

“But, you were a prince before you were mine. I know this. I accept this. I just wish I did not have to share you with the rest of the world.”

“Soon. Soon, my heart, you will not have to share me. As soon as the succession—”

Yoongi wakes with a start, his alarm blaring and his heart aching in his chest as the dream slips away with the fog of sleep. Before silencing his alarm, he presses the tips of his fingers against his mouth, trailing them along his jaw and down his throat, following the line where he swears he can still feel pouty lips lingering. It felt so real, more a memory than a dream.

But, that’s impossible, considering he’s certain that dream took place somewhere in the past. The Joseon Dynasty, if the setting was any indicator. And, he’s certainly no royal prince. But, perhaps the most prominent indicator is the fact that the other man in the dream was the same one from the bar last night. A man he’s certain he’s never met before, despite feeling like he was coming together with an old friend—or lover?

Letting out a long breath, Yoongi sits up in bed and shoves a hand through his hair. Clearly, his attraction to the bartender last night infiltrated his dreams. Not that he could help it, truly. In fact, Yoongi is reasonably sure most people who have laid eyes on him—Jungkook, the waitress said was his name—probably dream about him, as well. Him or the other bartender, definitely. She’s attractive but didn’t draw Yoongi in the way Jungkook did.

It doesn’t take Yoongi long to get ready for his daily gym session with Namjoon. They keep each other accountable. Yoongi makes sure Namjoon works out, and Namjoon makes sure Yoongi gets out of his condo; otherwise, it would be weeks at a time before Yoongi ventured out of his safe space.

Working from home has its perks, yes. But it’s also led to some concerns from his friends. Yoongi has never been much of a party person, preferring the comfort of his own home to society's chaotic expectations.

Even if Yoongi only goes as far as the complex’s gym, it’s still considered a win in Namjoon’s book. Yoongi knows this as the delight that graces Namjoon’s face when he walks into the gym says it all.

“Ready to have some fun?”

Yoongi suppresses a wince. He’s not sure he would include the gym and the word fun in the same context. Especially not when he’s still feeling a bit off-kilter about his dream. There’s a sensation of discombobulation that he can’t see to shake from it, like there is something more that the dream was trying to tell him other than that he was horny for some random bartender.

Going through the motions of the workout helps. The breakdown of his muscles and the fatigue that wanes his energy pull Yoongi’s focus to a singular, thready point: just making it through the next set of reps.

“...eighteen, nineteen, twenty.” Yoongi groans, his arms trembling as he reracks the bench press bar. Sweat glistens across his forehead and soaks his unruly mop of hair. His entire body is sticky with it, causing his shirt to cling to his chest as he sits up. “I’m going to hit the sauna before a shower,” he tells Namjoon.

Namjoon executes a perfect squat, the last of many he’s performed in the last hour of their workout, before lowering the set of dumbbells in his hands. “I’ll join you in a second once I get these put away and wiped down.”

“Okay.”

Yoongi already cleaned his equipment with a sanitizing wipe, so he leaves Namjoon to it and makes his way toward the locker rooms. The showers are separate, but the sauna is a shared space that requires towels or robes at all times.

After tugging off his sodden clothes and throwing them in the mesh net laundry bag he keeps in his designated locker, which has his condo number on it, he grabs a fresh towel from the complimentary towel bin.

The complex that Yoongi and Namjoon live in is gated and fairly high-end, with exclusive amenities for the residents, including an Olympic-sized pool, tennis courts, a dog park, the gym and sauna, and even full-scale laundry services.

As he makes his way to the sauna, towel firmly secured around his hips, Yoongi hums the beat of the latest track he’s working on. Once a reasonably successful rapper, after too many years of anxiety-inducing sold-out stadium tours and endless press interactions, he decided to replace his mic with a channel mixer. Being a producer is far more his style, letting him live outside of the spotlight while still pursuing his passion for music.

“What the fuck, man!?” Namjoon’s outburst startles Yoongi, dragging him from his internal scrutinizing of the musical track on repeat in his brain. “When the hell were you going to tell me you got another tattoo?”

Yoongi stares blankly up at Namjoon as his friend plops onto the bench beside him in the sauna. “What are you squawking about?”

“The tattoo!” Namjoon practically shouts, gesturing animatedly at Yoongi’s back. “The fucking tattoo!”

Confusion etches its way across Yoongi’s face. “Another tattoo? Namjoon, I just have the one…same as you.”

“Hey, don’t play me like I’m crazy, Yoongi! I can plainly see it right there.” Namjoon prods a finger just below the top center of Yoongi’s back. “Unless it’s one of those fake stamp ones, and you’re just trying to fuck with me.”

Yoongi leans forward and swats away Namjoon’s hand. “Seriously. I haven’t gotten a new tattoo.”

Namjoon sits there for a second, his eyes boring into the spot he was just poking at. “Oh my…oh my fucking hell! Yoongi, do you know what this means?!”

Before Yoongi can respond, Namjoon grabs him by the wrist and begins to tug him out of the sauna. The sudden movement nearly makes Yoongi lose his towel, only keeping it up with a quick fist around the tucked knot at his hip.

“Slow down,” Yoongi grouches, trying to pull his arm from Namjoon’s grasp.

“No can do, not until you see what I’m talking about.”

True to his word, Namjoon doesn’t stop tugging Yoongi along until they’re both in the men’s designated locker room and in front of a set of mirrors. Namjoon urges Yoongi to turn his back toward one mirror and then points dramatically to another across the way.

Yoongi narrows his eyes at his friend, but with another exaggerated gesture from Namjoon, Yoongi lets his gaze follow the line of sight. His stomach drops as soon as he gets a clear view of his back.

Sitting at the juncture where his neck and back meet is what appears to be a fist-sized tattoo—just as Namjoon said. A cluster of long, thin pink and coral-colored petals with soft scalloped edges in bright, vivid detail stands in stark contrast to his pale skin and dark hair.

“What…the…fuck.”

“It can only mean one thing,” Namjoon echoes Yoongi’s own internal realization.

Yoongi swallows hard, chin dipping in a jerky nod. He reaches back over his shoulder and brushes the tips of his fingers over the mark. “Soulmate,” he whispers.

And Yoongi knows, without a doubt, who.

💞💞💞

Jungkook

After the disaster of last night, Jungkook dreads facing Jo at work so soon. But he can’t afford to call out. So, whether he likes it or not, he shows up at Chuck’s on time and goes about the hour-long prep process before the pub opens for the evening.

Thankfully, Jocelyn seems to be ignoring him as much as he’s ignoring her. Which only hurts a little because he typically enjoys her light-hearted ribbing, and it helps him get in the zone before the chaos of the night begins.

“Hey, JK,” Jocelyn’s voice startles him. He turns from where he’s elbow-deep in restocking one of the coolers they keep garnishes in and raises a brow in question. “Some guy is out front asking for you.” 

“Some guy?” he asks.

Her shoulders kick up in a nonchalant shrug, making the tight hot-pink minidress she’s wearing ride up her thighs. “I don’t know, just some guy.”

She disappears into the kitchen before he can inquire further. “Well, okay,” he mutters to himself. Jungkook shoves the rest of the containers into the cooler and closes the lid. He grabs a handtowel on his way out from behind the bar, drying off his hands before draping it over one of his shoulders. Jungkook regrets walking to the host stand as soon as the person standing there comes into view. “Fucking hell.”

“Um, hi.”

“What do you want?”

Jungkook wishes he could take back the snappy words as soon as they’re out. The flash of hurt on the guy's face is like a kick in the gut, but there is no way Jungkook can let himself entertain a cordial conversation with this man.

The tip of a pink tongue swipes over lips that Jungkook knows would look so beautiful wrapped around his—

“I, uh, I…this is going to sound—it’s just that last night…well, you may not remember, but we ran into each other last night. Outside the bathroom.” The man nods in the general direction of the hall where the bathrooms are.

Jungkook crosses his arms over his chest. “I remember.”

“Oh,” the man brightens marginally. “Well, I said last night that you seemed familiar…and I think I know why. Or, I don’t think…I do know why. You’re my—”

“Look, man, I don’t know what you think you know. But you’ve got it all wrong, okay?”

There is evident confusion clouding the man’s eyes. “Are you—no, I’m certain of this. I know what’s happening,” he says, hand automatically going to the back of his neck. The action makes Jungkook’s own neck prickle, drawing awareness to what he knows is beneath the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’ve read The Kismet Theory. All the signs, there is no denying this.”

“The hell there isn’t. There’s no such thing. Just a bunch of fairytale nonsense,” Jungkook scoffs, forcing himself to turn away from the man, intent on returning to work. “Kismet, my ass.”

“Please, no.” The words echo in Jungkook’s ears, made even more prominent by the hand that lands on bare skin of his forearm. It’s like being wrapped in a warm blanket, there is a feeling of clarity and rightness that settles along his body and psyche with that one simple, skin-on-skin touch.

Jungkook doesn’t like the way his stomach plummets when the man drops his hand away just as quickly. The sudden bereft feeling is troubling. There’s no reason he should feel that way about a stranger's touch. Only he knows why it does…and, it seems, so does the guy now staring at him with an open expression of awe.

There is no more denying it, no more fighting it…he’s not sure why he even tried to begin with; it was only delaying the inevitable and torturing himself for no reason. How silly, he thinks, to try and fight fate…only, it can’t be that simple.

“W-what’s your name?” Jungkook asks through quivering lips.

The man smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing Jungkook has ever seen. He hates he’ll be the reason that it disappears. “Yoongi. My name is Yoongi.”

“Well, sorry, Yoongi.” It takes every ounce of willpower Jungkook holds in his body to force out the next words. He never asked for this, never desired it…after all, who wants to acknowledge the fact that their life is predestined and every choice they make is not their own? “But, I don’t believe in soulmates.”

The fresh lie tastes bitter on his tongue, but there’s no way he can allow the string of fate to bind his hands…nor his heart.

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-07-16 ColorMePurplex2

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update

12/03/2023

Nerdie, you’re making this a thing now?

Yes! I have to keep ya’ll updated on what’s going on.

Well, what did you read this week?

Many wonderful things:

I will again sing the praises of @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin three part series “When My Time Comes Around.” You’ll feel all the emotions and be thankful that you read something that touches you deep in your soul. 😭 She also attacked my heart again on Frankie Friday with bittersweet angst in Tender is the Night. I'm a fan of the melancholic greatness that is Angie.

So...you like reading about sad things?

There's more to it than that. Just go read her fics! Then you'll know.

Tommy Miller fans unite! @musings-of-a-rose is continuing to feed our younger Miller brother delusions with her series “Falling Slowly.” The slow burn romance is one of the trope I really dig. And Gabriel Luna always. 🫠 Dig into some Tommy…

Nerdie, you’re doing so well, don’t jinx it.

I mean, I'm not wrong. Whatever, moving on...

I also read Honey Stained Hands by the sweet and deceptively naughty @undercoverpena too. Seems to be a Joel fix this week. Post-outbreak. The reader manages to make honey and different sweets in Jackson. Telling ya’ll anymore is a spoiler. Go read it!

There’s also another grizzled man this week. Tim Rockford who in the capable hands of the same writer @secretelephanttattoo who brought us Marcus Pike (Doughnut Debauchery) and the reason I’ll never look at doughnuts the same, I’m sure she’ll find many a use for his gun holsters. She began her new series “Undercover.” I’m throughly looking forward diving into more of the chapters as she releases them.

@linzels-blog wrote another Din Djarin fic that is equal parts sensual and sweet. It’s called Safe to Touch. I’m rather fond of our intrepid Mendalorian and him exploring his body with someone he loves is a treat.

Speaking of which, who doesn’t like baked goods? We’re also being fed by @avastrasposts as she starts her A Baker’s Dozen series with Pedro Pascal characters. Her first one is about our favorite trash cuddle panda Dieter Bravo. It’s adorable. 🥰 Such fluff.

Nerdie, you actually read fluff? This is surprising.

What do ya’ll take me for? I told you, 80% smut. This is in the 20%. Geez. 🙄

I will say though, this next one, 100% smut, not watered down, will burn your throat and you’ll love it and want more. You’ll want it other places. 😘

Welp, we knew it was gonna end here eventually.

Yes! @morallyinept had me removing my socks and pants in an effort to cool down, it did not help. I will think of this version of Dieter Bravo when I’m out at night. Heck, maybe as I walk across the parking lot to get in my car after a shift. That honestly would be the perfect time… long story short, wild back alley sex with both Dieter and the reader being complete and utter lust filled humans. It is called, Back Alley Bang if you enjoy Pedro Pascal characters smut, it’s required reading or at least highly recommended.

Anything new for you this week Nerdie?

Session Two of my “Sard’ika Sessions” will be out on early Wednesday AM in EST. Session One and all sessions will be linked to the Sard’ika Sessions Masterlist. I’m currently writing sessions 3 and 4 from my notebook because I wrote them down. Wild what you think of between the hours of 12 mid and 4am.

I finally started writing for our Pickled Peña prompt! I might even have it in on time. If you’d like to join in, see all the details here. I’m on the fence about smut, odd I know. 🤨

I also started a Benny Miller fic (likely fluff with food) and a Christmas fic with Joel and Layla (on OFC I wrote three fics on a few months ago - I love them very much ❤️). Joel and Layla are on my Masterlist.

Anything outside of fanfiction Nerdie? Please say that’s not the only thing you do. 🙄

I have a job you know. I actually worked this weekend. I visited my mom while she had a cold earlier this week. She’s very into Tom Hiddleston. Not a bad choice, I too appreciate his accent and baritone voice. She enjoys his dancing. 🕺🏽 I’d watching Loki with her and finally got her to watch Andor - she liked it but called it “low budget Star Wars” because she didn’t know any of the actors. I swear she’s so goofy. I love her. She also said that Andor grew on her like The Mandalorian and she wants to see more. I may be able to get her on board with both Lunas eventually. 😝

I’ve been working on my Statistics class. It’s difficult but I’m pushing through. 😵

Finally watched two Garrett Hedland movies this week! Country Strong and Four Brothers. The first was bittersweet but I liked it. He did sing a lot which was wonderful. The second one I’ve seen multiple times with little brother (he loved the movie when we were younger.) Garrett looked so young! It was from 2005 though.

Well Nerdie, your week sounds full. Good luck!

Have a great week everyone!

I jammed to while some music while looking at a picture of Gabriel Luna that @musings-of-a-rose sent me because she knows me well and is always willing to share: 😍

One of the songs was:

Stay safe and feel better to all those who are feeling under the weather,

Love Nerdie ❤️

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: Din lays out some ground rules

A/N: Hello lovelies,

I don't know if you've tried the character.ai yet, but man I've been having so much fun with it. So far, I've talked to Rex, Fives, Alpha-17, Fox, even Quinlan Vos, which gave me an amazing story to work on. So I'll be working on that sometime. I hope you are all having an amazing fall so far. Sending out good thoughts, hugs, and lots of love to everyone.

Love oo.

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: Brief mention of alcohol and substance abuse, liquor, trust issues, mentions of 'nocturnal' activities, uneasiness, insinuations of domestic abuse, mention of car accident, fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of being imprisoned. I think that's it, if I miss anything please let me know.

AO3 Link |   Words: 1,061 |   Previous -> Next

Main Master List   |  Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

THE RAZOR CREST SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

There was a nagging voice in the back of his that kept reminding him, he didn’t know who she was, what kind of life she really led or what she was fleeing. However, from what he saw of her so far, he hoped he wasn’t making a mistake and he was right about her character, but it never hurt to take extra precautions.

“One thing I want to say and I won’t be changing my mind about this at all, this is a deal breaker, okay?”

“Alright”

“I don’t care if you drink the occasional glass of liquor here or there, and I’m not going to limit you with a number. You know your limit better than I do. However, please refrain from drinking during working hours. I will also not tolerate having someone in my home who is dealing with some form of addiction. It’s non-negotiable. If I find you drunk or high, especially around my son - you don’t get a second chance, you’re out of here in a heartbeat, understood?”

I nodded in agreement, it made sense, he had a very young impressional son. I completely understood where he was coming from and I couldn’t fault him for making it a condition. I wanted to put his mind at ease as much as possible, especially since he was taking a chance on me.

“I completely understand, so try not to worry, too much. I don’t drink, haven’t for a long time. Same with getting high. The idea of not being aware of my surroundings or cognitive of my situation always leaves me uneasy.”

Din simply nodded, as she held a determined look. There was a finality to her statement that he highly appreciated, whether or not she was telling the truth would only be possible to determine in time. 

“Hmm, okay. I’ll believe you for now, until you give me reason not to.” 

He hoped she would be trustworthy and wouldn’t let him down; but he’d been wrong before. 

“One final rule, don’t be bringing strangers into this house for … well you know. That’s a conversation I do not want to have with my son, yet. So if you could keep all your … nocturnal activities out of my home for the time being, I’d appreciate it. Not that I’m saying you’re the type to … put yourself in that kind of situation, more just letting you know what I expect for my son’s safety.”

The idea of having any sort of ‘activities’ made my skin crawl, I hadn’t been intimate with anyone since my ex. The idea simply made me feel nauseous and uneasy. I wasn’t ready to take on such a huge risk in my life. First and foremost I needed to be able to trust someone, and I wasn’t inclined to really trust anyone, Cobb, Fennec and Din had actually been the first group of people where I had actually let my guard down as quickly as I did. 

“I completely understand. After all this is your place.” I moved around the room trying to think of a new topic, hoping to change the subject, “I forgot to ask what’s the name of your ranch?”

“Sorry?”

“I thought ranches usually had names or something?”

“Some do”

“Then does this place have a name?”

“Razor Crest Ranch”

“Razor Crest, sounds like toothpaste. Get your teeth shiny with Razor Crest toothpaste.” I teased smiling the way actors usually did for toothpaste ads. He didn’t laugh or chuckle, he simply just stared at me, I cleared my throat hoping to move on from that embarrassment, “Anyway, I like it, it’s got a good ring to it”

He simply looked at her without saying anything further, he didn’t really care if she did like it or not. Camilla was the one who’d come up with the name. She always remembered his first car, the one he’d drive her around in, when they were in high school. He loved that car with all his soul, that was until it got into an accident and was completely totalled. She always felt bad about the accident, he remembered he was driving as fast as he could during a particular bad winter storm trying to get her, when she got standard working at the hospital one night. The car her parents had given her for her last year of high school died. He didn’t see the black ice skidded, flipped the car several times. Thankfully, he hadn’t lost his life, but according to her  he did lose his first love. He could still see her smile as she teased him about being his second love. Ashamedly, she wasn’t wrong, and when he bought this place from his grandparents, she decided to rechristen the place and call it the Razor Crest Ranch. So even if Ann had an issue with the name, he couldn’t care less, he wasn’t going to change the name for anything.

He ignored her statement, instead shifting as he moved closer to the door, “You should probably grab whatever stuff you have from the Marshall’s truck before he decides to take off.”

“Right, of course.” I knew the moment he didn’t respond I had somehow messed up, I should’ve just kept my mouth shut. Well there was bound to be some issues we would need to iron out, at least he wasn’t saying anything or doing anything to make me feel worthless. He also didn’t take back the offer, “Thank you again, for the opportunity, it means a lot.”

He nodded, “Well like I said we can try it out for three months, and there is still one more hurdle you have to pass. Oh, before I forget, there is a lock on the door” Din was about to move the door to show her, when he noticed her eyes widened in fear. He held up his hands, hoping she didn’t misunderstand him, “Relax it only locks from the inside,” he pulled the door closer showing her the lock, “if you prefer a key lock, for your own peace of mind and safety I can install that for you. I also want you to know, we would never come into your room without express permission, unless it was an emergency, like house is on fire kind of emergency. We will absolutely respect your privacy, just like I know you’ll respect ours.”

AO3 Link |   Words: 1,061 |   Previous -> Next

Main Master List   |  Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

@littlemisspascal@sprout-fics@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24 @spicymcnuggies @lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @tortor-mcgee @sarcasmismyonlydefense24 @chiyo13

[frozenwolftemplar]

Writer's Month Day 20: Different First Meeting

Fandom: Tangled: the Series

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,287

I had something longer planned, but quite honestly didn't feel up to editing something long. Then @twotangledsisters mentioned a favorite Eugene & Cassandra fic, which got me thinking about their dynamic. Somehow, that evolved into this, an AU where Eugene and Lance's orphanage was located in Corona and they meet Cass as kids.

Hope you enjoy!

+++

“Gotta say, Arnie:” Eugene Fitzherbert drew in a deep breath of air as he strode up Queen’s Avenue, sighing with satisfaction at the scents of baking bread, the thin wisps of smoke from morning fires, and various other aromatic hallmarks of a mildly-nice Corona city street. “The world just feels different when you’re ten.”

“Really?” Arnwaldo blinked over at him, eyes agog with nine-year-old wonder. “How?”

Eugene stopped to draw another breath, this time more thoughtful, chin high and arms akimbo. “Manlier.”

“Wow...” Arnwaldo gazed awestruck up at his friend, cutting an unprecedentedly mature figure against the backdrop of Walton’s Butchery. “And what’s *that* like?”

Eugene looked down at Arnwaldo with a patronizing grin, the kind he saw grown-ups directing at kids who were likable despite knowing nothing about the world. “Can’t really describe it, buddy, but you’ll understand when you’re older. Now come on.” He flipped a half-copper into the air, the consolation awarded to every orphanage kid when another year of their lives passed by at that dismal little building. “Hope the markets are ready for Eugene and Arnwaldo, the big spenders of the day!”

*************************

After much deliberation, the newly-minted ‘man’ and his year-younger buddy decided to spend their untold riches on the splendor that was a caramel apple (discounted, with a wink, down from the usual three coppers after Uncle Monty learned of then expressed his admiration for “Corona’s newest gentleman”). Sitting on a crate overlooking the square, the boys took turns savoring bites of the delicacy that was Eve’s temptation coated in sticky-sweet ambrosia until all that remained was the stick, which Eugene handed over to Arnwaldo without fuss (because men didn’t argue over who got to lick the stick. Plus Arnwaldo really liked doing that).

“Ah.” Eugene leaned back comfortably, sun-warmed brick against his back. “Manhood’s great.”

“I’ll say,” Arnwaldo concurred, licking the stick (because what could be better than having a generous ‘big spender’ man as you best buddy?).

Stomach comfortably filled with sugar, Eugene relaxed and let his gaze drift over the square, taking in the friendly bustle of before him.. Every inch of the square fluttered with activity, noise, and color, a thousand smaller stories playing out within that one larger one of Corona on Market Day. Housewives with baskets over their arms inspected turnips and pumpkins and other harvested goods, pressing their thumbs into them to check for the warning bell that was ‘give;’ men in country garb swapped stories and worked out barters as they sipped ale under a cafe awning (pity he didn’t have a second copper; he’d like to try that aspect of manhood); off to a side, Old Man Olson had set up his usual queek stand and was jovially taking bets from the crowd of onlookers that always assembled there; off to another, a fat woman with a basket over her arm (probably someone’s cook, judging by her garb and mien) inspected a pen full of milling, honking geese, trying to discern the unlucky plumpest of their lot. Sounds of industry and snippets of conversation flew like flushed birds from every which way, crashing into one another and forming an amalgam of voices and discourses that swelled to fill the space with a wonderful din. It wasn’t loud enough to be deafening, by far; just loud enough to make you feel not so alone in the world, and Eugene sighed.

Being an orphan sucked, but being an orphan in Corona, he was sure, sucked less than it would in other places, because life in Corona, he could admit was pretty sweet.

“Cut it out!”

...At least, he thought it was.

Eyes he hadn’t realized were drifting shut flew open, and Eugene searched for the source of the indignant voice. Off to a side, not terribly far from his crate, a girl with short black hair (short? Weird. Girls could have short hair?) and a brown dress peeled away from a knot of kids laughing uproariously and pelted down the alley the girl had disappeared down.

He frowned. He knew that kind of laughter.

“Where you going, Eugene?” Arnwaldo asked as Eugene leapt, deft and catlike, from the crate. He clambered down after him, tossing the licked-clean stick over his shoulder to make the leatherworker’s dog’s day.

Eugene didn’t answer, simply striding over to the knot of kids. “Hey!” He waited until he had the group’s attention, then tilted his head towards the girl’s alley in an indicating way. “What was that all about?”

One boy, tall with too-short sleeves and trouser legs, the obvious ringleader, stepped to the front with a vulpine grin. “Aw, nothing much. Just having a little fun.”

“That girl didn’t look like she was having fun,” Eugene tossed back with set expression.

“Pfft, Cassandra?” The boy waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout her. She’s always that way about things. Can’t take a joke. Besides,” he leaned in closer, as if they were the only two kids in the world who were in on a mature-boys-only secret, and said with a waggish wink: “Cast-offs like her don’t really count for anything, you know?”

Oh, Eugene knew.

And he also knew that certain duties came with manhood.

The boy was taller than him and wiry to boot, the kind who would win fights if he chose to pick them, but Eugene didn’t think about that; you *didn’t* think when the world turned red before your eyes. Without a word, he stepped forward and shoved the boy, hard

A gasp, peppered with squeals, ripped through the assembled kids as their leader stumbled backwards, caught his heel on a rebelliously eleven cobblestone, failed to recapture his balance and- “OOF!” -landed hard on his rear in a murky, questionable-looking puddle.

Eugene smirked as a silence fell over the group. Judging by the stench of that puddle, a horse had as much a hand in it as as last night’s rain. Good. Served the turd right. Cast-offs had it hard enough without morons like whatever-his-name-was teasing them for no good reason. Satisfied at the comeuppance he’d dealt, he turned on his heel and marched, head high and self-assured, down the alley the girl- Cassandra- had disappeared down.

“Hey!” The boy shouted after dealing out his own shove at a boy who’d dared to snigger at his state. “Where do you think you’re going?” (No one made a fool of him and got away with it).

“What’s it to you?” Eugene spat over his shoulder. “Cast-offs don’t count, remember?”

There was a silent beat as Eugene’s words sunk in, then a scoff. “Suit yourself, bonehead!” The boy shouted back, unrepentant. “It’s your funeral!”

“Eugene?” Arnwaldo, conquering his awe at Eugene’s boldness in the face of kids with parents who could complain to the Sisters and earn you a whipping (gosh, he couldn’t wait until he was ten and a Man), whispered as he fell in step beside Eugene. “Are you sure ‘bout this? Going to see that girl? I mean, what if there’s a reason those kids don’t like her?” He didn’t mention ‘funeral’ lingering in the air after them.

Eugene’s eyes darkened int he dim light of the alley. Arnwaldo’s ma died after having him, and his pa got kicked in the head by a mad cow not long after. He didn’t know what it was to be burdened with that especial sort of pain, deep and aching, that being abandoned by your own parents left behind; could never understand the scar it left across your soul, so cold it burned, and that continued to pulse raw and angry *years* after it first bled. But Eugene...did.

And he wasn’t about to let this girl, this Cassandra, suffer through it alone like he did.

+++

Author's Note: Part two coming soon! 😊

[koko-oko]

New World, Fool

Daisuko leads Shosuko out to the parking lot behind the building. She walks over to one of those old-timey four-seaters and slaps its roof. 

“Vintage 1969 Chevrolet Impala SS. V8 engine, upgraded suspension, goes very fast in a very straight line. The greatest muscle car the USA has ever known, imported to Japan for the enjoyment of yours truly.” “Neat.” Shosuko tries her best to hide her disinterest. Something she’s sure she does very poorly.

“Aight, get in.” Daisuko jumps into the driver’s seat, Shosuko does the same with shotgun. “We gotta get you some ink.”

“Ink?” Daisuko takes off her coat and starts unbuttoning her dress shirt. 

“What are you–” “Ta-dah!” She bares her back for Shosuko to see, revealing a rich tapestry etched into her skin. A humongous snake that bears Daisuko’s name serpentines up and down her back before coiling up on her right shoulder. On her left shoulder are the words ‘Daisuko Kuze’;.

“It’s not bad.” Not bad is an understatement. Shosuko has to admit, it’s pretty goddamn gorgeous. The snake’s white coloring is striking. And the lettering on the calligraphy is also equally beautiful, every stroke meticulously calculated. 

“You’ll be getting one too. Maybe a small one first, just something to show that you’re part of the Kuze Clan now. Like your name or something.” Daisuko talks as she slips her clothes back on. “Nah. I’ll get the full jacket.” “Damn, for real?” Daisuko’s eyebrows raise slightly and she nods her head. “Respect. Shit’s gonna hurt like a bitch though.” “I can take it.” She gulps some of her saliva down. She may be biting off more than she can chew but hey, it can’t be worse than taking an Oni club to the ribs, right?  

“Aight. Let’s get going.” Daisuko jams the key into the ignition, turns it, and steps on the gas. No, scratch that, she oh-so-very gently taps the gas. The car begins to crawl forwards. 

“Can we get there before next year?” “Patience. Always practice safe driving. Always.” Daisuko starts whistling to herself. 

“...”

“...”

“...” 

It’s five minutes before they exit the parking lot. 

“Nah I’m just fucking with you. Hang on tight. The car’s a wild one.” 

“What’s that supposed to–”

Shosuko’s head slams into the headrest as the car goes into hyperdrive. 

———————————————————————————————————————

“We’re here!” Daisuko slams the brakes, nearly causing the car to flip over. Shosuko’s hands shake as she reaches over to open the car door. She’s never had her hands shake like this before. And that's saying a lot considering the things she went through in Minaminagi. “You good?”

“Y-yeah.” 

Shosuko feels like she’s taking her first steps all over again as she stumbles out of the car. Legs still gelatin, Daisuko leads her through a pair of glass double doors into a tattoo parlor. The old man who runs the place is polite enough and seems to know his stuff. He sets a table for Shosuko to lie down on. 

“This is gonna sting.” Ever reassuring, Daisuko gives Shosuko a grin before she walks out. The tattoo drill begins to whir louder and louder until it reaches an ear-piercing din.

The skin of a magical girl is both thicker and harder than a normal person’s. To get around this, most studios either employ special diamond-tipped needles or use tattoo drills, capable of piercing magical skin. The latter being much cheaper and more widespread than the former. People say that if you plan to become a magical girl, you should get your tattoos beforehand because tattoo drills are supposedly extremely painful and also incredibly slow. Today, Shosuko learns that what people say is true. 

———————————————————————————————————————

“So, how was it?” Daisuko sits next to where Shosuko’s lying. 

“Not as bad as I thought.” Shosuko lies through her teeth. It was much worse. So much worse. Getting the linework done was bad enough, but the shading and coloring were much worse. So much worse. It was morning when they got here, now it’s already a little past lunch time. “Alright, let’s get going.”

“Damn you heal fast.” Even with the drastically accelerated healing that comes with being a magical girl, a tattoo of this size should take at least a few hours to heal over, but by the time Daisuko checks in on Shosuko, the scabs have almost finished falling off. “It’s Taijutsu.” 

「Taijutsu」- Body Techniques. Taijutsu is a term referring to a variety of Jutsu that enhance the user’s natural capabilities. It is the most basic of the three core Jutsu. Every magical girl knows at least one form of Taijutsu. Taijutsu can also be either passive or active. Passive Taijutsu are activated once and persist until the user dismisses it or circumstances force the Taijutsu to deactivate, such as the user dying. Active Taijutsu have instantaneous effects and can be activated repeatedly. Compared to the other kinds of Jutsu, Taijutsu typically consumes the least amount of blood when used. 

“This is the first one I was taught.” 

“Huh. I know a lot of people that would kill for something like that. It’s fine right now cause it’s just me here, but maybe don’t go around showing people what kind of Jutsu you’ve got on you. You never know who might be watching.”

Shosuko’s heard of the underground Jutsu trade. It’s not enough for most people to just read a scroll with instructions on it and practice for years to learn to use a basic Jutsu or spending decades crafting their own. Thankfully, there’s an alternative. Using Jutsu consumes blood and some magical imprint of the Jutsu is left behind in the blood. Even just using a Jutsu once is enough to leave a vivid enough imprint for someone else to mimic the effects while only undergoing a fraction of the training the original required. So long as they consume enough of that blood. Typically around a half-liter. 

It’s intuitive to think that collecting Jutsu is a good thing. However, nothing could be further from the truth. The more Jutsu a person knows, the stronger their ‘scent’. The stronger a person’s scent, the more valuable their blood must be. The more valuable their blood must be, the more people will come after them to try and harvest that blood. Two or three Jutsu is untraceable, but go over five and people will start smelling you before they see you, above seven and you might as well have a big red target painted on your back across all of Japan. 

“How does it look?” Shosuko cranes her neck around to try and get a look for herself. “Perfect. I like the funny man’s frown. He looks so angry.” Daisuko runs her hand along Shosuko’s back, tracing the contours of the tattoo while also making her incredibly uncomfortable.

“That’s enough of that.” Shosuko picks Daisuko’s hand up and throws it away. “What now?” “Now, I show you how yakuza make money.” 

“...” “What’s up?” “I don’t know, just something about the way you said that made me think that we were about to do something insane.” 

As it turns out, Shosuko’s right.

Hey everyone, this is a snippet of the second part of my unfinished work "Anego," a piece focusing on a blend of Magical Girl fiction and Mafia fiction (At least for the first part, it kind of goes off the rails later on lmao.) But yeah, if you like this, then here's a link to my commission info:

https://www.tumblr.com/koko-oko/713650485035433984/flexible-no-judgments-writer-for-reasonable-price?source=share

[phoenixkaptain]

Din Djarin and Luke Skywalker are both two men who get progressively scarier the more you watch them.

Like, Luke in A New Hope was baby af. He was a child. Even in the Empire Strikes Back, what a little guy. A tiny fellow.

Then boom, Return of the Jedi, and Luke is smiling and like “Tell these Ewoks that you are their God and that if they do not release us, you will be Angered…” He is in all black, he is missing a hand, he has gone off the rails conpletely. He’s like “How will I tell Leia that we’re siblings? …Oh! I know! Riddles!” Luke Skywalker gets struck by Force Lightning like nine times and still gets up and drags his dad’s lifeless body out. There were moments one might look at him and think, “no, ur wrong, he still babie” but you are the wrong one! He goes into Jabba’s Palace and straight up stands there smiling and threatening him the whole time. He’s standing on a plank over the Sarlacc and he’s still like “So this is how you’d like to play :)” Luke straight up snapped, he got spooky by the end of the og trilogy.

Din Djarin, straight off the back, is kind of intimidating. He is a man in full armour who hunts people and freezes them in carbonite and appears behind their shoulders when they least expect it. But, after Grogu shows up, you probably think “this man is weak to this baby, he will become soft” but no! The opposite happens!

I’m talking about episode 6. The Prisoner. I have wanted desperately to talk about this for days, but have only just found the words to do so. Let me explain.

Din Djarin is filmed and edited like a horror movie villain. Like a supernatural force of evil who stalks his prey. Straight up like a slasher villain out of the eighties. There’s hints of this beforehand, what with Din appearing behind a guy in the very first episode, and the fact that he has been shot point blank (many times) but no matter how many times he falls, he always gets back up. Okay, that’s all fine and good.

But episode 6 goes beyond that. He stalks a bunch if assholes through flickering red lights. He splits them up, he takes them out one by one, and the last person standing manages to get out, thinks they’ve escaped, only to die (technically) at Din’s hand anyway. He is straight up a horror movie villain I don’t know how else to explain it, he is a horror movie villain.

Don’t take this the wrong way. Being spooky and intimidating isn’t a bad thing, especially not in Star Wars! Luke Skywalker and his ability to say terrible things while smiling, Din Djarin and his predilection for appearing right behind someone, these ar egood things. I like these things a lot. I love these. I love that Luke is the cutest little scary fella in the galaxy. I love that Din is the most awkward little scary fella in the galaxy. I think it’s great.

Why do I bring this up?

Well, for one, I have been trying to word my view on Din Djarin for days now. I love this man, I have to mock him or I’ll feel incomplete. And I think it’s a disservice to pretend that Luke isn’t a person who most people in the Star Wars universe think about and shiver. Don’t get me wrong, I love sunshine boy Luke, but he isn’t really like that, at least not by this point in the series. He just strikes me as the type of person to say incredibly dark, deranged things with a blank face, then smile at cute kittens. Luke is messed up, and we should talk about it more because it’s very interesting to explore the various ways he’s messed up.

But for another, I am a big fan of Din and Luke being buddies who go absolutely anywhere and scare the shit out of people. A Mandalorian next to a Jedi Knight? Two people who eat Storm Troopers for breakfast?? Can you imagine how much the fragments of the Empire that are still left are quaking??? Those two would go absolutelu anywhere and the anyone on planet who ever sided with the Empire would give themselves up or run, immediately.

Like, Din singlehandedly took out that whole troop on Nevarro. All by himself, he shot out all of the Storm Troopers and everyone inside and I like to think there are whispered stories about him similar to the ones about the Boogeyman.

Now, I know Luke didn’t actually kill the Emperor and Darth Vader, but does anyone in universe know that? Or does everyone think that Luke not only blew up the Death Star, but he also murdered the two head honchos and came out completely unscathed? Luke is definitely a boogeyman.

I don’t know. Something about two terrifying men walking into a bar full of Imperials only to walk out five minutes later of a bar full of dead Imperials just really fills me with joy. Something about the mental image I have of Storm Troopers fearfully sharing increasingly terrifying stories about these two makes me happy. I like bad people being scared shitless, all right? Sue me.

[supernaturalgirl20]

Only You

Pairings: Din Djarin x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, breeding kink, oral (female receiving), daddy kink, slightly rough Din, cursing.

Summary: second req from my dear @scorpio-marionette, “trust me, you don’t want to know what I’ve been thinking.” For our boy Din.

A/N: I’m gonna be slow to post, after 2.5 years covid has finally got me and I’m not well so I will post when I can but I’m not putting pressure on myself. I’ll try my best because I know I have a lot of requests to get through (from like Xmas 🙊) and my Javi series needs an update but we will see. 🥰🥰

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Din was on another planet seeking alliance - one of the many he had been on previously as a bounty Hunter. Now, he was accompanied by members of the Mandalorian council. He hated this. All the formalities of being Mand’alor. The constant negotiations and protocols, it was just too much. All he wanted was to get into the crest and get back to how it used to be. Just him, Grogu and you.

Din had zoned out of the conversation - they were all the same at this point - his mind drifting to you again. His lips curved slightly as he thought of your beautiful smile, and how it always made your eyes sparkle. He’d left you in Mandalore - not that he had much choice - and you ruled in his place while he was away. Something that required a lot of begging on his part.

He loved you and wanted to make you his wife, his queen. He succeeded with the first but you still refused to be called a queen. I don’t like titles Din, they make people think they're above everyone else when they're not. He had argued that you would make a great queen, a compassionate one but it did not deter you from your choice.

While Din was lost in his thoughts of you, Grogu had snuck away and when he realised his son was no longer with him, he panicked. Standing abruptly, he leaves the meeting to his adviser and searches for his son. He finds him in the local market, face glued to a tank of frogs and he can’t help but chuckle. He uses the force to lift one out and towards his mouth when a man shouts, startling him. “Hey, get away from them you little Hutt spawn.”

Din could feel his blood boil, his fists clenching at his side as he stormed over towards his son. Picking him up he grabbed a blade from his hip and brought it to the man’s throat. “Say that again.” The man quivered in fear and began apologising, handing a frog to Grogu. “I didn’t mean it, no harm done.” Placing the blade back in its place, Din turned to leave when a woman appeared out of nowhere.

Her hands caressed Grogu’s ears as her gaze landed on the visor of Din’s helmet. “He is just adorable, is he yours?” Din nodded, unable to speak. Her hands began to roam and landed on his arms as she squeezed his muscles. “You are such a good dad, if you want to have another - I’m happy to help.” Was she flirting with him?

Din swallowed thickly before he came to his senses and pushed her away gently. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Walking away he was stopped again by another woman. What in the maker? “That was amazing, what you did back there, protecting your son. Interested in having more?” Din didn’t stop this time as he barrelled back to the ship.

Boarding the crest he removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair - Grogu cooing happily as he sat watching his father. This had been happening a lot lately, women throwing themselves at him, wanting to mother his children. It’s not something he ever thought about. Sure he had Grogu but having children of his own - wasn’t something he ever thought he’d have. Now, it’s all he can think about.

He thinks about it every day and at night when he sleeps and now all he wants to do is get home and breed you. You are the only one he wants to be the mother of his children. He just hopes you want that too. Hitting on his com-link he summons his council back to the ship, sitting in the pilot chair and setting the coordinates for Mandalore. His body hummed with desire and his cock ached.

He needed to get home, now.

***

As soon as Din landed he went in search of you, ignoring the pleas of his council to discuss urgent matters. He didn’t care. This was far more urgent.

He knew where you’d be and when he stood outside the door to the library, he could hear you humming inside. A smile spreads over his face and he opens the doors startling you. “Dank farrik, Din you scared me.” The book falls from your hands as he grabs you around the waist tight, pulling you close. “What’s gotten into you? Did the negotiations not go well?”

He loves how you are always concerned about these things but right now his mind is on other things. He growls and you shriek a little as your hands rest on his chest plates. The beskar cooling your flushed skin. “Need you now, mesh’la.” He pushes his hips against yours and you can feel his desire for you, hard and throbbing against his cargo pants.

What’s got him so riled up? “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His grip tightens and he closes his eyes, “trust me, you don’t want to know what I’ve been thinking.”

“I do, so tell me.” He releases a deep breath and his eyes find yours. “Want to…want to breed you… wanna see you round with my baby.” You freeze, eyes focused on his visor. “What?!” He grabs your hands and places them on either side of his helmet, before helping you lift it off him. It falls to the floor with a loud clunk and his brown eyes stare at your beautiful face, a mixture of love and lust swirling behind them.

“I want to…I….” He becomes nervous suddenly and you place your hand along his cheek. “It’s ok, tell me.” His eyes fall to your lips quickly before meeting your gaze again. “I’ve been thinking…what if we had a baby…a brother or sister for Grogu?” His grip on your waist tightens a little and your lips curve into a smile. “You want us to have a baby?” He nodded, his eyes full of hope.

“Ok!” He smiles brightly before his lips crash onto yours. “You're sure?” You nod before pulling him into you again. “But you’ll have to work for it,” you whisper into his ear. “What?” Pulling away you create a little distance. “I want you to chase me, hunt me, and if you catch me - then you can breed me.”

His eyebrows quirk as an amused smile spreads across his face. “What if I lose?” You move back towards the door, “you won’t.” With that, you ran. He removed his gloves and flexed his fingers. This was going to be fun.

***

You moved as fast as your legs could carry you as you run through the palace, knowing full well he would catch you. He always did. You thought about hiding but then you entered the throne room. An idea is formed and you rid yourself of your clothes before ascending the throne and taking a seat.

The beskar was cold against your skin and a shiver ran through you. Your exposed breasts are pushed forward as you sit straighter, waiting for your king. The doors are pushed open and Din stalks towards you, faltering in his step when he sees you upon his throne. His eyes seem to darken and his lips curve into a seductive smile. Din was ravenous, and his desire permeated the air. He stands before you, “My Queen.”

“Kneel.” You command and he quirks his eyebrow at you, the hint of a smile on his face. You know he doesn’t want to play these games but he will if he wants you. “For someone who doesn’t like titles, you sure are bossy.” He drops to his knees and looks up at you with a tsunami of emotions behind his eyes. Sitting forward slightly you beckon him towards you with your finger. He crawls towards you slowly and your heart swells, knowing you are the only one he’d do that for.

His soft plush lips kiss your bare feet as his hand wraps around your leg. “What does my Queen desire?”

“You want to breed me?” Din nods his head as he inches closer to you. “Then strip and fuck me here, on your throne.” A growl emanates from his chest and he sheds his armour and clothes quickly, standing bare before you - chest heaving. He drops to his knees again, his hands tracing up your legs as his lips skim the inside of your thighs before his mouth finds your core.

Your back arched off the throne and your breath hitched as he worked his tongue into you. His stubble and moustache created delicious friction. “Oh fuck…Din..” He adds two fingers and you mewl below him as you come hard, cunt fluttering around his thick fingers. He pulls away and stands, grabbing his cock as he pumps himself. “Up!” He commands and you stand on shaky legs.

“Want you to ride me on my throne. Use me, my Queen.” You straddle his waist and his big hands grip your hips tight as you slowly sink down on him. A groan escapes his lips as he fills you. “So kriffing tight…gonna fill you up mesh’la…watch it take root and…oh fuck…” His head falls back as pleasure courses through him, your hips moving above him. His hand moves towards your breast grabbing it and squeezing tight before he captures your nipple with his mouth.

“Din..oh maker…I’m gonna come…” He helps you move above him, his eyes focused on where you are both joined, watching his cock move in and out of you. “Come mesh’la, come for your king.” You clench around him as you cry out in ecstasy, “oh fuck…yes daddy…”

Din is still below you and his nostrils flare as he asks you what you said. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment, “daddy.” He stands, his grip on you tight as he flips you onto your back. You're bent a little and the position is a little awkward but you don’t care. He pounds into you grunting loudly in your ear. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, daddy.” Oh, fuck you were doing this again. His hips begin to falter and he moves his hand to your clit, rubbing circles over your swollen bud. “Want you to come again…then I’m gonna fill you up, breed you.”

“Yes…please fill me up Din, make me yours.” He thrusts twice more before spilling inside you, coating your womb with his seed. You’re both panting and sweaty as you come down from your high. “Are you ok, mesh’la? I wasn’t too rough?” You smile up at him as your hand rests on his cheek, “never. I want you to do that again.”

He chuckles as he pulls away slowly and helps you up. You can feel his come dripping down your thighs. “I love you.” His lips meet yours in a soft kiss before the doors burst open and his council stand mouths agape as they take in your naked forms. “Oh, your majesty, we are so sorry, we didn’t know…”

Din pushes you behind him in an attempt to hide you. “Out! Now - and keep your eyes off my wife.” You bury your head into his shoulder in embarrassment as they all shuffle out of the throne room. “I’m never gonna be able to face them again.”

“If any of them say anything I’ll kill them.” He bends a little, grabbing you and lifting you into his arms. “Now, I’m gonna take you back to our room and keep you full of me all night, make sure I have you bred before morning. Would you like that, my Queen?”

“Yes, my king.”

Part 2 / Lactation / Somnophilia

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @trickstersp8

Din djarin: @paulalikestuff @anaaaispunk @hb8301 @djarinslove @browneyes-issac @dins-cyare @agingerindenial @afootnoteinyourhappiness @stevie75 @almaeunice @readsalot73

[againstacecilia]

A Realization

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, bounty-hunting, alcohol, sad girl hour, Din gets hurt, more pining (I'm SORRY)

A/N: WHEW WE'RE BACK! Sorry for the sudden hiatus, but thank you for being here through it all. Reader gets a crack at leading a hunt in this chapter soooo get ready. 😍 Thank you forever and ever and ever to @creatively-analytical for beta-ing, ILYSM. 💖 Asks are always open!!

The next few weeks are spent training. You fall into your cot every night exhausted and sleep a dreamless sleep, waking the next morning with muscles you didn’t even know you had aching. As draining as it should have been, you actually find yourself thriving. Your body becomes strong and you learn to use it in ways you never imagined. Mando ups your sparring to nearly every night and you progress faster than either of you thought. 

One night, after nearly taking him down, you’re both panting as Mando helps you up and says, “I think you’re ready.”

“Ready to what?”

“Ready to help me with another bounty.” He looks you up and down as you wipe dirt from your legs; the floor of the Crest needing a good cleaning. “What do you think?”

Adrenaline sparks in you, excitement creeping through your blood. “I’m ready,” you nod. 

“Alright, we’ll head to Nevarro and pick one up. You’ll take point.”

You both head up to the cockpit and you watch Mando punch in the coordinates for Nevarro. The more you watch him pilot, the more interesting it becomes. It’s a new thing, finding interest in things like flying and fighting, but it solidifies the new direction your life is taking. 

The first thing you notice about Nevarro is the smell. Sulfur and heat combined with packed dirt and fuel give you an idea of what the people will be like, and you’re right. Hardened, proud people nod and walk briskly past you as you follow Mando through the main street toward a small cantina. The interior is dim and sparsely populated in the early hour and, at a table in the middle of the room, a man with dark skin and close-cropped hair lights up at the sight of your Mandalorian companion. 

“Mando!” he raises a hand in welcome, beckoning you both over, “It’s been a while! Welcome!”

“Karga,” Mando responds, shaking the man’s hand and offering you a seat at the table.

“And who is this?” the man Mando called Karga asks, looking at you. You extend your hand and give him your name with a polite smile. 

“Nice to meet you,” he shakes your hand as well. “So! What brings you back to my neck of the woods?”

“Need a bounty. Something low- to mid-level.”

Karga pulls some pucks out of his cloak and sets them on the table between you. Various busts hover over the small devices and he gives you and Mando details on each person. 

“Looks like we’ve got the normal array of bail jumpers, some escaped cons, an ex-Imp…” Karga stops and gestures to all of them, “Take your pick.”

Mando looks to you, “Which one do you want to take?”

You observe the holograms and sift through the information Karga just gave. You decide on one man, an escaped prisoner called Jafan Tille. Mando grabs the puck off the table. 

“Good choice,” Karga comments, taking the rest and putting them back in his cloak. “Luckily, he should be close so I expect you back in a week or so.”

Mando nods and stands, you follow suit. “It was nice to meet you, Karga.”

“Lovely to meet you as well. Keep this one in line, alright?” He points at Mando with a gleam in his eye.

“I’ll do my best,” you chuckle. 

The sun is nearing the horizon as you and Mando make it back to the Razor Crest. Mando had bought some fresh food before you left the cantina as well as some drinks the bartender promised were “the best in the parsec”. You were sure you wouldn’t know the difference; drinking was something you really only did at special occasions back home. But it kind of was a special occasion, to you anyway, and you were ready to celebrate the general success of this new life you’d started. 

As usual, you and Mando sat back to back as you ate dinner. There’s an air of friendship that surrounds you now and you’ve begun to find comfort in his presence. You and he laugh through the evening, eating and drinking and talking about nothing of consequence. By the time the sun is fully set, you’re feeling light and your head is buzzing quite pleasantly. 

“Mando,” you put the empty cup on the floor next to you, “What’s your actual name?”

He straightens up a bit against your back but stays quiet.

“Oh I’m sorry, is that something you can tell me?”

“It is,” he sighs, “Others know my name, but I don’t generally share it with too many. As a Mandalorian, secrecy is survival.”

“You don’t have to tell me, I’m sorry I asked so-”

“Din.”

The single syllable rings in your ears. “Din?”

“My name is Din Djarin,” he says again, a little stronger this time.

It takes every bit of will power you have to not turn and look at him. Instead, you reach down and find his hand. Giving it a squeeze, you say, “Thank you, Din.” 

He squeezes back and you sit in silence for a second before you let go. “I think I should go to bed. The room is spinning a little bit.”

Mando chuckles as he reaches down to grab his helmet. It hisses back into place and he stands, coming around to help you up. 

“Oops,” you stumble, the change in altitude as you stand really getting the room turning. Mando catches you with ease and sweeps you into his arms. 

“Careful, Cuyan, looks like those drinks were strong.” He laughs and sets you on your cot. 

You frown up at him as he adjusts your blankets and pillows, “When do I get to know what that means?”

“Eventually,” is all he says before stepping away. He returns with a canteen of water. “Drink up, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

- - - - - - - -

Even with the water, your pounding head is the first thing you notice as you come to consciousness. The Crest’s engines are humming and you figure you’re already headed toward your bounty. Groaning, you get up and head to the fresher, hoping a cold shower will help calm the rumbling in your stomach. 

Luckily, you do feel a bit better after the shower, but your head is still pounding. You fill the canteen back up before climbing to the cockpit. 

“Morning Ma-, I mean, Din.”

“How we feeling?” Din turns to face you as you settle into your chair. You catch the amusement in his voice but choose to ignore it. 

“To be honest, my head is killing me.”

He laughs, turning back to the controls, “I told you to drink all the water.”

“I did,” you insist, but you laugh along with him. Whatever blossomed between the two of you last night is still there and it’s nice to laugh with him. Even if it’s at your own expense. 

“We should make it to Mon Cala in a couple of hours.” Din begins to fill you in on the bounty you had selected, Jafan Tille. He broke out of a prison ship with the help of members of his gang and had skipped around the Galaxy for 6 months before being recognized at an outpost in the Mid-Rim. The amount on his head has been growing since. 

“He isn’t dangerous, per say, just very crafty. Master of disguise, he seems to blend in with the locals wherever he is and charms most of the people who try to turn him in. We’re to bring him in alive.”

You study the holopad containing Jafan’s information. “What’s Mon Cala like?”

“It’s an ocean planet, lots of underwater cities to hide in.”

“Or be trapped in,” you pose. From what you’ve read about Jafan, he doesn’t seem like the type to want to be hidden away for the rest of his life. “He seems to be getting lazy.”

Din hums his agreement, “Likely not adjusting well to life on the run.” 

“Let’s fix that for him,” you put the holopad on the arm of your chair. 

For the rest of the journey you prepare for a hunt, packing your bag and stretching. You go through your forms by yourself in the cargo hold, punching and kicking at the air until Din’s voice calls.

“We’re about to land.”

Wiping sweat from your head with your sleeve, you climb up and into the cockpit. The view from the windows stops you in your tracks. A glittering city built on top of the water nearly blinds you, both tunnels under the cerulean waves and walkways above connecting the bustling areas. Districts of shops and homes lay in front of you, surrounded by crystal clear water. Din expertly lowers the Crest to an open landing pad while your eyes bounce from sight to sight. 

After paying for the dock, you and Din load up and head down the ramp. You had both decided that trying out Dac City, an above water city, was a good place to start. Din agreed that an underwater city wasn’t the most likely spot he’d be; he’d want to be able to mingle and schmooze and celebrate his “freedom”. 

“Here,” Din hands you the tracking fob, “Take the lead, bounty hunter.”

You take it with a smile, the small red light pulsing slowly. You know that to mean he isn’t incredibly close, but you pick a direction and follow the crowd keeping an eye on the fob. Din follows closely behind, standing nearly an entire head over most the other people in the city. 

For a couple of hours you peruse the streets and shops of Dac City, falling into a rhythm with your companion. You begin asking the questions you’d heard him ask on your previous hunts, letting him ask the follow ups you might miss. He points out small spaces that people could slip into without being noticed and, before long, you’re seeing the world around you as he might. 

As you turn a corner to a side road, the fob begins blinking furiously and your eyes snap to Din as he scans the street. He sinks into a crouch, keeping low and motioning for you to lead the way down the street. With wide eyes you whisper, “Where?”

He comes up close to you and breathes back, “Next intersection. He’s walking away from us and I don’t think we’ve been noticed.”

You nod, adjusting your footsteps to be as silent as possible. You near the next intersection and catch sight of Jafan for the first time. He’s tall, nearly as tall as Din, with jet black hair and a clean-shaven face. Circular sunglasses rest on his nose, and his dark, tailored suit is cut close to a slim frame. You and Din stay in the shadows of the building as much as possible when Jafan’s head peeks over his shoulder and sees you behind him. 

Without hesitating, he takes off. Cursing under your breath you follow, Din on your heels. The three of you race through the uninhabited streets of Dac City before reaching the city center. 

“Mando, I can’t see him anymore!”

“I got him,” he responds, taking the lead. The crowd begins to part for him as they notice his hulking from barreling toward them and you follow close behind to take advantage of the clearing. After a minute, Din calls your name and points to a small door. “He ducked in there!”

“You go in, I’ll go around back just in case!” You break off and skirt the building, finding the back door. You press your back to the wall directly next to the door and wait, chest heaving from the exertion. 

It’s quiet for a full minute before you hear footsteps thundering through the room behind you. Steadying yourself, you prepare for the door to burst open. As it does, you stick your leg out and trip Jafan, sending him tumbling to the ground in front of you. You jump onto him, pinning his arms under your knees. “Gotcha.”

He stops struggling under your body and looks up at your face. Panting, he wiggles his eyebrows before saying, “Yes you did, gorgeous. Why am I feeling so lucky right now?”

You don’t respond, even though you desperately wish you could unhear the connotation of “lucky”. Pulling a pair of cuffs from your belt, you slide off his arms but keep your weight on his torso enough to keep him pinned while flipping him to his stomach. You snap the cuffs onto his wrists as Din stumbles out of the door behind you. 

“You okay?” you ask over your shoulder, standing and yanking Jafan up with you. 

Din nods, “Our friend here jumped me in the storage room back there. Got a cheap shot at my head.”

Jafan laughs, “Oh come on, that was clever of me! I got one up on a Mandalorian, I’m going to tell this story forever!”

“You’re awfully cheery for someone who just got nabbed after being on the run for almost a year.” You’re talking to Jafan but keeping an eye on Din as you make your way back to the Crest. He’s still wobbling a little bit and it’s making you nervous.

“You’re such a spoil sport,” Jafan pouts, kicking a rock in front of him. 

Navigating the streets of Dac City is easier in the late afternoon, binary suns shining down on the glistening buildings. You pull Jafan along, not paying attention to his rambling but rather closely watching Din’s movements. Once you get back to the Crest, you have him walk you through the carbon freezer’s buttons and load Jafan in. Normally, you would’ve asked Din to just chain him to a rail or something, but you were much more preoccupied with making sure that “cheap shot” Jafan got on Din wasn’t something more serious. 

Once all that is done, you round on Din. “Alright, you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” he waves your concern away and tries to climb the ladder, only to miss the first rung and slam his foot into the ground. 

“Din, come on. This isn’t normal.” A knot begins to form in your stomach. If it’s a head injury, he’s not going to let me help him take care of it…

He straightens up and turns to look at you, hand still gripping the side rail. “Okay, maybe I’m a little shaken up but it’s nothing to worry about.”

Marching over to him, you take his hand and pull him toward the fresher. “You’re going to go in there, take your helmet off, and walk me through what you see. I’ll help you take care of it from this side of the door.” You push him through the doorway and slide the door shut. “Well? I’m waiting, Mr. Djarin.”

You hear the hiss of his helmet coming off and the clunk of it being set on the small sink. “I don’t see anything.”

“Run your hand gently over the part of your head Jafan hit. Anything tender or bleeding?”

“Lots of places are tender, he hit me over the head with a plank of wood.”

“Okay, fair. What about blood?”

“I don’t think…” His sentence drifts off and he’s quiet for a moment before…

Thud.

“Din?” You ask, stepping closer to the door. “Din, everything okay?” It’s too quiet and your blood turns cold. There’s nothing you can do; his helmet is off in there and he definitely just passed out. If he has a concussion or something’s broken… You had to get in there. 

Opening the door, you squeeze your eyes shut and fumble for the light switch. “Din, I’m going to turn off the light and come in, okay?” 

Still no response. You finally find the switch, plunging the room into darkness. Remembering the light coming in from the cargo hold, you rush to turn that off as well and stumble your way back to your unconscious Mandalorian. 

Sliding to the floor, you crawl to his prone form and cradle his head in your lap. “Din? Din I need you to wake up.”

His silence has become comforting, but not like this. This silence only promises pain and fear, not contemplation and companionship. Your hands are featherlight on his head as you search for the wound. No bleeding, thank the Maker, but there is a spot along the back of his head that is incredibly soft. You’re sure the scalp is bruised, already purple and blue, and there’s a chance his skull might have fractured. The fear bubbling up in you almost overwhelms you as you whisper, “Din, I’m going to try some of that bacta stuff, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You’re sure he can’t hear you, but talking through the steps helps you focus. First, get the first aid pack. Second, find the tube of bacta. Third, find your way blindly back to the fresher. Fourth, open the tube and smear it on his head. Fifth… Wait for something to happen.

So you wait. You sit in the dark with his head on your lap, stroking his hair and murmuring quietly to him. His hair is curly, something you never thought about, but as you sit there with him so close to you, you begin to imagine what he looks like. You know about the curly hair now, and you add that to the tan skin and stubble you vaguely remember seeing when he was carrying you back to the ship after Zena’s attack. You imagine his eyes are brown, depthless and warm. Maybe he even has little smile lines around them? You shake your head and focus on humming the lullaby you mom used to sing to you when you were sick. 

After a couple choruses, Din starts to rouse. A groan slips from him and you stop humming with a gasp. “Don’t sit up, you gotta let the bacta work.”

He obeys, laying back down and sighing. “What happened?”

“You passed out. I’m so sorry, I had to come in and make sure you were okay. All the lights are off and I swear, I didn’t see anything.”

“It’s okay, Cuyan,” he pats your knee behind his head, “You did everything right.”

“Do you need anything?”

“I don’t think so,” he adjusts slightly in your lap, “I think the bacta’s working.”

“Can you stand?”

You feel him nod and help him slowly sit up. Taking it a step at a time, Din finally manages to get fully standing. The room is still pitch black and you suddenly realize just how close you are to each other. 

“I’m gonna check on your wound, okay?” you warn him, reaching up. You find he’s facing you, so you gently ghost your fingers around the crown of his head until you find the batca covered patch of hair. It has only been a few minutes, but the swelling has already gone down and isn’t radiating heat the way it was before. With a sigh of relief, you pull away. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Thanks to you,” Din responds, voice low. He catches your hands as they leave his head and gives them a squeeze. “I’m not used to knowing someone has my back.”

“Well get used to it, Mandalorian.” Without thinking, you stand on tiptoe and place a kiss on his cheek, a friendly gesture you picked up from your mother. You let go of his hands and head for the cargo hold to give him space to clean up. 

Relief paints the rest of the evening in a much needed calm. Din goes to bed early, which makes sense after the events of the afternoon, and you’re left to your own thoughts in the quiet of the Crest. You find yourself in the cockpit, using the height of your dock to your advantage to study Dac City. It’s more beautiful at night than it is in the daytime; the glittering of the lights on the waves around the city is mesmerizing. 

While you watch, your mind drifts to the events of the last few weeks. The one thing that comes up over and over again is the nickname Din has started calling you, Cuyan. What does it mean? You’re sure it isn’t anything bad or degrading, but it’s maddening to not know what it means. If you could just find the context… 

After mulling over the word for another few minutes, you decide to give your mind a break and lean into the pilot’s chair you commandeered for the evening. You’ve seen Din sit in it hundreds of times by now, but realized when you came up and started settling into your normal chair that you had never sat in it so you took the opportunity. It’s surprisingly comfortable. You imagine Din in it, turning to look at you while you read off a target’s information. You can see him flying the Crest, hands deftly pressing buttons and flipping switches before gently pulling the control for the jump to hyperspace. Another memory pops into your head of him in this room, but this time behind the chair, another figure kneeling in front of him…

Your eyes fly open and you try to fill your mind with any other view. The glowing buttons, the waves, the people still loitering in the streets below, anything but your intrusion on his privacy. You try to summon images of your adventures today, but you feel your cheeks heat and tears sting your eyes at the idea of him with someone else. 

But why? You don’t mean anything romantic to each other. Sure, you feel more safe with him than you’ve felt in your entire life. Even running through streets of unknown cities with him, even after being stabbed chasing a bounty, his presence is still one of security for you. And sure, you’ve felt jolts here and there of something more than friendship. The way it felt to have his finger hooked under your chin, him carrying you to your cot after too much to drink, the spark that ignites in your heart whenever he says your name, but does that mean anything? 

No. It couldn’t mean anything. He had someone, you had seen it with your own eyes. There’s nothing you may or may not feel that he’d ever reciprocate and the sooner you realized that, the better. No sense in admitting any sort of feelings when any relationship you might daydream would be dead on arrival in reality.

What started as a calm evening ends as emotionally choppy as the water below you. You’d been so focused on starting this new life and forgetting Arlon that you didn’t notice Din sneaking his way into unnoticed spaces in your heart. For the first time in weeks, you curl into yourself and cry yourself dry, falling asleep in the Crest’s pilot’s chair.

Previous chapter || Next chapter

Interested in being notified when I post? Join my tag list here. 💖

[just-here-for-the-moment]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 300 LOVE💚💚💚 You deserve it and more because you are TALENTED and SO SWEET and everything you do is just 👨‍🍳🤌

I took the chance to spin your wheel… and first spin I got was Mando with a lactation kink… I KNOW this man loves kids and wants a big family so I can’t wait to see what you come up with!!!! All the love!

Woooo!!! This broke me. I was really going for XTRA FILTHY SMUT but that did not happen. This one surprised me when I wrote it by sneaking up all soft and sweet, and then ending that way too. That's okay, though, I like a good soft smut.

Hope you enjoy!!! :D

Word Count: 2030+

Rating: Explicit/mature, 18+ only

Outline: Din Djarin x “You”/Din’s wife (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: starts soft, ends soft; Din has a filthy mouth; praise kink (use of “good girl”); lactation kink; unprotected P/V sex in the context of marriage; sprinkling of breeding kink

Evenings and nights were always your favorite with your husband. It was the best time of the day, everyone settled down and quiet, the ship docked for the night wherever you were visiting or set to autopilot to the next destination. You knew your husband’s moods, the slight slump of his shoulders telling you that he was getting drowsy, ready to head below decks and rest, curled up in your arms.

You nursed your son, putting him down before heading up to the cockpit to knit for a bit and watch the stars race by. After an hour of that, you saw the telltale signs and knew that Din was done for the day, even if he didn’t know it himself. He pushed himself too hard, always believing that there was more of him to go around than there was.

Now that the baby was here, growing healthy and strong, Din had resumed his habit of staying up too late, tweaking just one more thing in the cockpit or looking over the available jobs just one more time. He had spent too many nights slumped sleeping in that pilot’s chair, and you had finally started being gently pushy, in the hopes of getting the man to just stop and rest.

You waited until you saw the helmet keel an inch too far to the right, knowing how heavy it felt on his head, his old habit of wearing full armor at all times in the cockpit in case things went sideways and he had to spring into action. You didn’t push him to relax or remove it, you knew how much he needed that feeling of being in control. But you could be sweet and soft, remind him how much you needed him at the end of the day, how good it would feel to finally remove the Beskar and curl up against you, skin to skin for the night.

“Din,” you made your voice soft. “It’s bedtime.”

His helmet tilted back to center and you heard him clear his throat. “Just one more thing, mesh’la.”

You smiled to yourself and finished off your row of stitches, giving him a few more minutes, tweaking knobs and fiddling with buttons. You got up and stretched, then came around to his side, placing one hand on the back of his neck with a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s go. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone tomorrow.”

Din lifted one hand to grip your waist affectionately. You could visualize the fight happening on his face, the urge to take care of just one more item battling against the pull of your soft curves in the dark. You leaned in, letting his helmet come to rest against your side.

“Let me take you to bed, you big, strong man.” Your voice was soft, your nails softer as you slipped them just under the cowl and dragged them across the back of his neck.

Din sighed and then set the ship to autopilot before he removed his helmet. His eyes were rimmed with hints of red, the circles underneath deeper than they had been yesterday. Your heart squeezed, and you immediately took the helmet to set it gently on the floor. You kneeled in front of his chair and didn’t say a word as you started to help him remove his gloves, then all of the parts of his armor that you could reach. For his part, Din let you worry your fingers over him. Then he stood up and took off his back plates and cape, piling everything neatly on the ground.

“Sit.” You left no room for argument, and Din complied. You muttered gently to yourself as you reached down to help him remove his boots, “Kriffing crazy man, pushing yourself so hard…”

Din let you undress him, let you massage your fingers up his calves and across his quads, and that told you more than anything how tired he really was. Normally he would at least protest, say that he didn’t need the help, but this quiet acquiescence was worrisome. Still, though, you knew how to relax him, get him to stop. You weren’t above using your feminine wiles to bend him to your will, all in the service of getting him to rest.

When he was finally down to his flight suit, you opened the front of it and peeled it down and off his shoulders, and then straddled his lap in the pilot’s chair. You started by skating your nails over his shoulders. Din closed his eyes as a shiver ran through his body. He nearly moaned, a soft “Ohhh…” floating out into the quiet of the cockpit.

You gently pushed his forehead so that he could lean his head back on the headrest, and increased the pressure of your fingers as you rubbed circles into the knots of his biceps and trapezius muscles. Din let his hands rest on your thighs as you worked him over, and by the end of it, he was putty in your hands. You finished by laying a soft kiss to his velvet lips, and you were surprised when he kissed back and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tight.

“Sweet man, I thought you were tired?” You smiled as he brought his eyes to rest on your face.

“No, mesh’la. I think I just got a second wind.” Din raised an eyebrow at you, and you giggled as you felt him twitch hard underneath your crotch.

“No, you need to rest, my husband. You’re awfully tired.”

Din groaned as he buried his face against your sternum, grinding up against your through your clothing. You threaded your fingers through his curls and scraped your nails from his ears down to his neck, pulling a moan from deep in his throat.

“But I need to have you, just like this.” Din brought his hands up to untie the laces of your wrap dress, sliding his thick fingers under the fabric as it fell open. “Please? Can I taste your milk? You know I love to taste you, mesh’la.” He placed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the swell of your breasts. You felt a thrill run through your body, finding it harder and harder to be stern with him.

“No, Din, you really need-” You gasped as he cupped your breast with one big hand and brought his mouth to the nipple. “You need…” But for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the next part of your orders. You let your dress slide down your arms and off your shoulders, pooling on the floor of the cockpit. Your panties were damp, and Din’s strong arm wrapped around you, holding you firmly in place.

“I know what I need, my sweet wife. I need you.” Din dove back to your breast with his hungry mouth, swirling the nipple with his tongue as his erection grew and pressed harder against your clothed cunt. You felt your milk prickling behind your areolas, knowing that if Din applied any suction, you would start leaking from both breasts, and then you would entirely lose control of this mission to get him to bed.

“No, Din, bed-” but he cut you off with a growl, something primal and low that rumbled from deep in his chest and took your breath away as he gripped you closer, teeth scraping against your budded nipple.

Din began to suckle, and you threw your head back with a gasp, clinging tightly to his shoulders as the muscles flexed under your touch. He was quiet but greedy, sucking at one side before moving to the other. The feel of your milk letting down made you moan, and giving in was just too easy, too sweet to resist. You let your husband take what he wanted, what he needed from you. There would be plenty for the baby still.

“You taste like the stars, sweet girl.” Din’s voice was a hoarse whisper in between his lapping, and his praises made you wetter. “You taste like honey and sunshine like this.”

“Diiinn…” Your head was fuzzy, wiped clean of everything except desire. “Din, please…”

You weren’t even sure what you were asking for, but Din took charge, lifting you half out of his lap so that he could free his cock, before hooking one thick finger and pulling your panties to the side. He swept the head of his penis back and forth against your slick folds and then thrust up inside, settling you back on his lap with his arm wrapped tight around your lower back.

“My wife, my girl,” he growled into your mouth as he worked you against him. You braced your feet as best you could, but Din was determined to do things his way. You let him pull and release you with that iron grip, canting your hips back and forth as he rocked you on his length. He ducked his head back down and lapped at you again and again.

All you could manage was a breathy, “Ohhh,” as he kept thrusting up into you at a steady pace. You grasped at his shoulders, his hair, anywhere you could find a purchase to steady yourself.

“My wife has the sweetest tits in the whole galaxy. Such a good girl, letting me fuck her like this.” Din’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at you. “Want me to fuck another warrior into you, mesh’la? Another baby?”

“Yes, oh!” You felt your climax start to unfurl, every nerve tingling as his cock rubbed against your clit from this angle.

Din suckled you again and again, pausing only to growl praises and promises up into your mouth.

“You’d like that? You want me to fill you up again? I’ll keep you pregnant all the time, full of milk for me and our babies.” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist as he fucked up inside of you harder. “Keep your tits full? Keep you dripping sweet milk, all for me?”

You nodded and kissed him. “Yes, please- yes, yes. Fill me up, Din. I want you to.”

“Come for me first, sweet girl.” Din cupped his free hand under your knee and lifted your leg high and open. “Touch yourself. I want my wife to come around my cock.”

Your hand flew down inside your panties to touch your clit, rubbing and pressing it in circles, trying desperately to follow his wishes. Finally you felt the finish coming. You gasped out to him as you came and Din kept his eyes pinned on your face as you cried out. Your cunt squeezed and milked his cock as he began to spurt his own release deep inside. Din let go of your leg, and both arms wrapped your waist in a vise grip as he ground himself into you and climaxed.

When you were both spent, Din brought both hands to cup your breasts, licking the last of your milk from the swollen nipples.

Din’s “Hmmmm…” reverberated through his lips, the deepest and most satisfied sound you could imagine. You felt him hot inside of you, and you were reluctant to lift yourself off his lap. He softened inside of you bit by bit as he licked your nipples, squeezing both breasts until he was satisfied that he had gotten every last drop.

You draped your arms around the back of Din’s neck and let his cheek rest against your breast, curling your fingers gently in the back of his hair and feeling him finally soften fully.

“Will you sleep well, my husband?” You gently teased him, a soft smile on your lips as you looked down at him and stroked his face.

Din looked up at you from under his lashes, and your heart ached at how peaceful his big brown eyes were, how comforted he looked there in your arms. You wanted him to look like that forever. You wished you could somehow wipe all worry and strain from his life. But maybe this was the best you could do for your husband, just comfort him and give him solace when he needed it most.

Din closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and you let him rest there a while longer.

---

Din Djarin/Mando character masterlist

Main masterlist

“Everything bagel” tag list: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme @eri16 @mandocrasis @pilothusband @bastillealmighty @eri16 @jitterbugs927 @babiiface95 @toomanystoriessolittletime @yespolkadotkitty @fisforfulcrum @prettylilhalforc @mswarriorbabe80 @littlemisspascal @wildemaven @coreychick @castleamc @coreychick @astoryisaloveaffair

[amywritesthings]

CHAPTER ONE: THE EXCHANGE.

The POINT A TO POINT B series.

gif credit @ sith-maul

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Escorting a former Empire prisoner of war to a Rebel Alliance safe zone? It should be a piece of cake. Absolutely no problems whatsoever.

A/N: Welcome to my first ever Mandalorian fic! This is a multi-chapter slow burn of Din/You, set somewhere in an AU in the vastness of The Mandalorian S2. The first three chapters are currently available on AO3. 

Next Chapter. | Series Masterlist

“He’ll be here any moment.”

That’s what they’ve told you for approximately an hour now. Your escort to the rendezvous point seems nervous. It’s in the way they bounce on the balls of their feet, shifting to check that you’re still sitting uncomfortably atop a toppled sliced boulder. Like you have any other place to run, hide, when they’ll always just find you again. That’s what the Empire will do and has always done: find people. In every crevice, in every corner; finding people is what they are good at, but according to whispers, they have never found him.

You should enjoy the fresh air because you may never feel it again. After being cooped up in the belly of an Imperial ship for however many years it’d been, the Earth beneath your boots should feel comforting, freeing. Sterilized hallways, blinding prison cells; the scent of death without the visual confirmation is burned into the very center of your nostrils, possibly forever. 

Legend has it the Empire will keep prisoners of war for decades. You’re lucky they found you when they did. Lost individuals that the rebel cause deems important so rarely make it out alive. From the privates to the convoy royalty, the Empire gives little thought to who wastes away aboard their vessels. Somehow with the right time and the right place, you will not follow the nameless faces so courageous in their endeavor for freedom. 

Yet you still feel nameless, faceless, while you await like living cargo in this indistinguishable forest. You shift your left foot, digging the toe of your boot into a clumped pile of dirt in hopes of finding ways to ground yourself before the ship arrives — before he takes you away — because all of this is temporary. 

Soon enough you’ll be on yet another clump of metal floating through the vastness of space. 

Point A to Point B.

“Do all Mandalorians not know how to tell time?”

Your escort scowls. “Child, I beg of you to be reasonable.”

“I’ll be reasonable when he learns to be punctual.”

“He’s a busy man.”

“He’s a busy bounty hunter.” 

As your gazes connect, your correction weighs heavy on your tongue. Rebel, Empire, for money or glory; they’re all the same. A spineless job, if you were to ever have an opinion on them. Selling oneself to the highest bidder and thinking nothing of the consequences that lay around them in the aftermath. War isn’t cheap, and there’s plenty of money to be made in the exchange of transporting precious cargo from this wasteland of an outer rim moon to Coruscant. Not all bounty hunters are made of legends, however, but this one?

There are stories about him. That much you do know.

Cunning. Ruthless. Doesn’t talk much if he can stand it, keeps to himself so much that no one knows who he really is, but a man of his word nonetheless. Something about beskar. Has more successful bounties than any other hunter on the market.

Some say he’s even honorable, but bounty hunters and honorable can never go in the same sentence if ‘cannot be’ isn’t present in the middle.

The rumbling overhead of a nearing ship halts your train of thought. Your escort stands at attention, fumbling with their hands as though riddled with nerves. You wait on the rock with mild interest as the ship descends towards the reddened dirt for landing. 

The wind picks up, forcing the stray hairs from your mangled braids to lick at your chin, the sides of your face. You wipe them away with a careless hand, squinting against the dying thrusters as they steadily decrease in strength. As the cargo bay door opens at an angle and burrows heavily into the earth, you stand to get a better look ahead.

What greets you is something you’ve never seen before.

A tall silhouette covered in silver armor slowly descends from the mouth of the ship. His chest plate shines in sections where the sun meets the branches of the towering trees, leather gloved hands balled into fists at either side. On his belt there’s a blaster, grapple wire, tap-activated bombs, and a heavy satchel. His boots, scuffed and unclean, shuffle the dirt beneath him as he nears your escort with silent purpose.

He has no face. 

The most feared bounty hunter in every quadrant throughout the galaxy stays completely hidden by a helmet forged in beskar.

And when he finally stops walking and turns his head towards you, you wait for him to reach up to remove it.

He doesn’t.

“Do you have the credits?”

His voice is deep, a gruff baritone that fights against the helmet’s modulator. Whatever you expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Although you’re certain his attention is pointed towards you, you have no answer to his question. Standing from the rock to dust off your clothes, you open your mouth to answer his abrupt inquiry with a question of your own.

“Of course! Of course.”

Your escort gets there first. 

Patting down their jacket, it’s met with a short aha! as a hefty sum of credits comes tumbling into their hands. They hold it out timidly, but the one they call the Mandalorian continues to watch in your direction. You shift your weight from one leg to another, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare back.

“And the coordinates?” he asks.

“Yes, right here.” Your escort goes to reach for the information, but he nearly fumbles with the credits still sitting there. “Oh! Take these.”

The Mandalorian finally considers what’s beneath him with the tilt of his helmet, grabbing the credits to place inside the pouch at his right hip. Your escort goes off on a tangent of the agreement already made from the holovideo transmitted to him from a previous day, but you don’t care to listen. It’s the same story, different tune: once in woe, another in pity, but this? This was their opportunity. 

Safely transport a princess of value from this godforsaken moon to the city of Coruscant, and you’ll earn your other half there.

Your legs start to make their way towards the exchange on your behalf, curiosity getting the better of you as you continue to stare at the sleek appearance of his armor. Maybe the helmet was in place for anonymity, a smart decision in any case. You picture someone angry under the beskar, torn from war and cantina fights. You’d wager a scar here, a scar there.

“...and under no circumstances should harm come to her, is that understood? This is your most valued jewel. I’ll see to it that your ship receives the repairs needed on Tatooine, and the rest?” 

The escort finally draws in a long inhale, nose flaps elongating and contracting. 

“The rest I leave in your hands.”

“I’ll need to make a few stops along the way,” the Mandalorian says, hand falling to his hip.

“I’m afraid you don’t have time for that.”

“Did she pack a months’ worth of food?”

It’s the first time he’s suggested your presence. Both you and your escort look at each other for the most polite way to say no .

“Then those stops will be necessary.”

“But you know who—”

“The Empire isn’t that close,” you interject, starting on a walk past your escort and the Mandalorian towards the resting ship. “The more we talk, the more we’re wasting time. We can stop for supplies.” 

At the squeak of protest from your escort you turn on a heel to raise your brows, unimpressed. 

“The rest is in his hands, right?”

The helmet cants towards you, but you don’t wait for his response as you turn to walk up the landing ramp. There’s no need, not when your fate is sealed in Empire signatures and Rebel-ladened credits. Even if you wanted to run back into that underground bunker your escort calls home, there wouldn’t be enough time to rip open the hatch and touch the ladder before the bounty hunter dragged you to his ship.

Stories are stories for a reason.

The hull of the ship is busy, crowded and full of strapped cargo and supplies. While the floor is clean, most of the space on the walls are designated for storage. The opposite of an Imperial warship; where those are clean and sterilized to the point of lifelessness, his ship is too busy. Crowded with supplies and half-muddied weaponry, pieces of various jobs and rewards in scattered piles, it’s as though he’s hoarding a bountiful cautionary tale. 

From the inside of a prison cell to an oversized storage tank. How lovely.

“Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

The Mandalorian’s boots carefully step with purposeful weight up the ramp behind you. Continuing to keep your arms crossed, you blink to view the peering escort standing in the dirt below you stumbling over their own two feet. Maybe it’s right then that you realize this will be the last time you can say you have ever been to this moon. Maybe it will be the last time you see your escort, though you can imagine the relief they’ll be in once you’re gone. 

Hopefully the Empire really isn’t that close — for all of your sakes.

“You were late,” you challenge, finally saying the one thing you wanted to utter since he’d arrived. The helmet stares motionless at you, unapologetic. “We can’t afford to waste more time.”

He hums, though whether it’s with disdain or in agreement you can’t tell. Not with the way the modulator fuzzies his entire voice. It’s disembodied, disingenuous. Like he really is just a lifeless hunter out for blood in the middle of the galaxy and not a person. Maybe that’s why everyone tries to hire him for their worst jobs. He’s yet to motion to remove his helmet, so you stay put as he mulls around the hull and presses a button to drag the inclined ramp towards the belly of the ship for departure.

One final look at dirt. At swaying trees and thick trunks etched with so many lifetimes. A swell of sadness, hopelessness, clutches at your heart — until the bay doors close and it’s just you, a crowded ship, and a Mandalorian.

“You should rest.”

Craning your chin towards the sound of his voice, you hear the thumping of his boots as he climbs up the flight deck access ladder. 

“It’s a long journey.”

“To Coruscant?” you ask, tugging the brown robe closer to your chest. Suddenly unwilling to be alone, you follow his lead and climb, careful not to slip. 

As you peer from the top ring of the ladder, the door to the cockpit slides open as he enters. If the ship was crowded in the hull, then it’s even worse up here.

“To Tatooine, then Naboo, then Coruscant.”

“How far are any of those planets from Coruscant?”

“There’s a spare room for you to sleep in through that door.” Entirely bypassing your question, he gives a brief nod to the closed door at the edge of the cockpit. “Keep left.”

“That’s it?” you ask as you stand in your robes, taking in the tiny blinking buttons lining the walls and consoles of the ship. The Mandalorian takes a seat at the pilot’s chair, pulling in a console to tap in coordinates. “You’re not going to tell me how far we have until we make it to Coruscant?”

“We can’t afford to waste more time.”

You still as a wave of uneasy anger hits your empty stomach when your hasty words are thrown back in your face. The engines roar to life as the ship breathes out an exhale, readying for the journey ahead. The bounty hunter continues to function as though you are a ghost, nonexistent in his presence as he begins the protocol to ascend from this moon. 

Like the credit exchange today and the prisoner rescue before it, it was never about you. It was about the principle of safely escorting precious cargo in the name of doing something good. A pawn of the republic. Old habits die hard.

One last look at this moon from the visor of a ship. 

Watching the way the blinking green lights shimmer off the dome of his helmet, you feel a heaviness hit you. It’ll take some time getting used to the gentle turbulence and disturbances that come with floating through space, breaking atmospheres and gliding past stars. Maybe you’ll never get used to bouncing from place to place as there is no end in sight. Coruscant is the hope; a safe haven. After years of living amongst silent metal, it almost sounds too good to be true.

You begin to leave, opening the door that leads to the mess section of the Mandalorian’s ship, yet a question flickers over your mind. 

Before you can stop yourself, you ask it.

“Are you really as ruthless as they say you are, bounty hunter?”

His glove stops mid-reach across the co-pilot’s console. For a minute, you think he’ll take off his helmet and confirm he’s as scary as the rumors that landed him this job. Instead he recovers, pressing a button that lifts the ship off solid ground. 

“Get some rest.”

[myherokatsuki]

I will always love you, even when it hurts | Bakugou Katsuki

Written for @kingkatsuki​​ & @bakuroo-writings​​ ‘s Frozen Hearts Collab.

Warnings/Tags:  Angst with no happy ending, Hanahaki disease, depictions of illness, unrequited love, f!reader, major character death Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: If it had been anyone but Kirishima, Bakugou would have acted, said something, told him to back down–at least, that’s what he told himself… even if he knew it was a lie.

a/n: I ran over a bit on the deadline struggling with some writer’s block, but I hope this still tugs on the heartstrings.  A huge huge thank you to @imagine-you​​ for being my beta and helping me add just that extra twist of angst to the ending.

The bar was packed.  It always was on Saturday nights.

Kaminari’s obnoxious laughter pierced the dull hum of voices that filled the crowded space, even from halfway across the room.  Outside, the snow fell lazily, the winter chill kept at bay by the warm, almost stifling press of heat inside, causing sweat to dampen Bakugou’s brow even in the dead of winter.

Though bodies jostled him as he waited at the bar, he didn’t really notice, too busy watching you.  He couldn’t hear what you’d said, but the grin that lit up your face made him weak and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away.

“There ya go, man,” the bartender called over the din as he slid the full pitcher toward the stoic blonde, beer sloshing over the side. 

Bakugou nodded, tipping the man before grabbing the glass handle and threading his way back to the table, refilling your empty glass as he took his seat at your side.  “What I miss?” he asked as you thanked him, turning that dazzling grin on him before bringing your glass to your lips.

“Not much, just Denki being an idiot.”

“Hey!”

When you laughed, the melodic sound nearly made poor Bakugou’s heart skip a beat.  God, but he loved that sound.  As much as the crowded bar scene annoyed the shit out of him, it was worth it to spend any amount of time with you… even if he’d rather it be just the two of you, he’d take what he could get.

After all, Bakugou Katsuki had been in love with you since high school.

He used to imagine what he’d do if you were his, dreaming up different ways of asking you out.  Now that he was a pro hero, the daydreams had changed slightly, but the heart of it was still the same–win you over, make you his, spoil you rotten.

Despite his gruff exterior, he knew he’d make a good boyfriend.  He’d be attentive and sweet–as sweet as he could be, but only for you.  Only for you.

Bakugou had always thought of himself as brave, braver than most, actually–rushing head first into fights that would make other, lesser heroes hesitate, taking on villains single-handedly without batting an eye.  But when it came to you, he was the world’s biggest coward.  How many times had he approached you, ready to tell you how he felt, only to chicken out as soon as he opened his mouth?  Instead asking to borrow a pen, or to tease you about something or other, just to cover his ass.  Just to say something to you, because as long as he could hear your voice or make you smile, that was enough, right?

Wrong.  It wasn’t enough.  It would never be enough, and the longer he hesitated, the worse it hurt, this gnawing emptiness, this suffocating yearning.

“I’ll be right back, just gotta use the restroom.”  As you excused yourself from the table, finishing off your second beer, Bakugou’s eyes followed your retreating form while he stuffed those thoughts back into the box he kept them in.

Almost as soon as you’d vacated your seat, Kirishima slid into it, leaning in, a conspiratorial grin on his face.  “I’m finally gunna do it, Bakubro,” he announced, his grin stretching, flashing his sharp teeth.

“Do what?” Bakugou asked, raising an amused eyebrow at his friend as he brought his glass to his lips.

“I’m gunna ask her out!”

Bakugou froze, nearly choking on his beer.  “Who?” he asked, as if he didn’t know, all trace of amusement wiped from his face as fear spread through him like ice water, freezing his heart.

“y/n, of course,” Kirishima exclaimed, oblivious to the shift in his friend’s demeanor.

“Oh,” was all Bakugou could bring himself to say, the rest of the words catching in his throat, frowning at his friend’s response, finally noticing Bakugou’s unease.

“Wait… Bakugou, do you have feelings for y/n too?” he asked, worry creeping into his voice, his expression wilting in realization.  “Cause… cause I can back off, if you do.  I wouldn’t wanna–”

“No, do what you want.  It’s got nothing to do with me.”

As soon as the words left his mouth Bakugou knew they felt wrong, his stomach churning as a part of himself screamed silently in protest.  

If it had been anyone but Kirishima, Bakugou would have acted, said something, told him to back down–at least, that’s what he told himself… even if he knew it was a lie.

But this was his best friend.  How could he dash his hopes like that?  Especially when he’d had more than enough opportunities to ask you out himself and hadn’t, letting you slip through his fingers.  

At his words however, Kirishima’s expression brightened once more, relief flashing across his face.  “Really?  You sure?  Then, yeah.  Yeah!  I’m gunna do it.  Tonight.  Right now!” he exclaimed excitedly, taking a long draw from his bottle for courage before bounding to his feet and meeting you across the room on your way back to the table.

Bakugou could only watch from afar–barely able to breathe, his heart in his throat–and selfishly hope that you’d turn Kirishima down.  Because if you said no, then he wouldn’t be the bad guy.  Because if you said no, then he knew there was still hope.  Still hope that you felt the same way about him that he did about you, all these years…

Glancing over without trying to look like he was watching you, waiting desperately for your reaction, his eyes caught yours and a strange expression flit across your face before it was gone.

When you smiled at Kirishima, nodding your head as you stepped closer to him, your hand lingering against his chest while you whispered in his ear, a block of ice settled in Bakugou’s stomach, chilling him to the core and he felt like he was gunna be sick.  Scowling into his glass, suddenly everything was too loud, too hot, too much, and as he took a drink, a tickle began in the back of his throat, sending him spluttering as you plopped back down in your seat.

“You okay?” you asked, quickly clapping Bakugou on the back as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Yeah.  Tickle,” he gasped, finally able to speak again, taking another drink.

“Careful there,” you teased, reaching for your own glass as soon as it seemed like he was okay, grinning into it, still in disbelief.  “I can’t believe Eiji just asked me out,” you murmured, half to yourself.  “I mean, I was pretty sure he was crushing on me for a while now, but it kinda took me off guard,” you admitted, wetting your lips with your beer.

“Did you know what he was planning?” you asked, glancing curiously at the blonde, an unspoken question seeming to hide behind your words.

“He may have mentioned somethin’ about it,” Bakugou huffed, studiously avoiding your gaze.

“Oh,” you mused, frowning at his brusque response, your eyes hastily falling to your own drink.

Silence fell over the pair of you, thick and suffocating despite the lively conversation taking place on the other end of the table.  Minutes dragged on and the silence stretched awkwardly.

Say something, idiot, Bakugou thought, internally kicking himself.  Tell her how you feel.

He knew he couldn’t do that to you, to Kirishima.  You’d seemed so excited.  Besides, what if he told you how he felt and you rejected him anyway?

It was as soon as he made up his mind to stay silent that the tickle returned, more insistent this time.

“Whoa man, you okay?” Kirishima asked, slipping into the seat on your other side, his arm casually draping over the back of your chair as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Bakugou nodded wordlessly, quickly tossing back the rest of his beer, trying to suppress the urge to cough, tears pricking his eyes.  “Yeah, ‘m fine,” he grunted, clearing his throat gruffly, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve.  “Think I’m gunna call it a night.”

“What, already?” Kirishima exclaimed.  “I know you like going to bed early, but can’t ya make an exception tonight?”

“Nah, got an early morning,” Bakugou lied, scraping his chair back, carefully avoiding your eyes, not wanting to see his friend’s disappointment echoed on your face as well.  “I’ll see you guys later.”

“You sure you have to go?” you asked, the concern in your gaze holding him captive for a moment before Bakugou shook himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, ducking his head, the tickle in his throat once more growing insistent.

“Oh, okay,” you frowned, chewing your lip.  “Be careful getting home.  We’ll see you later,” you called after him.

Bundling up against the detestable cold, Bakugou grit his teeth as he stepped out of the warmth of the bar, instantly hit by a blast of frigid air and swirling snow.

Great, he thought, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, the wind cutting straight through him.  All he wanted to do was get back to his apartment, climb into bed and try to ignore the pain in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

Though his place wasn’t far, the trudge home felt as if it took forever, giving Bakugou ample time to replay the way you’d looked at his best friend as he’d asked you out, the soft smile on your lips as you’d stepped closer to him, batting your eyes as your hand rested on his broad chest.

As soon as he shouldered his way through the door and into his dark apartment, the cough he’d been holding at bay gripped him, doubling him over with it’s intensity.  Stumbling in further, Bakugou attempted to toe off his boots as he reached for the light switch, his free hand covering his mouth as he gasped for air, the force of the wracking coughs nearly bringing him to his knees.

Fear, sharp and metallic, clutched him as he gagged, feeling something work its way up his esophagus with each choked cough until he spat the foriegn object into his shaking hand.  For a long moment he stared at it, unsure what it was, until he realized… a lone flower petal.

His expression tensing, Bakugou hastily threw the petal into the trash and washed his hands, scrubbing at them vigorously, until a calm numbness settled over him.  Turning off the light, he crawled under the covers and checked his phone; your relationship status had changed from ‘single’ to ‘in a relationship’.  

Throwing his phone across the room, he squeezed his eyes shut.  He didn’t need you.  You would only distract him from his goal of being number one.  He didn’t need you, he repeated as he fell asleep.  

Even if he knew it was a lie.

The next day, Bakugou attempted to avoid you as much as possible, hoping that the old adage ‘out of sight, out of mind’ might hold true.  To his dismay, luck was not on his side.  In fact, it seemed like every time he turned a corner or left his office, there you were: chatting with a sidekick by the water cooler, bent over in front of the filing cabinets searching for a file, or the worst, shamelessly flirting with Kirishima in the break room.

As soon as you noticed him in the doorway however, you quickly stepped back, clearing your throat awkwardly, the look on Bakugou’s face making your stomach drop.

“Hey man, it was a shame you had to duck out early last night,” Kirishima exclaimed when he noticed his friend.

“Are you not feeling well?” you asked as a sudden bout of coughing gripped Bakugou.  Pressing his fist to his mouth, he shook his head.

“Tch, I’m fine,” he grunted, quickly ducking from the room as he felt more petals coming up.  Slamming the door to his office behind him, he spat more crumpled petals into the wastebasket, gagging on them as more just kept coming, enough to make a complete flower this time.

Worn out and sore, Bakugou slumped back into his chair, covering his face with his hand as he gasped for breath.  This was going to be harder than he thought, but the last thing he wanted to do was to worry you, so he’d just have to deal.

——

You weren’t the only one who’d noticed the shift in Bakugou’s behaviour of late.  Sure, he’d never exactly been a social butterfly, but he’d always come around to begrudgingly participate in your group activities, and the two of you used to talk quite a bit, but lately he’d been scarce, withdrawn, spending nearly all of his free time on his own.

In fact, for the past few months he practically avoided you, barely saying maybe a handful of words to you when he couldn’t slip away fast enough.  You were starting to wonder if you’d done something wrong.  Unable to stand the cold shoulder any longer, you decided to just ask him, showing up outside his office door one night after your shift.  

“What do ya want?  I’m busy!” came his irritable growl from inside, followed by a bout of coughing.  He sounded even worse than before.

“Bakugou?  It’s me… can we talk?”

At the sound of your voice, the door hesitantly opened to reveal the blonde, a guarded expression on his face.  “What do you want?” he repeated, eyeing you warily. 

This close, you could see the dark bags under his eyes and the sallow gauntness of his cheeks.  He looked so ill it scared you.

“I just – Bakugou, are you mad at me?  Did I do something wrong?”

At your words, his expression seemed to tighten, pain flashing across his face so fast you barely saw it before it was gone.

“Nah, ‘m not mad,” he replied, not quite meeting your gaze.

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” you pressed, desperate to get to the bottom of it.

“What are you talkin’ about?  I’m not avoiding you, dumbass.  I’ve just been busy.”

“I know.  You’ve been working so much, but—  I’m getting really worried about you, Bakugou.  That cough’s been getting worse.”  Your voice caught at the admission and Bakugou grimaced.

“Stop worryin’ bout me.  It’s nothin’,” he grumbled, not able to look you in the eye.  “I’ll be fine.”

Skeptical at his answer, but not wanting to push further, you retreated, trying to convince yourself it was nothing….

But something still felt wrong.

The next day, you’d sent Kirishima to speak with him, hoping that if he wouldn’t tell you what’s going on, that maybe he’d tell his best friend.  But when Eijirou returned, shaking his head ruefully, his expression tight, you knew he’d had no such luck either.

You hated feeling so helpless.  How much longer would you have to watch your friend pull away from you—from everyone—and know there was nothing you could do to help him?  It was breaking your heart.

——

As the months wore on, Bakugou hoped his condition might improve, especially with the limited contact he’d had with you during that time, but if anything it only seemed to worsen.  He barely slept, kept awake at all hours wracked with coughing, waking to wilted petals strewn across his room.  Even his performance at work was suffering–often too exhausted to make sound judgement calls or nearly letting villains get away because he couldn’t catch his breath.  If this kept up he didn’t know how much longer he could continue doing hero work, and he found that the thought stung as much as knowing he’d probably never have you either, especially when Kirishima broke the happy news to him one afternoon.

“Bakubro, hey!”  The sturdy hero exclaimed as he stuck his head into Bakugou’s office, a giddy grin stretched across his face.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, Shitty Hair?” Bakugou replied, unable to completely keep the scornful edge from his voice.

Luckily, his friend didn’t seem to notice, his grin only widening as he stepped into the room and quickly shut the door behind him.  “I got news, Bakugou!  I-I’m gunna ask y/n to marry me!” he exclaimed brightly, pulling a tiny velvet box from the pocket of his baggy hero pants, flicking the lid open to show the blonde.  

It was like that night in the bar all those months ago–everything felt like it was spinning and Bakugou swallowed thickly, already feeling the telltale tightness in his chest and the tickle in the back of his throat that signaled the petals were coming.

“Moving kinda fast, ain’tcha?” he managed to grunt, clearing his throat as sweat popped out on his forehead, the room suddenly much too hot.

“You think?” Kirishima asked, his grin faltering.  “I mean, I know it’s only been like six months, but I dunno man, it just feels wrong to wait.  I’ve loved her for forever, and in our line of work, who knows what’s gunna happen?  I mean, what if I wait and something happens, and I never get the chance?  I don’t wanna live with that regret, you know?”

As Kirishima spoke, Bakugou’s expression tightened.  “Yeah, don’t wanna have any regrets,” he agreed bitterly under his breath.

“Of course you’ll be my best man!” Kiri exclaimed excitedly, not noticing his friend’s discomfort.

“Right.  Yeah,” Bakugou muttered, not wanting to hurt Kirishima’s feelings, but he knew the flowers were coming and he needed to get the other pro out of his office, not wanting him to see.

“Can we talk more about it later?” he asked, clearing his throat.  “I-I’ve got this damn paperwork to finish,” he added, gesturing to the stack in front of him.

“Uh, yeah, sure, Bakubro.  We’ll get some drinks after work and talk more,” Kirishima exclaimed cheerfully, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong.

As soon as the sturdy hero left Bakugou’s office, the force of the cough that ripped from his lungs brought Bakugou to his knees, falling out of his chair to contort in on himself as the flowers poured from his lips.  Throat burning and gasping for breath, tears ran down his face.  He couldn’t stop, nearly choking on the crumpled petals that just kept coming, stuck together with blood and saliva.  

In the midst of his coughing fit, his office door swung open to admit Midoriya, who froze, his green eyes widening in fear.

“Kaachan!” he cried, hastily shutting the door and dropping to his friend’s side.  Grabbing Bakugou’s shoulders, he hoisted the blonde up before frowning down at the colourful flora littering the floor.  

While Bakugou fought to catch his breath, Midoriya carefully picked one of the sticky petals up to inspect it, gasping as he realized what it was.  “Kaachan, how long has this been happening?” he asked, concern etched across his face.

Able to finally breathe again, the coughing having subsided for the time being, Bakugou leaned back against the side of his desk, sullenly turning his face away as he wiped the blood from his chin.  Too late to hide it, and unable to deny the situation, Bakugou heaved a heavy rattling sigh, his brows knitting together tightly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he huffed, refusing to meet his friend’s worried gaze.

“Of course it does!” Midoriya cried.  “There has to be something we can do to fix it.”

“There isn’t!” Bakugou exclaimed sharply, cutting him off before pushing himself unsteadily to his feet.

“But–!”

“Drop it, Deku!” he growled, finally turning to face the other hero, his eyes flashing, just daring him to argue.

Midoriya’s face fell at the rebuke, his eyes falling on the petal that he still held in his gloved palm.  He’d heard of this type of affliction before, though he’d never witnessed it in person.  If the rumours were to be believed, the only way to save the afflicted’s life was if the object of their affection returned their unrequited feelings.  And there was only one person it could be.

“You need to tell her how you feel,” Midoriya murmured, chewing his lip, his gaze hesitantly seeking his friend.  He couldn’t just let Kaachan die, and he knew you wouldn’t want that either.

“I-I know she has feelings for you too!  She can save you–”

“I said drop it,” Bakugou snapped, his expression warped with pain.  “y/n’s getting married to Kirishima.  She chose him!  And I ain’t gunna break them up just to be some consolation prize,” he spat.  “If she truly loved me, then I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place,” he said firmly, watching the hope on Midoriya’s face melt.  

Before he could argue further, Bakugou turned his back on him.  “If you breathe a word of this to her, I’ll kill you,” he hissed.  “Now leave me alone.”

Midoriya opened his mouth once more before closing it and reluctantly opening the door.  Slamming it behind him, he strode off with purpose, his face set.

——

“y/n, you need to talk to Kaachan.  There’s something… wrong with him, but I think you’re the only one who can help him.”

Midoriya’s words ran through your head as you climbed the stairs to Bakugou’s apartment.  You’d tried to decipher his cryptic message, but the only thing you could think was how Bakugou had barely spoken to you for the last few months.  What could you possibly do to help?

But the past two days, he hadn’t shown up to work, and you’d heard Eiji say he’d taken a leave of absence for the foreseeable future, and without thinking, you’d made up your mind to see him, too worried to stay away.

When the door finally opened and Bakugou’s eyes met yours across the threshold, for a second, you thought he was going to shut the door in your face.

“What do you want?” he demanded brusquely and you set your jaw, determined not to let his attitude get under your skin.

“Wanted to see you, make sure you were okay.”

Bakugou opened his mouth, no doubt to insist he was fine, only to quickly cover a hacking cough that sounded terrible.  Taking a closer look at him, you could see how pale and thin he’d grown, his muscled arms less defined, and his cheeks gaunt and sallow.  It scared you to see how frail he looked, like a shadow of the man you knew.

While he was distracted, you slipped past him and into his apartment, frowning at the mess.  That wasn’t like him, his place was usually spotless, but now used tissues littered the floor and his sink was overflowing with dirty dishes.  

Whirling around to face him, you planted your hands on your hips, met with his sullen glare as he shut the door.  “Didn’t tell you you could come in,” he grunted, his shoulders shaking as he fought back a silent cough.

“Have you even seen a doctor, Bakugou?” you demanded, anger replacing the suffocating helplessness that filled your chest.

“Wouldn’t matter if I did or not,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, folding in on himself, his eyes carefully avoiding yours.

“And what is that supposed to mean?  How do you know?” you exclaimed, your lip wobbling precariously as you frowned, and you could’ve sworn you saw Bakugou flinch, though his expression only darkened.

“Why are you here?” he asked instead, ignoring your questions, his voice weary.

“I… I’m worried about you.  Eiji’s worried about you, Izu-kun–”

When you mentioned Midoriya, Bakugou’s expression twisted, fear crossing his visage before he practically snarled at you.  “What did that nerd say to you?”

“Nothing!” you quickly exclaimed, instinctively taking a step back.  “He just said he was worried about you and that I should come see you… that I might be the only one who could help,” you explained, frowning in thought, your stomach twisting as you wondered if your suspicions were true.

Bakugou scoffed, shaking his head.  “Fuckin’ Deku,” he muttered under his breath before raising his voice once more.  “Stop stickin’ your nose where it ain’t wanted!  You’re so damn annoying,” he spat, the bitterness in his voice making you flinch back.  “What did Deku really say to you, hah?  Did he tell you I have feelings for you or some shit?  Well, I don’t, okay!” he growled, his lip curling into a sneer and you backed up further, gasping when your back hit something solid.

You’d never seen Bakugou like this before–downright cruel.

“Why don’t you focus on your fiance and leave me the fuck alone?”

Your eyes widened and you glanced down at your hand.  You’d taken the ring off before knocking on his door, subconsciously not wanting him to see.  “How did you know about that?” you whispered.  Eiji’d only just asked you a day ago.

“He told me he was gunna ask you.”

“Oh.”

“I’m guessing you said yes,” Bakugou mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

When you didn’t answer he huffed a humourless laugh that turned into a cough.  “Then why are you here?” he scoffed as soon as he could speak again.

“I wanted to–”

“To help?” he sneered, vermilion eyes hard.  “You can’t help me.  You’re only making things worse.”

The harsh words stung like a slap to the face, hurting worse than if he’d screamed them.  Unable to form a response, all you could do was let out a choked sob as you brushed past him, stumbling toward the door as tears filled your eyes.

“And don’t fuckin’ come back.  I don’t wanna see you again!” Bakugou yelled after you, slamming the door behind you.

As soon as he was alone the mask he’d so desperately kept in place, held together for so long finally shattered and a heart wrenching cry left his lips as he crumpled to the floor.  Drawing in on himself Bakugou began to sob.  Fat tears blurred his vision as they streamed down his face, falling in a pool on the floor beneath him as his hands clenched into fists, trying to hold onto something as the rest of his hope washed away.  The gaping hole in his heart ripped open further, only to be filled with the rotting fetid petals that grew and twisted inside, choking his lungs and leaving him weaker with each passing day that you didn’t return his feelings.

The one thought that Bakugou clung to as he broke apart was that he’d finally managed to push you away completely, and in doing so ensure your happiness.  Though it may seem cruel, it was the kindest thing he could do for you… even if it killed him.

At least you wouldn’t be there to witness it.

——

Months passed and before you knew it, it was winter again; the nights growing colder as the sun disappeared earlier and earlier.  You’d kept yourself busy, up to your neck in wedding planning, but every time you passed Bakugou’s empty office, that sharp gnawing emptiness would fill you, regret clutching your heart so hard you could barely breathe until you forced yourself to look down at the ring glittering on your finger, to remember Eijirou’s warm smile and even warmer embrace.

Though there had been a time when you’d hoped it had been Katsuki who’d asked you out all those months ago, he’d made it more than clear that he didn’t want you.

But you loved Eijirou, you reminded yourself.  He was a good man, and you were marrying him.  Soon you would be his wife.

No one had heard from Bakugou for nearly a month, and many of your friends had given up on him after he’d pushed them away like he had you.  Bundling your coat around you against the bitter cold, you stubbornly trudged through the slush to his apartment, unsure exactly what you intended to say to him, or if he’d even see you.  All you knew was that your feet were carrying you there and you needed to see him at least one more time.

For a long moment you stood outside the door, nearly turning and walking away several times before stealing yourself and finally ringing the buzzer.  When Bakugou didn’t answer, you knocked, frowning.  Maybe he was in the hospital?  Though you probably would have heard through the grapevine if pro hero Dynamight had been admitted to the hospital for some mystery illness.

“Bakugou?” you called, trying the door handle.  When it didn’t budge, you crouched down to check under the mat for a spare key.

Bingo.

You’d been sure that wouldn’t work, that he wouldn’t be careless enough to leave his spare key somewhere so easy to find, but in this instance you were glad he had.  As soon as you slipped inside, however, you recoiled at the scene that met you.  It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dark interior, the blinds filtering out most of the overcast light, but the smell that hit you was instantaneous.

Sickly sweet with a metallic under current, the heavy floral aroma made you gag, and when you could finally make out the shapes around you, you could see where the smell was coming from.  Mounds of sticky flower petals littered the floor and you gasped, clapping your hand over your mouth as you recognized them as your favourite.

A weak rasping cough caught your attention and you followed the sound further inside.  As it grew louder, you found Bakugou curled up in bed, his chest rising and falling weakly, each hoarse rattle of breath stabbing you through the heart.

“Katsuki?” you breathed and his eyelids fluttered open, eyes going wide as he focused on you, gasping in alarm.

“y/n, what’re you–?”

“Oh, my God, Kats, you look terrible,” you cried, hurrying to the side of his bed, your hands going to his face, feeling his forehead and holding his cheeks carefully.

“Told you not to worry about me,” he croaked, his eyes quickly darting away from your face, his chest aching with just one look.  You were too close, your hands too soft, it was too much.  God, how he longed to pull you into his arms.  He could say something.  It wasn’t too late.  One last ditch effort to save himself.  If he just told you how he felt, maybe you’d feel the same way too.

But if you didn’t…

Bakugou’s eyes fell on the ring hugging your finger and made up his mind, even as another violent bout of coughing wracked his body, more petals choking him, catching in his raw throat as the sting of tears blurred his vision.  You were so close and yet further away than ever–never to be his.

You were going to marry his best friend and he was going to make you happy.  How could he come between that?  How could he tell you how he felt only to see that guilt in your eyes that confirmed you didn’t feel the same?  It would be cruel leaving you with the knowledge that his death was your fault.  Knowing that if only you’d loved him differently you could have saved him?

No, Bakugou could never do that to you.  He’d endure any pain to spare you from that.  It wasn’t your fault your heart belonged to another.  He should have acted sooner.  It was his own failing.

“I can’t just not worry about you, idiot,” you exclaimed, lip trembling.  All the thoughts that had hounded you these past months since you’d last seen him resurfaced, all these doubts, stealing your breath.  

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you whispered, frantically wiping the tears from your eyes before they dampened your cheeks.  “I never knew.  If I’d have known…”

“It’s too late now.  My feelings don’t matter,” he interrupted, coughing abruptly, and you watched in horror as he hunched over, body shaking violently as more petals poured from his lips.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” you repeated, your voice strengthening.  “I kept waiting for you to ask me!”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap and Bakugou froze.  You’d never spoken those words aloud before.  You didn’t want to admit them, didn’t want to make it seem like Eijirou was just a second choice.  You loved him.

But you’d wanted Bakugou.

“But you… Kirishima…” he floundered, ice freezing his veins.  “I thought… I just wanted you to be happy…”  He could feel his chest tighten, more damned flowers growing, choking him.  He didn’t have much time left.

“I thought you didn’t want me, so I-I moved on.  This is my fault.  I should have known…” you murmured, beating yourself up, your fingers curling around the petals that covered him.  You’d never be able to smell these flowers again without your stomach turning.  “I could have saved you!”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that.  This-this ain’t your fault,” Bakugou forced out, gritting his teeth.  He could feel his eyes swimming with tears, his breaths growing ragged.  He didn’t want you to see him like this, but he couldn’t find the strength to turn you away again.  Finally doing one selfish thing, he took your hand, wanting to hold onto you one last time.  At least you’d be the last thing he saw.

“Just promise me you’ll be happy,” he breathed, biting his lip to stifle the telltale tickle in the back of his throat that had started everything.

“I can’t…”

How could you just go on with your life with this heavy regret weighing at you?  How could you say I do to Eijirou knowing that everything could have been different?  That Katsuki didn’t have to die in vain?

Squeezing your eyes shut, you clutched tightly to Bakugou’s hand like a lifeline.  If you didn’t look, maybe you could pretend it wasn’t happening.  But when you opened your eyes, he was gone, his vibrant ruby eyes dull, empty, the life gone from them too soon.

And finally, you broke, the most heart wrenching sob ripping from your lungs – all the pain you’d been holding back, thinking if you ignored it, it would just go away, but it didn’t, and now it was too late.  Too late.

No.  You couldn’t promise you’d be happy.  Not now.  Not any more.

——

[ A year later ]

“You know, sometimes I used to imagine what it would be like if you had asked me out, before I thought you hated me.  It’s stupid, I know,” you murmured under your breath, wiping the dampness from your eyes as you stood in front of Bakugou’s grave, the snow falling softly around you, quiet and serene, while inside all you felt was empty.  “I wanted so badly for you to make the first move, but you didn’t, and I…”

Looking down at the bouquet in your hands, you took a shaky breath, hugging the flowers closer, the paper around them crinkling against your chest.

“Maybe instead of trying to convince myself I’d be just as happy with someone else, I should have made a move instead, but it’s too late now,” you scoffed softly, brushing your gloved hand over the bundle of little yellow flowers in your arms, a tear dropping to the petals.

“I couldn’t do it, you know, marry Eiji,” you whispered, your voice dropping, trembling.  “After you… I couldn’t… I couldn’t do that to him.  He deserves to be with someone who can give him their entire heart and I realized too late that mine belonged to someone else.”

Shaking your head, you crouched, gently resting the bouquet of ambrosia atop his grave.  “I love you, Katsuki,” you choked out, fighting back the sobs you knew were just waiting to erupt and carry you away.  Though you had so much more you wanted to say to him, you didn’t think your voice would hold out long enough to say it.

As you turned away, you hoped at least the message would come through.  Even if it was too late.

[forever-rogue]

hi! if you’re accepting requests from prompt list #2, does angst to fluff count lol. 5 from angst, 49 from fluff lists! with reader thinking din loves someone else 🥺 i like mando x omera but.. reader who perhaps doesnt have the skills omera has and sees how din looks at her… THE ANGST 😌🤌

AN | Me, writing some Din? It’s been a hot minute, but here we are. I miss him 🥺

Warnings | None

Pairing | Din x Fem!Reader

Masterlist | Din, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A small sigh, a wistful little thing, escaped your lips as you studied the gently lapping water of the lake. It was calm here, a peaceful, tranquil place that served as a welcome refuge after all that you'd been through in the last few years. Sometimes it seemed almost too good to be true. The distant sounds of laughter met your ears as children ran around and played, carefree as could be. Sometimes you wished you were that young again; innocent to life’s darker sides. Unfortunately that wasn’t a possibility, but for now you’d take the peace and stillness you could get.

Pulling off your boots and socks, you quickly tossed them to the side. The water was warm as you relaxed and leaned back, closing your eyes and soaking up the warmth of the summer sun. It wasn’t until you heard the familiar voice that your eyes slowly snapped back opened. Your heart constricted slightly as you spotted Din nearby speaking to Omera. He seemed so happy, in a much better mood than you’d seen in a long time. It was all her, and you remained invisible. Which, when it came to most things wasn’t too bad, but sometimes you wished he would see you.

“Is somebody jealous?” you hadn’t even heard the bounty hunter walk over; you supposed that’s one of the many reasons he was the best in the galaxy. Boba offered a small grimace before sitting down next to you. You shrugged him off staring back into the water. You were not about to get into anything with Boba; that man was insufferable and usually right.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you brushed him off, trying desperately not to look back at Din. Instead, you focused on the water and watched the tiny fish whiz through the water; a few of them brushed by your feet, sending a ticklish shiver up your spine, “I’m just...enjoying the calm afternoon sun and soaking up as much peace before we inevitably leave again.”

“That’s how this all works,” Boba sighed as you nodded in agreement, “you knew that from the day you became my apprentice.”

“I know,” you whispered, “but I hoped at one point I could...walk away and have a normal life. Like this.”

“Normal is all relative,” he had a point as you huffed lightly and stood up, brushing off your pants and reaching for your boots, “but if this is what you want, what you truly want, you know you’re welcome to leave whenever. I would not hold you back from the life you wanted.”

“I know, Boba,” you put your hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, “the problem is that I don’t really know what I want...I think I know but...it’s more than that.”

“Of course,” he agreed, casting a quick glance at the object of your affections before turning back to you, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Either way, it will work out, just as it always does,” you swallowed the lump that had welled up in your throat, “Boba, why are you doing this?”

“I just want to make sure you’re happy - that you know that you have choices in what you’re doing,” he said like it was no big deal, but to you it meant so much. This hardened, sometimes gruff man really did have a heart of gold underneath it all, “should you want to part ways, I would understand. Should you want to stay, I’d be more than happy to have you with me. I don’t know what the future holds for myself, Fennec, or Djarin, but you know it will not always be easy. But sometimes you have to decide what’s most important.”

“Yes,” you answered softly, “thank you, Boba.”

He remained silent as you laced up your boots before padding away, back towards the village. You knew you had a lot to think about and if you wanted things to change at all, you’d have to figure out something. You cast a glance over your shoulder and you were almost positive that you’d spotted Din looking in your direction. But it was all a trick of the mind; it had to be. Why would he spare you more than a passing thought anyways?

─── ��� ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was late by the time he found you; much later than any reasonable person should have been outside, but you couldn’t sleep. There was too much on your mind to silence, and if you managed to, it was short-lived and another thought came to replace the previous one. Eventually you’d given up and wandered out of the small hut home that had been acting as your own home for the last couple of months. You knew the area was safe and wanted to enjoy the temperate night air before it turned to a crisp fall breeze, or worse - you’d be gone.

Small bugs chirped happily along with the soft songs of nightbirds as you walked around the sleeping village; you weren’t scared here, you felt safe and at home. But as you rounded a corner, a gloved hand reached out and grabbed your wrist. A small yelp of surprise left your lips as you pulled into a wall of cool metal - beskar.

“Shhh,” Din placed a finger to his lips as you relaxed when you realized it was him, “you’ll wake everyone up. It’s just me.”

“Dank Farrik!” you hissed at him, “how was I supposed to know that? You could have been a murderer!”

“Well….you should be in bed sleeping.”

“So should you!” your arms crossed over your chest as you stared him down, and eventually he huffed in defeat, realizing you were right. He couldn’t sleep either, plagued by the choices he knew that he had to make sooner rather than later. He hadn’t expected you to be out as well, “what are you doing anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck nervously, a flash of...something in his dark eyes, “I thought that some fresh air would clear my head.”

“Same here,” you admitted reluctantly, leaving the two of you in an awkward silence. You wished you had enough bravery (or perhaps even stupidity) in your body to just say something to him then and there. At least it would be out of the way; but you weren’t feeling anything but nervous butterflies fluttering in your tummy, “I...umm...I guess I’ll get back. Try and sleep.”

“Hey-” he reached for your arm gently before you could get too far away. You turned around and raised an eyebrow as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, “d-did I do something wrong?”

“What? What are you talking about?” the question caught you off guard, but judging by the look on his face, you could sense that this was something he had been thinking for some time.

“You’ve been different lately...it almost feels like you’re avoiding me.”

“Oh DIn, you’re being ridiculous,” and yet the accusation was very true.

“You’re fine around Boba, Fennec...everyone else. But every time I’m around it feels like you can’t wait to get away,” you should have known that he would have noticed sooner or later. The man was more observant than you’d cared to admit, “if I did something, please tell me.”

“You can’t be serious, Djarin. There’s nothing wrong…”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been doing anything. You’ve got too much free time and your mind is running wild.”

“Tell me it’s not true then.”

“Din-”

“Tell me.”

“The problem is that you’re in love with someone else,” the words were out of your mouth before you even contemplated them. You were mortified and in some ways you were relieved. At least it was all out in the open now and you were able to let the chips land where they may.

“Oh,” was his only response as his head tilted to the side and he looked at you in confusion, “what?”

“I...kriff,” you sighed, “I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry - forget I said anything.”

“Who am I in love with?”

“What do you mean?” tears welled up in your eyes at his response; almost like a cruel joke, “you know, everyone knows! Omera; and why wouldn’t you be? She’s wonderful - kind, smart, beautiful … everything. Part of me wants to dislike her, but I can’t because she’s such a good person but it kills me a little bit to know that you love her and you’ll never even think twice about me. I know that’s super selfish but it’s the way I feel; and judging from how this is going I think I’m making the right decision by leaving. By myself.”

Din said nothing as a few tears rolled down your cheeks. You laughed bitterly at yourself before realizing that this might have been the best decision after all. You couldn’t stay after this.

It wasn’t long before Din came to his senses and ran after you, calling your name and catching up with a few easy strides. You came to a reluctant stop as you sniffled and waited for him to say something, despite the fact that you weren’t sure you wanted to hear whatever he had to say.

“I-I-I’m not in love with Omera,” he insisted as it became your turn to look at him in bewilderment, “I’m in love with you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been talking to her about you,” he confessed, “about how to do...this sort of thing. But then you started avoiding me and I wondered if maybe I’d read the signs wrong and you didn’t like me at all. At least not in that way.”

“I don’t….what?” you heard his words but weren’t able to fully comprehend them. This had to be some sort of weird fever dream. Din sighed - his trademark sigh - before ripping off his gloves and gently putting his hands on the sides of your face. He was hesitant at first, to see if you would stop him. But you didn’t...instead you relished in his touch, the feel of his bare skin on yours sending electric shivers throughout your whole body.

After a few moments of quietly studying your features, he leaned in and slowly pressed his lips against yours. It wasn’t a proper kiss by any means, hardly more than a ghost of one, but it felt...strangely wonderful. You looked at him in disbelief as he pulled back; was this really the same man that you’d met all that time ago that wouldn’t even tell anyone his name or let them see his face?

“Oh.”

“Can we go inside?” he whispered softly, “can we talk?”

“Yeah,” you agreed gently. He reached for your hand but before he could take it in his, you stopped him and pressed another sweet, barely there kiss to his lips. A tinge of pink colored his cheeks as you beamed at him, “now we can go.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Pedro Character Taglist (strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you - please check your settings. Strikethroughs will get removed if not taggable)

@qhbr2013 @greeneyedblondie44 @dodgerandevans @cannedsoupsucks @april-showers-and-flowers @klaine-92 @softboiipascal @rpcvliz @im-an-adult-ish @dobbyjen @thevoiceinyourheadx @niki-xie @jediknight122 @xxlovingfandomsxx @mrpascals @startrekkingaroundasgard @welcometothepedroverse @ilikemymendarkandfictional @actual-spawn-of-satan @wanderlust69 @lazybeeches @beskarboobs @someday-when-you-leave-me @leaiorganas @salome-c @rosiefridayrogersunday @madslorian @artsymaddie @haildoodles @windfallss @spookispunk @nikkixostan @edencherries @stillshelbs @djarinbarnes @alyispunk @ayamenimthiriel @gallowsjoker @its–fandom–darling @star017 @amneris21 @empress-palpat1ne @cable-kenobi @gooddaykate @princeofdorne @natthebattygeologist @riddikulus-obsessions @sleep-tight1 @mamacitapascal @14mcmd1122 @leaiorganas @hoodedbirdie @kenzieam @dobbyjen @jedi-mando @milkxxkookies @lazybeeches @general-latino @jediknight122 @cosmoschick @recklessworry @jaime1110 @thorins-queen-of-erebor @thatnerdwriter @bestintheparsec @pascalisthepunkest @kristeng42 @rosie-posie08