#and how his hair is constantly cresting like little waves

[jicklet]

Ember and Wade in Elemental (2023)

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #25: Perpetuity

The wind rushed past him. Colors bled into an unintelligible stream of light. A swirl of sight and sound that lasted for just as long as he could stay lost somewhere between the air and the water below- Which rushed to take him in its gentle embrace.

It’d be easy to think that the swim back to shore was his least favorite part of his life. To climb his way to incredible heights, at times clawing his way up them. To crest the peak of it and stare out upon the distance and the sky and the setting sun. To throw himself from it to experience the greatest thrill any person alive could, feeling every piece of him come alive from the sheer rush of it. To sink deep into the waters below and come to something of a kind of peace. Of course. He’s had those thoughts a million times by now. It was an easy, constantly satisfying routine. At this point there were coastlines off of Vylbrand that he could count every stone. Trace every crack in the cliff as he was falling. And name every plant as he climbed up once again. It was familiar. It was comforting. It was, in some ways, a calming piece of a hobby meant only for the absolutely fucking nuts. And he was pretty high on that scale. So. The swim back to shore.

He let the roll of a wave pull him in towards the shoreline until he could get his feet down and steady in the sand. His hair pushed back to get seawater out of his eyes, his drenched shirt pulled off and wrung out once he could finally stand, his boots yanked off so they could drain out for a little while. The whirl of the wind was still in his ears as he watched Sif while away the mid-day sun with the latest of their takes- Swiped coconuts from a merchant and a few jars of lye that would shore up the stockpile for the next few moons. He could feel the salt on his skin as she looked up at him. A wave of the spoon from in front of their fire. A roll of her eyes as she saw him stripping before he could even make it all the way out of the water. “Y’ really think yer gonna be doin’ this forever, Walker?” She shouted out, the spoon pointed at him in that judgemental way that only a wooden spoon could really manage. “Tha’s the plan, lass! That’s the plan.” She clicked her tongue as she returned to stirring the pot whilst he slowly made his way across hot sand and rock to reach her. His shirt badly tethered to a makeshift line, his boots dropped onto a flat rock in the sun, a towel pulled into his hands and left to sit on his head while he dried off.

“How far along are y’ yet, lass?” He bumped her- she bumped him back before making a noise of frustration that he was still wet- and looked over the edge of the pot. “Ain’t far. Since we’re settin’ up early fer yer fun li’l death defyin’ hobby- yer still a maniac, by th’ way- I fig’red I’d just get us started. Yer gonna be takin’ over soon enough anyways.” She tapped the spoon a couple of times over the pot before chucking another piece of wood into the flames underneath. “I need m’ beauty rest.” “Yer beauty rest.” “Aye, y’ain’t the only one here needin’ enough sleep t’ stay pretty an’ prime fer public appearances.” “An’ ‘ere I thought you were jus’ naturally funny lookin’ all the time. Now yer sayin’ y’ have t’ work to look like tha’?” He got whacked with a boot. “Alrigh’, alrigh’ jus’- Jus’ ‘and m’ the damn spoon an’ get yer clown-y sleep y’ darlin’ lass-” He got whacked with the other boot.

The swim back to shore, if you took everything individually, was certainly not the best part of the whole event. Salt water all over him. Drenched clothes. The annoying task of fighting the waves and the tide as he made his way back to land. But he supposed (inwardly, at least. It’s not as if anyone was having this conversation with him.) that if taken as a part of the whole moment, the whole day, the moment from climbing up to starting over again… He glanced into the pot as the oil within slowly started to thicken. He pulled it off the heat for a moment as he searched for their jar of lye crystals… An eyeballed handful and another toss onto the fire for stirring.

Yeah. He liked this part. “That’s the plan, lass,” He murmured to himself. Even as the salt stuck to his skin. Even as she laid against a tree, hat over her face. “That’s the plan.”

[cosmos-coma]

The Curses That Bind Us- Part 5

A/N: It was surprisingly hard to get in the mood to write this and unfortunately while trying to write I've been in severe job-hunting mode, so my apologies that its MONTHS since the last update. Hoping to be better about that in the coming updates.

this chapter is a little light on the editing, I just really wanted to get this out there, but I hope you Enjoy!

Pairing: Eskel X Reader

Words: 2689

Chapter summary: You and Eskel happen upon an occupied village and think perhaps that you've found a solution to your curse.

You couldn't be more wrong.

Warnings: Insults, (threat of) violence, blood (canon level), symptoms similar to chronic fatigue/pain, morally gray reader (I guess?)

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4| Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 (final)

_________

“May you waste away before your eyes like the rotten thief you are. May your hands grow weak and your constitution falter as you grow desperate for a cure that is out of your reach. May you only know mercy when the suppliant lips of the executioner admit to you their devastating defeat.” 

The words of your curse were a constant rattle in the back of your mind, some days it became white noise- just another piece of the background, like hoofbeats or waving grass. But other days it was the one thing that kept you up at night, the annoying twig that tapped endlessly at your window until you cry at the overwhelming frustration of it all. 

You watched the man in front of you, taking the lead on the thin forest path as you followed closely behind. Dark brown hair and broad shoulders with two lethal swords rattling gently against his back, yet as he glanced back at you, you were met with the sweetest honeyed eyes and warmest smile you had ever seen. Your lips couldn’t help themself as they pulled up into a small smile, your hand giving a little wave as he looked back to check on you. 

Your smile lingered as he turned back to the path ahead. This was the man that would break your curse, He had promised as much- and for once you believed it- you believed him.

 It was a new feeling- something still a little foreign to you. Perhaps it was his character? Uncommonly kind and gentle- especially for his line of work- or perhaps it was his determination? The way he constantly strove to move forward. 

‘Or perhaps… perhaps it’s that smile of his…? Bright and infectious in its ease--” you paused as you shook yourself out of your thoughts, “ No. Not now. There are bigger things at hand to worry about now,” You gently scolded your brain.

You steadied your focus once more, turning back to the path ahead, but no matter how you tried, your eyes never seemed to stray from your companion for long - and neither did your thoughts. 

The ache in your muscles yearned for the warm spark of his touch, the soothing brushes that seemed to - if only for a moment- chase the tiredness away. You’d been sharing a bed for a few days now- you kept assuring yourself it was because you were low on coin, but you knew better. You never woke up feeling so right as you did beside those amber eyes, as if your curse was no more than a distant nightmare. It was a high that never seemed to stay quite long enough, one that always left you yearning for your next fix.

“Whoa, Scorpion...” Eksel’s voice interrupted your train of thought as he slowed to a stop before you. You could hear the rumbling of boots falling on earth and the lazy chattering of men before you even pulled up beside him. 

“Ugh,” you remarked with disgust, your expression holding back nothing as you looked upon the red tunic-ed men. Many wore armor- helmets, breastplates, the usual uniform for a soldier- though some wore no armor at all, looking almost like the average townsperson- had it not been for the crest sewn into their tunics. “Redanians… I should have guessed as much,” you mumbled under your breath, though Eskel heard the venom in your words clear as day. 

He remembered you telling him how you ended up in this situation- how you had grown to become cursed. Your own nation's army had driven you from your home- an unfortunate, but similar story to nearly everyone in the town- but It wasn’t hard for Eskel to put the last of the pieces together. 

As of late, Redania- or more specifically King Radovid- had been on a craze in these lands, ravaging and absorbing every town and city he could into his empire. Nearly every neighboring nation had been scrambling to fend off the encroaching army but to little avail. Your town must’ve just been unlucky; Just happening to be close enough to the front that your army saw it fit to take over. But with Redanian troops already settling so far inland it looks as though it was all for naught….

Though you found bitterness in your heart from what your country did to you, you found an even worse taste for the Redanians. After all, had they not been so adamant about taking over half the continent, you would not have been kicked out of your home in the first place; you would not have starved, and most important of all, you would not have been cursed to wither away by some unknown witch.

It was needless to say you hated the Redanian army, and your expression showed as much as you looked out on the small troop. They looked like they hadn’t been here long, maybe a week or so at most, but it still looked as though some of the townspeople had fled. The only ones staying behind were those with livelihoods they could not move.

But the only worry on Eskel’s mind now as he looked out at the swath of red was how fresh they all looked. Almost all young faces, still excited and looking well rested… these boys looked like they had hardly fought at all, or if they had, they came in on the tail end of someone else’s win. Boys in troops like this always thought far too highly of themselves; they hadn’t yet seen the brink of death and it made them arrogant. Unfortunately one of them always wanted to test their mettle, and what better test than against a witcher? Arguably the most battle-tested humans around.

“Hm…” Eskel hummed as he scanned the troop, “Let’s just try to get to the tavern and get out… we’ll need provisions before we set up camp for the night.” He stated as he looked at you, smiling a bit as you nodded your approval.

You two had been traveling for a couple of days now. Eskel had become stuck as of late, wracking his brain for solutions to your curse, but something so vague as ‘the executioner’ was beginning to give him pause.

 It was not unheard of for witches to rescind their curses; giving their poor victims the solution they seek, or even lifting it themselves. He wasn’t sure if he could pull off that much, not with someone who seemed to curse at even the slightest provocation, but knowing anything he could about the witch was bound to be of use.

You were hesitant to put it lightly, the last thing you wanted was to see that wretched woman again…. But if there was any chance to get your life back, even just a few more years, you would take it. So there you headed, toward the witch, toward where it all began, and hopefully- toward where it all would end. 

Young soldiers watched and whispered as the two of you rode through town, though thankfully none yet seemed brave enough to bother you. The inside of the tavern was quiet, filled mostly with locals and a few older soldiers, obviously meant to keep the others in line, but they no longer had the energy to care. The interactions were short and sweet, a few day's rations and some small talk for a light pile of gold and a polite manner. It was not until you were outside that trouble once again seemed to find you.

“So you’re the Witcher I’ve been hearin‘ whispers about?  You don’t look like much past a messed up mug,” A young soldier spat, his self-satisfied smile twisted in arrogance, “and cheap company…” he added, eyebrows raised as he looked you up and down and seemed to dare Eskel to do something.

“Oh, you filthy little-“ you grumbled, moving to step forward with fists clenched before Eskel held a hand out to stop you. 

Your angry eyes softened as you looked up at him, though you saw his jaw was just as clenched, forcing himself to brush it off as per usual. Usually, he couldn’t give two shits about what people had to say; ‘mutant’,  ‘freak’, and ‘viper-eyed charlatan’ as he was once called. But he couldn’t deny the way his scars still shamed him to his core. They shouldn’t, he knew that- Geralt and Lambert told him as much, but… but every stare that lingered, every whisper from a crowd had a way of worming themselves into his heart. 

But you were here now. He had more important things to worry about than the way his scars twisted and pulled. Besides, it was nothing he hadn’t thought of himself. 

“Come…. Don’t pay him any mind. We need to get going,” he urged with a small smile, but you could see the strain beneath it.

However, the arrogant soldier didn’t seem to get the message, “What- So now you’re a coward too? Not human or man enough to protect the honor of your bed warmer? Though I’m sure with the right coin and a well-placed hand they’d be happy to-“ The man started, his hand grabbing for your wrist as you tried to continue forth. But the moment his skin graced yours, your witcher's sword was already drawn. 

Cold steel pressed against the young man’s neck, a single line of blood trailing down from the blade’s fine edge. When you finally looked back Eskel’s eyes were no longer the honeyed amber you looked on so fondly- but instead shone like a brisk citrine. Anger-or perhaps possessiveness- simmered beneath his gaze, though his control never faltered. His steel sword stayed steady as the soldier quickly released his grasp, his hands raising with an anxious tremor and he tried to back away. 

“He-hey now, hold on- can’t you take a joke?” He laughed nervously, his voice now feigning a lightness it did not have before. Stumbling backward, away from the blade and the wordless boring eyes of the Witcher before him, he continued, “Hey, wait- stop. Hold on-!” His words spilled out as he fell backward, his hands still raised in a futile effort to fend off his opponent, but the cold steel was never far behind. 

“I give! You won, alright?” He shouted in surrender, but Eskel only shook his head. 

“Do not plead to me-“ he started, looking to you now as he offered you his steel sword, a gentle and assuring nod as he handed it to you, “you’ll plead to them….”

For a moment you looked as confused as the man beneath your sword, your brows drawn down and together as you tried to grasp what he meant. 

Then it hit you. 

‘May you only know mercy when the suppliant lips of the executioner admit to you their devastating defeat.’

What is a soldier if not an executioner? 

Whether of will, of order, or of people- a soldier from an encroaching empire should fit your curses needs perfectly. 

Realization dawned on your face for but a moment before hardening once more. Your usually gentle eyes were now hardened by desperation as you took the sword in both your hands. Its weight was far more than you had imagined, but you held it as steadfast as you had the strength for. 

“You heard him…” you said, trying to sound as firm as the witcher beside you, “I am the one holding the sword now, and I am the one you should be surrendering to….” 

Confusion stained the young man’s face, his nervous gaze glancing between you and your cat-eyed companion as he searched your expressions, “I… I give..? You won...?” He tried his words again, obviously unsure. 

But nothing happened, and the sword was beginning to grow tiresome. You were so so close. You needed this, maybe he just needed to say it again?

“Again.” You ordered. 

“But, I-“ 

“Again” you bristled, your grip on the sword shifting as you held it straight over him now, the lethal tip dangling just inches above his exposed throat. 

“I give! I surrender! I’ve already said it, what more do you want?!” He shouted, his words far less questioning now, but why didn’t it work? 

Why didn’t you feel different..?

“Why…” you started, your breath coming just a bit heavier, “Why isn’t it working…?” You asked, your voice soft with confusion. “Why is it not…” Your arms were beginning to shake as you strained to hold up the weight of the sword, “why aren’t I fixed...?” 

You weren’t sure when the tears had started, you had only realized they came when they began to fall onto the man below. 

Gods, you were so tired, why were you so tired..? Why did your hands ache as though you had built this town yourself…? Why did your head grow heavy as if it was filled with stone…?

But Eskel saw what you couldn’t. He saw the familiar veins of black creeping out from beneath your shirt. Their sickly cursed hands stretching and reaching up your throat and down your arms. But they were moving far too fast now and growing at least a month's worth in mere seconds. “Y/n, wait…”

“Why isn’t it working…?” You simply asked again, lost in your own deafening spiral as you raised the sword with the last of your strength, “I need this to work…” You choked out as your arms finally gave way. 

“No..!” You heard someone yell, unclear of who, as the sword fell heavily down, sheathing itself firmly. Your eyes strained to stay open as strength seemed to leave your body en mass and it was not long before you found your eyes closed, your breath the only thing in your ears. 

Until a hand fell on your shoulder, warm and solid, as someone seemed to be calling your name.

Y/n? Y/n….” Came the low rumbling voice.  Its calmness called out to you as it spoke as if beckoning you back home. It was an invitation you could not deny.

You finally blinked open your eyes, what must’ve been seconds felt like minutes, and below you, you spotted him. The novice soldier, frozen in fear beneath you, as mere inches away the sword stood sheathed in the earth beside his neck.

Eskel watched, knelt before you with one roughened hand on your shoulder while the other- lay cradled close to his chest, a smear of blood flowing from the deep slice down his palm. 

The soldier, upon realizing that he was indeed still living scrambled toward his barracks, leaving the two of you in the lingering dust, and him with a lesson he’d never forget.

“I hurt you…” you stated between heavy breaths, your eyes flicking up to his. “You pushed the blade out of the way…” 

Eskel nodded, his expression twisted into something like shame as he tried to smile and turn his hand away, “I’m sorry… it should have worked,” he started, his voice soft and gentle as he spoke, “but I can’t let you go down a path you don’t need to take… to let you draw blood you don’t need to spill” his hand moved from your shoulder- and for a moment your body grieved its loss. Though just as soon as it left, his palm found its way back to you, cradling your cheek with a love and tenderness you hadn’t felt before. 

Your head grew heavy again as you leaned easily into his touch, that spark of warmth again soothing the ache of your tired muscles for a few brief seconds. 

“Eskel…” you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed again. You were so tired….

“I know, It’s okay…” he assured, his thumb caressing your cheek with tender care, “I’ve got you, Just rest now. We’ll figure it out tomorrow…” his words assuaged as he scooped you up effortlessly. He couldn’t help the way his lips brushed against your head as you settled against him, the action feeling only right as you tucked your face in his neck.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise. I’ll find a way to fix it...”

___________

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[huskymaine]

Spoils of War (Naruto Fluff Fic)

Little fic that I had in mind after seeing this scene. 

I was like, wondering if Kakashi truly will bring the kids to Ichiraku shop when Teuchi knows his face? The answer is yes, because Sukea is our beloved troll Kakashi-sensei who loves the kids so much.

Categories : Gen, little pairing hints if you squints, overused of words with -ly

Word count : 1,211

Ao3 link

----

“Aaahh damnit we failed!”

After the full 5 minutes of Naruto and his classmates staring at the place where Kakashi’s clone dispersed, their heads drop heavily. Those kids’ collective crestfallen faces look so pitiful that even the most cold-blooded person will feel pity for them.

Well, Sukea is certainly not cold-blooded.

“Haah, that was very unfortunate indeed, so how about we lift our spirits in Ichiraku right now?”

Sakura lifts her downcast head, “Eh, do you still wanna treat us? Even though you didn’t get your scoop?”

“He better will still treat us, chasing Kakashi-sensei around makes me so hungry, shannaro!” Inner Sakura secretly hollers.

“Maa, that’s fine. Besides I promise to treat you guys if you help me, don’t I?  Failing aside, all of your efforts are very useful for my data gathering.” says the journalist while he tucks his camera back in his bag.

Hearing Sukea’s words, any trance of disappointment vanishes from their faces, and the kids brightly grin at each other. Even Shikamaru and Sasuke let out pleased smiles. 

“Yatta!!!”

----

“Teuchi-occan! We came!”

Teuchi turns away toward the familiar cheerful voice. Naruto is a (secretly his favorite) regular customer of his shop, and the boy’s happy face while he devours his ramen is his daily prize as ramen chef. Today, unusually he comes with many kids his age and a quite handsome man.

“Welcome! Ooh you bring many friends now, Naruto!”

Naruto slams the table hard.

“Occan, bring me my usual Tonkotsu Ramen extra pork!”

“Me too, but with beef!”, the boy with Inuzuka crest on his still plump cheeks butts in.

“Woof!”

“I-I’d like the same ramen as Naruto-kun..” a small girl, possibly from Hyuuga clan, appears behind the Inuzuka boy and shyly seats next to Naruto. Seeing the petite girl, Teuchi worries that she can’t finish her food, because Naruto’s ramen portion is quite big and heavy.

(Later, he finds out that his concern is futile).

“I order vegetable ramen with melon as dessert. Because, those are healthy meals, thus also my favorite.” Is that glasses boy from Aburame clan? That’s a surprise, because to Teuchi’s knowledge Aburame people prefer to eat alone.

A laid-back boy that looks like from Nara clan slouches on his seat “Guess I’ll have Shoyu Ramen with extra nori.”

Sasuke, Naruto’s Uchiha teammate takes a seat next to Naruto’s other side and hums, “Tomato Ramen.”

“I also want Tomato Ramen!” the blonde girl says bubbly while she moves to the seat next to Sasuke. 

Sakura, Naruto’s other teammate, pushes the girl away, “Don’t copy Sasuke-kun’s order Ino-pig!”

“Tomato Ramen is my favorite too, Forehead!”

“I want 20 portions of gyoza!! Sukea-san will pay for it!” A boy that is clearly from Akimichi clan yells eagerly. Ah, then the blond girl is from Yamanaka. She indeed quite resembles Inoichi-san.

“Ahahaha, goodbye my savings..” The only adult that came with the kids rubs his back dejectedly. Knowing how massive Naruto and his friends’ usual appetite, Teuchi almost feels sorry for the man.

Wait, his face seems familiar...

"Eh, you are...”

The man waves his hand, “Hello! Please to meet you. I am Sukea, a traveling journalist.”

“He wants to write a scoop about Kakashi-sensei’s face, so we help him to unmask Kakashi-sensei in exchange for food.” the pink-haired girl explains. 

Oh, so they still try to see Kakashi-san’s constantly masked face. As someone who serves ramen to the Jounin ever since the boy and his former team got dragged to his shop by a jolly red-headed kunoichi, Teuchi can’t relate to their frustration at all. 

But-

“But we failed though.” Sasuke grunts. The boy feigns nonchalance, but the old ramen chef can see his frustrated pout. 

“Uhh it was so close, so frustrating!” wails the Yamanaka girl. 

Even the Akimichi boy who is usually always happy inside any place to eat laments sadly, “Even with Shikamaru’s strategy...”

The Shikamaru boy in question argues “Ugh, can’t help it, our opponent is Konoha’s top jonin. At least my strategy is better than Naruto’s.”

Hearing his peer’s accusation, Naruto fiercely retorts, “Hey, what’s wrong with my ‘Peek on Kakashi-sensei’s face while he kisses me��� plan?!!”

“N-naruto-kun, that’s...” stutters the Hyuuga girl, who blushes harder than usual. Seeing her embarrassed face, Naruto apparently realizes what he just said, and panics.

“Waah Hinata, I-I don’t mean it like that! It’s not like I wanna kiss a man, a boy, a male, tha- that’s just a strategy in a pinch... Teme Sasuke, what’s with that side eyes, If you want to say something, say it clearly!!”

“Hmph.” the Uchiha boy turned his face away from his loud teammate.

“It’s obvious that plan will not work. Because, Kakashi-sensei is not a sexual harasser.” The Aburame boy interjects calmly. The said Jounin’s kunoichi student grumbles flippantly.

“Says about a man who read adult books in public. But I am confident that my medical manipulation can fool him, though...”

Depressed aura suddenly envelops the kids. Well, luckily they are in the great Ichiraku shop, his delicious ramens will surely fix their moods.

“But with our combined forces, we are so close to dismantling him, so we are quite amazing, don’t you think?!” the boy from Inuzuka interjects excitedly, effectively pulling his friends out of their distressed state.

“Woof!”

Hearing his friend’s confident declaration, Naruto beams.

“Yosha, one day we will surely rip off Kakashi-sensei’s mask and see his baffled face!”

Sukea, who is content to see the kids’ banter ever since they entered his shop, chuckles affectionately, pulls his camera out of his bag.

“That’s the spirit! Someday, I am sure that you guys will become stronger in the future and even surpass that Hatake Kakashi! When that time comes, I’ll happily make praising articles for all of you.”

Thanks to those words, delighted sparks come back in the kids’ eyes.

“Ooohh!”

“My article will be the longest!”

“No, mine is!”

“Then I must diet for my article photo!”

“No amount of diet can magically make you pretty, Forehead.”

“Same as you Ino-pig!!”

“Praising articles exclusive for me! Haha that’s not bad!”

“Article will be nice. Because, it will uplift our clan’s reputation.”

“Clan’s reputation..”

Leaving the kids to bicker with themselves, Sukea takes a few more pictures, then averts his fond eyes to the ramen counter. 

“Then I’ll have Miso Ramen please.”

Suddenly, Teuchi knows why the man’s face is familiar to him. Pictures of an arrogant boy flash in his mind, then turns into a gloomy teenager, then again drastically turns into an easygoing young man. People that accompany him to the ramen shop change over time, some disappear for various reasons and others appear for various reasons, but his order is always the same. No matter how he grows up, the silver-haired boy in his memory will always enjoy the taste of Ichiraku original miso diluted in hot soup, with his always hidden little mole bobbing happily.

“He’s...Kakashi-”

As if he hears Teuchi’s inner mind, Sukea stares straight into his eyes, forcefully stopping the ramen chef’s thought process. Away from the kids’ sight, the mysterious journalist brings his finger in front of his mouth, although the said gesture does nothing to cover the beauty mark on the side of his lips. 

The mysterious journalist winks mischievously. 

“Sshhh..”

[shorkbrian]

So happy your requests are open and I don't mind the wait at all!

I just really want to see a sweet quirkless omega going into heat and sending her alpha Overhaul (Kai Chisaki) into a hard rut and he just pins her to a wall and fucks the life out of her before taking her to the bedroom to knot her.

but you do know that it would 100% be like "hate sex" on Chisaki's part (even though he kinda do like it lol)

(Kinda overhaul x reader x chrono btw but only for a little bit)

Just. Overhaul being able to tolerate you being kept at his compound because one, you're his mate, whether he likes it or not.

Two, you're quirkless.

And three? You don't bother him, you stay out of the way and you have passable hygiene when compared to Chisaki's standards.

But that has to be thrown out the window the second Chrono hauls you into Chisaki's office, the man in charge of watching you when Chisaki isn't around flustered and pink around his ears.

"B-boss, your omega, she's-"

"What the fuck is that smell." Chisaki growls, eyes immediately snapping to your trembling form. Taking in the way you're gasping, sweaty, barely able to stand even with Chrono's hand tight around your bicep and holding you up.

For some reason, the sight of Chrono touching you makes Chisaki itch. Odd, that usually wouldn't bother him.

The smell is cloying; too intense and too sweet, it makes his throat burn and his skin crawl.

"I think she's in-"

"Please, it hurts." You choke out, cutting off Chrono. "Need... I need-"

Chisaki recoiled as the scent got stronger, clouding his senses, making him feel... Chisaki didn't even know. Excited? Tingly?

Uncomfortable - he decided.

"Get her out. Give her a bath too, she smells disgusting." He commanded, but Chrono stepped forward instead of back out the door.

"Boss, she's in heat."

Heat?

Oh.

Overhaul cringed.

Logically, he knew it was going to happen eventually. But on the other hand, he had hoped his omega would be different. you was already quirkless, already pure... surely it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to assume that you wouldn't be affected by the mindless heat-addling that Omega's all seemed to undergo?

His irritation was rising.

"So?"

Chrono looked at his boss with questioning eyes, unsure what to do with the omega becoming increasingly more distressed at his side.

"You'll get her over it." Chisaki decides, ignoring the bitter taste that floods his mouth as he utters those words. His eyes slide over you again, lip curling into a disgusted sneer.

"Messy thing."

Chrono is frozen in disbelief. But this isn't a test of his loyalty, Chisaki truly doesn't want to deal with the germs and the mess and the cleanup associated with omega's during their heats. Slick everywhere, pheromones staining the room, needy hands touching everywhere-

"Sit her down on the couch." He instructs his second-in-command, rising from his office chair and stepping around his desk so he can close the door. "I want to make sure you don't damage her."

That's the only reason. Only reason he wants to be present and watching while Chrono fucks you through your heat.

"You're serious then?" The white-haired man asks, removing the plague mask he wears while inside the compound, thus beginning the process of disrobing.

Chisaki waved his hand idly, resuming his position in his office chair with a tired sigh. "It'd be such a chore for me to do it myself. Aren't you an alpha yourself Chrono? You should be jumping at the chance to bed a nice quirkless omega."

Chrono shrugs off his white coat, looking up from where you're panting on the couch while he stands in front of you, eyes finding his boss. "I wouldn't want to overstep my boundaries with your property."

The brunette smiles, not that anyone can see, but it's clear he's pleased by the crinkle near his eyes, the relaxed way he slumps in his chair. "And that's why you're my favorite Chrono."

You're wearing what you usually wear - long pants, a cozy sweater. Overhaul hasn't heard you complain about the chill in the compound, but it's clear to see it affects you by the way you dress and the way your nose darkens from the cold.

You don't fight the half-naked Chrono as he helps you out of your sweater, unbothered by the temperature of the room and looking entirely too hot and sweaty.

Chisaki supposes it's good that you aren't fighting. You had at first, when he first brought you here, crying and pleading for him to let you go and leave you alone. That pathetic show was quickly shut down with a simple demonstration of Overhaul's quirk, and what he'd do to you if you didn't comply.

Now you're seemingly accepting of the situation, casting nervous glances towards Chisaki, your attention constantly getting stolen by the pale man stripping in front of you.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before Chrono has his cock in you.

And you look completely blissed out, mouth open and letting out choked little gasps on each thrust, one hand desperately trying to hold onto Chrono's shoulder, his arm, his chest - anything you can reach.

The other hand is on your stomach, and Chisaki doesn't understand why until he focuses on it, sees the distention whenever Chrono swings his hips into you.

Chisaki feels himself throb.

The sounds you're making sound like music. Awful music, all discordant and rushed and pornographic, stuttered breaths and pitiful cries, high-pitched and girlish moans in between Chrono's quiet huffs.

The sweet pheromones in the air become sweeter, thicker, and Chisaki can see the direct correlation between the smell and how much slick is dripping out of you, drenching Chrono's pretty cock, his stomach, even splattering his thighs on each thrust as his cock squelches deeper.

It's disgusting.

Digusting but curiously enamoring. Chrono's got you sitting on the couch, pushed up against the back while he fucks you. It's a tall piece of furniture, and Chrono merely hikes his leg up onto the cushions to gain a better angle to fuck you with. Your slick is everywhere; Chisaki knows that couch won't be salvageable after this. Somehow, he doesn't mind.

What he does mind, however, is the way Chrono is speeding up, rhythm stuttering and practically falling apart. He's going to knot you. Chisaki had given him full permission to - that's what taking care of an omega during their heat means, after all. But jealousy is boiling inside him, blood painfully engorging his cock, he feels tingly all over, very unlike himself.

He wants to touch you.

But you're a disgusting mess, smelling sweet and fertile and sweating and dripping everywhere. Chisaki can't believe he's feeling... attracted to you right now.

"O-ohh feels good, r-right there! Yes, thank you,t-than-" You mumble out, drunk on cock as you shudder through an orgasm, cream gushing out of your cunt and further dirtying Chisaki's office.

Chisaki sees red.

He's furious - not only at you, but at Chrono for touching you, and for himself for explicitly allowing it to happen. Chrono's about to knot you, claim you, and Chisaki is out of his chair before he knows what's happening.

"That's enough." And his gloved hands are ripping Chrono away from you, sending the other man reeling as his subordinate struggles to control his alpha instincts and stop himself from fighting his boss, tearing Chisaki to shreds for interrupting his mating.

Chisaki doesn't care, he's too focused on you.

"You're so pathetic." The man hisses at you, crowding into your space. When had he taken off his mask? He wanted to smell more of you.

His gloves are gone too, ripped away in a moment so he can feel your wet skin against his hands, feel the sweat beading your brow before those same fingers snap to undo his pants.

"I hate you, I hate you." He seethes, golden eyes staring at you so intently that you start to cry, overwhelmed with the situation, still craving a knot, craving intimacy and tenderness.

You've reduced him down to barely better than an animal, tearing at his clothes so he can sink into you, closing his eyes at the way you're wet and warm inside, perfect and velvety.

Chisaki doesn't know what's come over him. Normally he'd be disgusted, absolutely incensed at having such filth be in direct contact with his skin. But right now... all he feels is pleasure ripping through his veins, clouding his head, his mind, flushing rational thought down the toilet.

"Stupid, hate you-" his words rattle out on each rapid thrust, breath uneven and labored as his muscles stretch and work to fuck you harder and faster. He's building up to his peak.

One of his hands is fisted in your hair, close to your scalp and keeping you still, the other hand clamped firmly against your hip and making sure you don't wiggle away. Alpha instincts taking over as his brain convinces him to mate, breed, cum.

"You're so fucking dirty." He gasps, voice heated and gravelly as he struggles to fight through the heat taking over his body.

He's going into a rut.

Chisaki isn't supposed to do that. He takes supplements and suppressants to ensure he doesn't have too. Ruts are messy, nasty things to endure, and Chisaki would rather lick the floor of a dirty subway than experience one.

Yet here he is.

"You disgusting, wretched thing-" And you're crying, fat tears mixing with sweat and rolling down your chin. Chisaki feels disgusting himself, wanting to lick the liquid away.

He hasn't felt this good in his entire life, this burning fever pitch rising and rising and cresting, blazing along his nerves.

He can barely thrust his hips anymore, and only then does Chisaki realizes that he's popped his knot, jammed it in deep while you cried and moaned and struggled to hold onto him.

Theres a sick sense of satisfaction filling him up, his mind clears for half a second and Chisaki thinks to look over his shoulder, seeing Chrono still standing there with a soured look on his face, cock still swollen and drippy and bobbing purple against the man's stomach.

"Get out." Chisaki orders, and Chrono knows enough to merely pick up his coat and wrap it around himself before exiting the room. He's never seen his boss like this - so feral and unhinged and debauched like some regular dirty plebeian.

But Chisaki doesn't care. Odd.

He cares about grinding against you, feeling you milk every last drop of cum from his balls, shimmying his hips to hear you gasp and moan and clutch at his body, trembling like a little lamb.

Chisaki doesn't want to stop.

"As soon as my knot goes down-" He growls, lowering his face until it's mere inches from your own, breathing into your space. "I'm going to take you to my room and knot you until you break."

[vecnawrites]

Jaune didn't know why Velvet and Coco had been so pushy to get him to meet them in downtown Vale, on a particulary Sunny day. Seeing both the hotties wearing flowy sundresses, he quickly saw the appeal and even more so, when Coco had lifted the back end of Velvet's dress. Seeing the cute and full rear was already hot, wearing no underwear was hotter and the Cottontail Butt Plug, was the cream on top.

Velvet whined as she looked at the different clothes that Coco had placed on their beds, more and more fabric spilling from their dressers and their closets like blood from a Grimm Attack. “Isn’t this enough, Coco?” she gestured to the ‘rejected’ pile, where most of their casual clothes lay. “I mean, we’re just going to Vale…” she began timidly, freezing in place, rabbit ears twitching as her friend stiffened, before slowly turning towards her, tilting her sunglasses down and staring at her with narrowed chocolate eyes.

“Oh, but Velvet, this isn’t just a visit to Vale!” Velvet felt heat creep up into cheeks at the sudden passion that her friend was showing, waving her arms as the Coco slowly advanced towards her. “This is a visit to Vale with. Your. Crush. You managed to get the courage to ask the brave knight who defended you out! To repay him for his kindness. To admit your feelings! To take him to a quiet place and ride his-”

“COCO!” Velvet nearly shrieked, cheeks burning and heart beating rapidly as the images formed and danced around in her mind, images of her hugging, kissing, making love to the attractive blonde that had been so kind to her. She bit her lower lip as she imagined riding him, him holding her hips and looking up at her, love in his eyes-

“Perfect! Found it!” Velvet was ripped from her daydream when Coco’s victorious cry reached her, and glanced over to see her holding a cream colored sundress high above her head like a battle trophy. Velvet felt her cheeks somehow darken even more as she realized what dress this was. She remembered Coco buying it for her because ‘it goes wonderful with your complexion, Bun-Bun!’, but she had never worn it out of the dorms.

Why? Well, it looked nice on her, that was for sure, but the length of the sundress left much to be desired! It just skirted legality, barely cresting her upper thighs! The slightest breeze would flip it up and expose what underwear she was wearing to whomever was in front of her or behind her! “Coco…!” she whined as her friend moved forwards, a smirk on her face.

“Re-lax, Bun-Bun...there’s no breeze at all today really. You’re in no danger of showing the goodies off to Jaune or anyone, until you want to!” Seeing the firm look in Coco’s eyes, Velvet’s shoulders slumped, knowing that there was no way she was getting out of wearing this. All she could do was submit, and hope that the embarrassment wouldn’t be too great in front of her crush.

She squeaked as Coco descended upon her, her top being pulled over her head and being tossed into the corner, her bra following, her orange sized breasts settling onto her breasts with a jiggle, before her pants and panties followed, leaving her naked before her teammate.

A quick moment later, she found the sundress pulled over her head and her arms put into the sleeves, leaving Velvet disoriented for a moment as Coco ran her fingers through her lightly tangled brown tresses, easing the small knots out. “Perfect! Now, time for me to get dressed!” she hummed, heading back to the closet and looking for something for herself, leaving the slightly dizzy bunny alone. As she cleared her head, Velvet took a step, then blushed brightly as she felt a healthy breeze over her bare pussy. “C-Coco...underwear, please!?” she squeaked out, making her friend laugh loudly. “Coco!?”

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet walked with burning cheeks next to Coco, making sure to keep her thighs pressed together as much as possible. Why, one may ask? The reason was simple: Coco had refused to let her wear underwear. Neither bra nor panties. Meaning she was completely bare underneath this woefully short sundress which just barely fell past her mound and upper thigh. Even now, she was afraid to raise her legs too high to walk so the people around them didn’t get a perfect view of her freshly waxed pussy!

But still, on some level...this was exciting. And Velvet hated that that was true. She didn’t want to find this exciting! She didn’t want to get turned on! And she certainly didn’t want to leak down her thighs! That would be so humiliating! All...all the people seeing her juices sliding down her thighs, a small breeze all it taking to just expose her to all their eyes, to Jaune’s eyes-!

She was pulled out of her frighteningly arousing thoughts by Coco tugging gently on her hand, making her nipples graze the inside of the dress, becoming dangerously close to getting hard and saying a loud and happy “HELLO” to everyone. “There’s Jaune! Come on, Bun-Bun!”

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune Arc was confused. He had never really understood girls, even with being raised in a family of seven sisters. If anything, that made it worse. He constantly mixed signals and such...but even he couldn’t mix this one up. At least, he thought he couldn’t mix this up.

When he had helped Velvet, the admittedly very cute rabbit faunus in the year above him, he hadn’t been expecting anything from it! He had just been doing what was right getting Cardin to leave her alone.

But later on he had pretty much hunted down by the bunny girl and her fashion plate of a partner (trust him, with seven sisters, he knew girl’s fashions, and she was wearing all the latest trends with the best fabrics and colors that accentuated her skin and eyes) and told him in no uncertain terms to meet them here today in Vale, on a bright and sunny Saturday.

It wasn’t a date, of that he was sure. After all, why would two beautiful girls want to be seen publicly with him at the same time? But still, he wore some clothes that he knew were acceptable for an outing with a lady, or ladies in this case.

He took a sip of his tea, savoring the cool sweetness and wondering where they were. He knew that he was early, a holdover from his childhood where his dad was of the belief that not only was it better to be early than late, but to never keep a lady waiting. They still had about ten minutes before he would begin getting worried, at any rate.

Hearing a familiar voice, he looked up to see Coco and Velvet making their way towards him, Coco surprisingly enough missing her beret and sunglasses, and Velvet with a deep blush on her face. He smiled a bit, finding her beautiful, adorable. He paused. Beautiful? Adorable?  That wasn’t something that was a common thought with every girl that he saw.

He swallowed as they made their way over. Both of them were wearing beautiful sundresses that accented their figures wonderfully, Velvet a cream colored one that seemed almost gauzy in its composition, and Coco was wearing one the color of her namesake, Cocoa, with accents of Burnt Sienna. He found himself holding back a wince. His sisters really had done a number on him if he knew the colors on sight.

Biting his lip and taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stood.

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet swallowed roughly, mouth watering upon seeing Jaune wearing clothes that she didn’t expect him to have, but Brothers, did he look delectable! A soft yellow dress shirt was pressed and buttoned up against his frame, tucked into his navy blue slacks and topped with black dress shoes. His hair was combed neatly, framing his face nicely. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, so loud she worried that Coco could hear it.

Speaking of her partner...Coco whistled low. “Damn, Bun-Bun, he cleans up nice~!” she outright purred, licking her lips. “Hell, if you don’t want to take him for a ride, I think I will…” Velvet’s ears went stiff and she spared a glare at her partner, before putting her attention back to Jaune, giving him as good a smile as she could, despite the fact she felt a mixture of arousal, shame, and fear filling her as she felt herself moisten. This was...going to be difficult.

Especially when Coco practically dragged her along to go meet her crush, the breeze whipping along her damp lips as she was moved. Her cheeks darkened more and she shuddered as her arousal grew higher and stronger as they reached the table.

She nearly squeaked as Coco all but shoved her into the seat next to Jaune, her bare rear and thighs plunking down onto sun warmed metal, feeling the little...addition that Coco insisted on. She shivered as she remembered how she got it…

(Flashback Begins)

“Coco, what are you doing!?” Velvet screamed, cheeks burning as Coco bent her over the bed and pulled up the edge of the sundress, revealing the round swell of her bottom and her plump pussy lips. She tried kicking out, but it was useless, as Coco was too close to her for her kicks to do much, especially with the benefit of Aura. Her cheeks burned as she felt warm puffs of air across her backside, brushing over her most intimate of places.

She released a soft squeak as firm hands grabbed her soft cheeks, fingers sinking into them and spreading her rear apart, revealing the entirety of her pussy and her small hole. She whined, thanking everything that she had showered thoroughly that morning, before a startled shriek escaped her lips as something hot and wet licked a stripe between her cheeks, before prodding at the small depression of skin, circling it.

Velvet whimpered as she hunched and curled in on herself, her legs tucking inwards and knees pressing together as she dug her fingers into the sheets before her, biting viciously into her lower lip to try and make herself focus on something other than what her partner was doing to her ass...her eyes nearly popped clear from their sockets as she felt Coco’s tongue work along her rim, before pushing inside her.

She buried her face into the bed, releasing a wail as Coco insistently worked her tongue around, before pulling away with a ‘pop’, leaving her shivering at the wetness that was suddenly attacked by the cool air of the room.

“Well…” she could hear Coco sounding breathless, and heard her lick her lips, puffs of air brushing her soaked nethers, before she felt her partner release one of her buttocks, Coco’s other hand shifting to keep them spread apart. “If you decide to fuck the stud, it can’t be in your pussy...from what I hear, Arc’s got seven sisters...he shoots inside, you get pregnant. I guarantee it.” Velvet squirmed as she felt something cold poke against her small hole, before worming its way in, “So, what we’re going to do is make sure this bunny badonkadonk of yours is alllll ready in case you want to make love to the stud~” Coco murmured.

Feeling the item settle within her rear, plugged in fully, Velvet shook as she sat up slowly, looking behind her with wide eyes to see what Coco had shoved up her butt. She whined, her ears drooping as she saw it. She couldn’t believe that Coco had even gotten one of these. How had she not noticed that she had a-

(Flashback End)

Velvet fought a shudder as the cottontail buttplug that her partner bought shifted inside her ass, pressing against her inner walls, the sensations nearly making her miss what Jaune asked her. She released a soft ‘eep’ and spoke. “I-I’m doing okay, Juane! H-How about you?” she nearly scrunched her menu up in her hands, her emotions going wild as she glanced at her crush with a shaky smile. It didn’t help as she felt the air under the table going up her skirt!

And Coco, the wicked bitch, just sat there and smirked behind her menu!

~x~x~x~x~

Gods help her, Velvet couldn’t even remember what she had eaten, or even what they had talked about, her attention focused solely on Jaune. Were his eyes always such a deep, soulful blue? Did his hair always catch the sun that way? Did he always smell so...so good?

Velvet was mortified as she shifted, feeling slickness between her thighs. She just knew that she would be leaving a wet spot on the chair when she stood up! That would be so humiliating! Oh, she hoped that Jaune didn’t notice...that would be...terrible.

She could already see the look of disappointment on his face, feel his hand around her wrist, tugging her close, before he threw her over his lap, flipped up her dress, and upon seeing her bare bottom and pussy, began to spank her, punish her for being such a bad, such a perverted, naughty, filthy, outright slutty little bunny who needed to be disciplined-

She was pulled from her thoughts by the boy in question, who placed his hand on her arm, and she found herself drawn into his eyes, his smile. She melted. Coco was right, as much as she hated to admit it. She was smitten. Truly, completely, utterly in love with this young man. She wanted him...she wanted him so much, to be his. To be wrapped in his arms and hugged...kissed...fucked halfway through the mattress!

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune noticed that Velvet was nervous and stuttering, her words disjointed and almost frightened. He didn’t think it was him, but boy, did he understand social anxiety. Reaching out, he placed his hand on her arm, and found himself staring into deep chocolate eyes.

He had heard tell of the eyes being the windows of the soul, but he had always thought that to be complete and utter bunk that was in tawdry, bodice-ripper romances, like the ones that Saphron wrote, and the ones that Blake tried to hide that she read.

But looking into Velvet’s eyes...he understood what his sister meant. He could see warmth, fear, contentedness...attraction, desire, want. All of this, aimed at him.

“Hey, lovebirds~” a teasing voice made red blossom over Velvet’s cheeks, and heat in his own face made him realize that he was blushing as well. Both shrinking slightly at the confident smirk that the other brunette had on her face. “I paid for our lunches, and don’t worry, it was my treat~” she teased, obviously taking joy in their embarrassment. “Let’s go for a walk?”

~x~x~x~x~

Coco Adel was a lot of things. Team Leader of CFVY, Leader of the fashion trends in Vale, and most of all, she liked to think herself a good friend. She knew that her Bun-Bun was shy as fuck, but that she really wanted, thirsted for, really, the blonde that had helped her with that brute Winchester’s bullying. She often caught her closest friend staring at him in longing.

And by the Brother’s, this ship would fucking sail if it was the last thing she did!

So she planned, she plotted, she managed to get Jaune to agree to meet them in Vale, she got Velvet in the sundress (she was proud; she had known that she’d get her to wear that someday!), and refused her underwear, and even bought the cutest buttplug to prepare her!

She knew Velvet after two years. She knew that the timid little bunny would take ages to actually attempt to get close to Arc, so she knew that she had to help her. She had caught the needy little bunny masturbating in her sleep, moaning Jaune’s name! She had to do something!

And so here they were, by the artificial beach near the edge of downtown, with not a single person in sight. Perfect. She turned to see Velvet standing by Jaune, looking up at him almost adoringly, but could tell that her sweet little bunny needed help admitting her feelings. But she would, after all, Velvet had her for help.

“Jaune...you know why we called you out for a day out?” she asked, seeing Velvet stiffen and look at her pleadingly, but Coco wasn’t going to be stopped. She wasn’t going to let Velvet keep curled in on herself anymore!

Reaching out she tugged her bunny close and could feel her heart beating hard and fast against her rib cage. She rubbed her back gently, trying to soothe her a bit before redirecting her attention to Jaune, who stared at them with confusion. She smiled at him softly. “Velvet...she’s bad with talking, but she really, really likes you, but I knew that if I didn’t help her, she’d say nothing and possibly lose out. She’s my closest friend, and I can’t let that happen to her.”

Velvet trembled against her, and she felt her bury her face into her shoulder so she didn’t give into the urge to look back...not that that was an issue. Jaune looked at Velvet in awe, as though the bunny had hung the stars. Good. Maybe he was worthy of dating her.

Her lips titled upwards into a smirk. “Ready yourself, Velvet…” she whispered, feeling her partner stiffen against her, before she looked back at Jaune. “Yeah, she’s been, well…” she stopped herself, knowing that she was almost about to ramble, before quickly dropping into a bend, grabbing the end of Velvet’s sundress and yanking it up, revealing her bare bottom and the cottontail buttplug nestled between the fat cheeks, her free hand cupping the plump right buttock underneath her chin. She ignored the shocked squeak and flailing arms above her as she gently squeezed the delectable cheek in her hand. “See, Jaune? Velvet’s been ready for you~” she cooed.

Part of her worried that this action was a bit too much for him, but she needn’t have worried, as she saw Jaune’s eyes glaze over in lust and his pants swell...and swell...and swell...my, my. He was a big one...fortunately, she had prepared her bunny for this. She smirked, looking around, before seeing a small alcove hidden from most. Perfect~

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet felt her cheeks burning as Coco leaned back against the wall behind her, and she leaned against her, with Coco’s hands holding up her sundress, keeping her bare backside visible to the young man behind them.

Her cheeks burned as she felt eager hands playing with her rear, skilled fingers outright massaging the bubbly cheeks, making her whimper and tremble against her partner, her beautiful, caring, loving partner, her lower lips drooling her thick honey down her thighs.

She must have looked needy, desperate, slutty, because Coco smiled at her before looking behind her. “Don’t just tease Bun-Bun, Jaune...pull out that plug and make her day! You can’t have her pussy, you told me you have seven sisters, one drop of that cum gets in her womb, Bun-Bun’s a goner~” her leader teased.

But Coco’s teasing words ignited a fire within her belly, her pussy twitching, her womb hungry for cum, fantasies of her with a belly swollen with life, her lying in bed with Jaune as he rubbed her belly, the life within gently kicking out-

Velvet was pulled from her fantasies with Jaune’s hand gently grabbing and tugging on the plug in her ass, making her squeak and bury her face into Coco’s tits, the exquisite softness pressing against her burning cheeks reminding her that Coco had forgone a bra as well.

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune pulled out the plug with a wet sounding pop, Jaune caught sight of the slightly gaping hole, and felt his aching cock throb harshly in his slacks. He had always known that Velvet was beautiful, hell, her partner was a woman of extreme beauty as well. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that...but he didn’t think it was actually possible for Velvet to think he was someone worth dating. So to have her (Coco, really…) flash her butt at him and then drag him over here (Coco again), really threw him for a bit of a loop...but if she truly wanted this, he wasn’t going to deny her, or himself.

Letting her rear go (not for long, it was like squeezing the warmest, softest pillows imaginable), Jaune looked for a place to set the butt plug (cute, a cottontail outside, with the actual plug looking like a carrot, perfect for this adorable bunny), only for Coco to snatch it out of her hand and tuck it away in a secret pocket, giving him a nod as she stroked Velvet’s hair.

Jaune groaned, his cock throbbed hard. SNAP! Three sets of eyes widened as his button snapped off, shooting over Velvet’s back and hitting the wall next to Coco, making the blonde groan in humiliation, before he worked his belt and loosened it, shoving his pants and boxers down, groaning again, this time in abject relief, as his cock was freed, landing between Velvet’s buttocks with a dull whap!

He grabbed her buttocks again, sinking his fingers into the flesh and spreading them enough that his cock slipped between the fat buns, making both moan, Velvet shuddering before him, arching her butt up against him. He rocked his hips back and forth a bit, sawing between the fat cheeks and getting a mewl from his...girlfriend? Girlfriend sounded nice. Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue. He loved it.

He took a deep breath. “I…” he winced as his voice shook, “Velvet, is this okay? I don’t want to take advantage of you…” he wanted this, Gods, did he want this, but he wasn’t going to take advantage of this sweet girl, either.

He saw her head move a bit between Coco’s breasts, the other girl smiling amusedly down at her partner as Velvet mumbled something. “Sorry, what was that, Velvet?” he asked. The mumble was slightly louder this time, making Coco giggle, but Jaune still couldn’t hear it. “Vel?”

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet couldn’t take it anymore! Popping her head out of Coco’s cleavage, she wiggled her ass as best she could. “Yeeeessssss~!” she whined out. “Fuck me! Make me yours! Use that bitchbreaker you call a cock and stir my guts up! Fill me with your thick, sticky cum! Fucking Breed My Ass!” she voice raised more and more, until she was almost shouting at the end.

Her cheeks glowed as Coco giggled. “You heard the sweet bunny, Jaune!” she chirped, making her realize she had just been such a loud, naughty, slutty little bunny, screaming out her desires like that. With a whine, she buried her face back in Coco’s chest, licking her lips as she felt the fat tip press between her cheeks. She quivered.

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune swallowed as he pressed his tip against the still slightly winking hole Velvet was offering. Taking a deep breath, he slowly began to ease his way in...but was unprepared for Velvet to shove her ass back, swallowing his cock to the base, her bubbly ass hitting his hips with a muted clap!

He heard a muffled wail, and was afraid for a moment that he had hurt Velvet, but seeing and feeling her shaking and trembling between him and Coco, muffled squeals escaping her lips as she shook and (his eyes widened a bit) squirted between them, an arc of clear fluid splattering on the wall between Coco’s thighs. He knew he needed to wait, he didn’t trust himself not to pop off and cum from the brutal tightness that wrapped around his shaft.

His breath hitched, his cock throbbing hard within her searing orifice, his fingers digging into her rear as his girlfriend rolled and twisted her hips, making his cock twist and turn, rubbing against the inside of her ass. “Fuck…” he gasped.

~x~x~x~x~

Coco knew her panties were ruined; seeing Velvet come undone from having a cock in her ass was simply so fucking hot and who wouldn’t be turned on from having the desperate bunny in their arms while the boy of said bunny’s dreams was balls deep in her ass? His hands groping and squeezing that fat bunny bottom? She was surprised that she herself hadn’t cum yet just from watching!

She saw Arc staring at down at Velvet in utter lust. Completely understandable, the bunny was beautiful, and having finally given in and become who she was truly meant to be? Fuck. If only Velvet had gotten her cues...but that was neither here nor there right now.

Velvet released a loud cry into her chest, making her realize that Arc had started moving.

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune couldn’t wait anymore! Slowly pulling back, he shivered as her ass clung to him, refusing to let him go as he rolled his own hips, thrusting back into Velvet’s lovely backside. His moves were slow and stilted in the beginning, not wanting to move too fast and make it too intense for either of them, but even with the slow movements, Velvet’s moans were getting louder and louder as he began to pick up his thrusting speed.

Taking a deep breath, he finally began to start smooth thrusts, a moderate roll of his hips that belied the power of his thrusts. He growled low as he squeezed and practically mauled the thick bubble of her ass in his hands, subconsciously wanting to leave his mark on the creamy flesh to let Velvet know that she was his now.

He knew that he wasn’t being too rough. He could hear her moans and whimpers of appreciation only getting louder. If she was allowed to continue, she might actually draw people towards them. “Well, well, well…” he spoke, his voice a low growl, his left hand loosening its hold on Velvet’s ass, rubbing the pliant flesh. “You needy little bunny...you know if you get any louder, you’re going to draw people to us. They’ll see us. Is that what you want? For them to see that you’re my little butt-slut bunny?” he growled. He didn’t know where these words were coming from, but he could see from Coco that it wasn’t a bad thing. Her eyes were dark, but not from anger, from lust. And the whine from Velvet, Brothers, that only made him harder.

Raising his hand, he brought it down on her ass with a loud crack, making Velvet clench around him with a loud cry, quivering like a bowstring. “Are you going to cum already, Velvet?” it wasn’t him who spoke, but Coco, her voice thick with lust and desire. “Is our little Butt-Slut Bunny going to cum her brains out from having her ass filled and being spanked?” her chest heaved as Velvet squealed between her breasts, “We can’t have that...you may want people watching you get claimed, but I don’t think Jaune or I wish to be seen in such a fashion...so let’s keep your mouth too busy to scream…”

~x~x~x~x~

Velvet shivered and moaned, quivered and cried out as her ass was fucked thoroughly by the boy she had fallen so hard for, completely missing Coco’s words...but she didn’t miss the hand settling on her head between her ears and moving her head down, down, down...her nose going wild as it picked up the thick sweet scent of what she knew was Coco’s arousal as she slid down her belly. The angle would have been awkward, perhaps even painful for someone that wasn’t as flexible as her.

Her eyes fluttered open as she felt the smooth fabric of the sundress rise up under her cheek until it rested on Coco’s flat, toned belly. Glancing down, she whimpered, seeing Coco’s bare, drooling pussy just underneath her chin. Her mouth watered and she licked her lips, only for Coco’s hand to be more insistent and push her down further. “Let’s keep that mouth of yours occupied, Bun-Bun.”

Any potential argument Velvet might have had was stopped as her head was moved down further, and her face was pressed against wet flesh. Her eyes rolled up in her head as she began to mindlessly lap away at the soft, fragrant flesh, eating out her beloved partner as she was dominated and fucked hard in her ass.

~x~x~x~x~

Jaune watched, wide eyed as Velvet buried her face into Coco’s pussy and began to ravenously eat her out, slurping and smacking noises filling the small alcove, only just softer than the cries that she had been releasing.

He locked eyes with Coco who was now rubbing her breasts over her sundress, pinching her swollen nipples as he fucked Velvet’s ass faster now. Her chocolate eyes were smoldering with lust. “Mmm, what do you think, stud?” she purred, “Do you think Velvet can handle us? I think she loves being our little pet in bed…” her breath hitched and she arched a bit as Velvet became more insistent in her actions. “Fuck, this tongue is sinful...w-what do you say? Think we can share her? I think our needy, slutty little bunny just wants both our love!”

Jaune thought about it as he thrust into Velvet’s clinging rear, spanking her ass, loving the nice rosy shade the pale flesh had taken from his strikes. He heard Coco continue, maybe thinking that he needed more convincing. He let her, even though if Velvet wanted this, he was perfectly on board as long as she spent equal amounts of time with the two of them.

“And don’t worry, you won’t be just fucking Velvet, stud...I saw that cock, I want to take it for a ride too! How’d you like that? Both of us brown themed beauties on our hands and knees before you, wiggling our asses, making you pick-”

Jaune couldn’t take it anymore. “Sold!” he growled, beginning to fuck Velvet’s ass with even more force, loud claps filling the small area, the bunny’s bubbly ass rippling and jiggling as his hips crashed hard against them as his balls churned in need.

Coco cried out in shocked as Velvet wailed into her pussy, clenching down brutally around his cock as she squirted again, adding to the small puddle of slick on the ground.

Jaune growled as he plunged to the base, balls hitting Velvet’s soaked pussy and snapping taut against him as they unloaded every drop of thick seed they had, depositing it into Velvet’s rear end. He spanked and slapped her rear as he did so, loving how every swat to her rear made her clench and bear down more around him.

~x~x~x~x~

The three enjoyed their orgasms around each other, Coco squirting and coating Velvet’s face, Velvet herself trembling and shaking and whining between them, and Jaune pumping what felt like every drop of nonessential bodily fluid into the greedy backside is cock was buried in.

Finally, Jaune and Coco came back to themselves, and took deep breaths to steady themselves. Slowly, Jaune slipped out of Velvet’s rear end, his now semisoft cock slick with his cum, and he thoughtlessly reached out and took the plug that Coco handed him, admiring the gaping hole filled full with his cum before pressing the plug into her, making sure that it was secure and none of her cream filling could leak out.

Carefully grabbing the near unconscious, giggling bunny, Jaune helped her upright, only to gasp as Coco sank to her knees and throated his cock, sucking and slurping off all of the cum and Velvet’s taste off of his cock, then tucking him into his pants and making sure they were settled as good as they could be on his body.

“Now, stud, we are going to a hotel, and you are going to fuck both of us. I’m sure you can do that, right?” Coco smirked when Jaune scooped Velvet into his arms and tucked her against his chest, the absolutely glowing bunny smiling and rubbing her pudgy belly full of cum. “Velvet got me off, but I need more than one orgasm to be satisfied...and I can tell you do as well. Ready to go, stud?”

Jaune couldn’t nod fast enough, making Coco laugh.

The trio left the alcove, leaving behind no evidence of their being there beyond a large clear puddle near the wall as they made their way back into Vale proper.

[stay-midnight]

Royals. I

Hyunjin x Male Reader

(Late Hyunjin Day Special)

a/n: Look at me and my late ass post again 💀, Anyways, this would be split up into two or tbree parts cause it’s gonna be a bit long than my other fics. So enjoy this for now 🤧 Smut would be on the second part which would be posted in a week or two (No promises though cuz 🤡)

Things to note: Royal AU!, Insult Fight, Implied Changsung (BinxSung), All of skz is here/mentioned, Implied Hookups, TXT is mentioned, Y/N’s a bit of a dick, Hyunjin is barely mentioned here yet, Minho is also a bit of dick, flirty Minho, Minho and Y/N tension, maybe some Seungmin x Y/N here and there too-. Prince! Felix, Jeongin, Changbin, Jisung, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Y/N and Knights! Minho and Chan. Y/N’s last name here is "Hyangsu"

W.C - 2.9K

A prince of the Hwang Kingdom is having their 21st birthday and you were invited, you were a bit salty about this since you really just wanted to relax after these past weeks of taking different lessons from your oh-so-called studious teacher.

As a prince of Hyangsu Kingdom, you were called to attend the Hwang Prince’s birthday ball, and attending this party was of your at most displeasure since you just wanted to have a relaxing break from your studies.

It was a 21st birthday after all, the age where you’re supposed to find a possible suitor and you just didn’t want to see girls fawning over someone.

You sighed in annoyance as your butler comes rushing with different clothes from your wardrobe, ranging from the royal-tailored attire, elegant clothing to a more casual one.

“Just pick me something that looks presentable as Prince, please.” you mumble to him as you glared him down causing him to tremble at your passive-aggressive tone.

You didn’t even know why they’re so serious about this, you’ve went to many royal banquet and events before, and none of them have ever got your parents or workers so.... worked up.

Is it because the Hwang Kingdom was one of the most powerful in the continent? You wanted to scoff at that thought but you may not be wrong.

In the end of playing a game of picking clothes with your butler, he picked a white suit with gold lines tattered over it, it had a gold plating at the shoulder, a red silk belt matching with the red silk long half-blouse, and white pants accompanied by white boots with a red sole.

After getting dressed you walked down to the lounge, waiting for the caravan to arrive.

You were a bit rude and snappy to people, you hated if they interrupted you one bit, not to mention you were sarcastic and people find it hard to win arguments about you. The only things people really liked about you are your looks and brains, you actually had a brain, unlike those snobby rich prince and princesses — who thinks they own the whole world, and the only aspect that are important to them are looks and money.

You sigh as you wait for the royal caravan to arrive.

. . . .

After minutes and minutes of waiting, “Sire?! The caravan is here, the carriage you are going to stay in is ready outside the palace gates.” your butler said fast, fixing his tie and cleaning his monocle afterwards.

You nodded and stood up to walk over to the gates, without command or words exchanged — the guards opened it as soon as they saw you walk down the path. Bowing respectfully at your presence which you answered with a simple “Thank you.”

You hum at the sight of the royal carriage — colored white with intricate designs and patterns made with real gold and of course, the family crest at the side of it.

A knight in a silver suddenly came out of the royal carriage, removing his helmet and smiling as he waved at you.

You let out a small smile back to him, Ah, the one and only Lee Minho, “Minho.” you spoke, reaching out to shake his hand, to which he gladly obliged.

“Y/N. Always a pleasure to see the prince. Well, if you were a bit more excited about this.” He teased, letting out a few snorts. Petting your head while constantly laughing amusedly.

“I’ll stick a fork in your eye one of these days, you stupid knight.” You gave him a death glare as a warning.

“Ah, Prince, you’re so kind~” he grinned, winking at you too, you rolled your eyes at his behaviour. He was always like this, flirty and sometimes egotistic. You didn’t mind it though since he is an amazing duelist and mentor. He isn’t a King’s guard for no reason.

But one day, his cocky attitude is gonna bite him in the ass.

You grumbled and moved forward to the royal carriage, “Lino, you should move, we can’t be late remember?” You tsked, giving Minho a smirk.

“Whatever.” He spoke up in an sassy tone, you snorted at him, to which he glared at you.

He entered inside the carriage, with you slowly following right after.

After entering inside, you sat down at one side while Minho sat near you. It was spacious inside as expected and a small window was also in place.

You had no interest in staying awake for 3 hours during the ride so you decided to take a nap.

~

“You could use my shoulder, you know?” He teased, patting his shoulder while smirking at you.

“Shut up.” you mumble as you shifted a bit so your head could rest more comfortably against the wall.

As much as you wanted to just sleep laying down at the long couch-like thingy where you’re sat at, you can’t because this stupid knight is watching you.

And the last thing you want is him, teasing you for being less than ‘formal’.

Slowly, the sounds around you seem to deafen itself out causing you to relax your shoulders and fall asleep regardless whether Minho is there watching your every move.

~

Opening your eyes as you felt someone poke your cheek, your eyes drifted slowly to the side. You were eye to eye with the knight, faces inches apart.

Your recently droopy eyes from sleeping — shot open in panic, “W-What are you doing!” you stuttered, leaning back from him which made him grin.

“We’re at the city, prince~” He pets your hair, running his hand through it softly.

You glowered and slapped his hand away, “Ugh, keep your hands to yourself, Lino.” you tried to glare the knight down.

“Ah, Feisty.” he smiled back at you to which you responded with a scowl making him laugh loudly.

“No need to be so aggressive~” Minho winked making you just look away and give up, you ignored him and looked out through the window, finding the surrounding endearing.

The loud chattering from the outside is muffled by the walls of the carriage, from at first glance, this was a very happy city.

It has a warm and vibrant tone to it.

. . .

The carriage comes to a sudden halt after riding in what seems to be a hill due to how it felt riding it earlier, the ground was sloped upwards.

The coachman driving the carriage suddenly spoke up, “We’re here, sire.” he spoke up, muffled by the wooden walls but you caught it.

With a sigh, you opened the door and slowly stepped down — your eyes widening at the sight of the towering castle.

It had a wonderful structure, the stone bricks perfectly fit into one another and of course the Hwang family crest adorned the flags that were raised.

Your kingdom’s castle was in no means small but it pales in comparison to that.

Looking around at the surroundings, you saw that a lot of royals were around, some you recognized and some that you had no idea where they came from.

You looked far and noticed the view of the capital at the city which you saw while taking a ride.

.

“...Prince Y/N.” After getting lost in a little bubble after staring at the refreshing view, Minho was nudging your shoulder.

“Hm? What is it?” you said, looking at him with raised eyebrows as you fixed the tie of your suit.

He rolled his eyes, “Did you even hear what I said?” he glared, tapping his foot on the ground multiple times.

“Would I be asking you if I did?” you shot back, clicking your tongue in annoyance as you waited for his answer.

He groaned at your attitude, “You have to sign up to enter the castle. Lose the attitude too, prince.” he said in a careless tone, looking at you with his icy glare.

“Who are you to talk like that to me, knight..?” you scowled at him as you stood your ground firmly.

What was happening now was in contrast to earlier, this was a more serious battle between you and Minho. These were times were usually one of the houseworkers back at your kingdom, steps in to stop both of you and succeeded most of the time.

To be honest though, this fight shouldn't escalate at all.

. . .

From the distance though, someone was watching both of you in amusement, “The party hasn’t even started and they’re bickering all ready.”

“Chan if you could stop them, please?” The man with long black hair commanded to the person next to him.

The knight fixed his posture and nodded, “Of course, my prince.”

“You can call me by my name, you know? We’ve been friends for a long time.” the long-haired man chuckled.

“Still need to use honorifics, sire.” the shorter smiled at the taller before leaving to stop the heated glare-down and exchange of insults at the entrance.

He took one last glance at the royal that was bickering with a knight, finding him amusing but at the same time, he found him interesting.

“Might need to keep an eye on that one.” he hummed to himself before going back inside the castle.

. . .

Minho just recently called you a brat and undeserving of being called a prince of your kingdom, he even mentioned your brother, the crown prince — next in line to the throne — he says of how your brother is just better than you in every way. This sends a devastating pang to your heart as this was not only hurtful to your pride but in a way, he also disregards all your hard work.

“Fuck you. You have no rights to tell me this. You are not my brother nor my parents. You are merely a fucking knight!” you said, shouting the last part.

Your own eyes are tinted with anger, wanting to choke the life out of your escorting knight.

“What, isn’t what all I said was t—”

An applaud was heard from the near distance, cutting Lino off and causing your head to turn to the source of sound.

The man with the curly locks and a pretty face bowed to your direction, “The opening ceremony of the party is starting soon, Prince Hyangsu Y/N. I suggest you sign the guest book and head on inside.” he smiles at you, dimples shown causing you go soften your look.

“While you,” he said sighing after, pointing to Minho with a finger.

“...Fellow knight, let’s chit chat for a bit.” he coughed and grabbed Minho’s hand — dragging him away despites the struggling knight's protest.

You looked around and noticed some of the royals still outside, staring at you with a hint of disappointment probably because of your fight with Minho.

You grumbled, annoyed and angry at the disrespectful knight — you'll most likely have to talk with Minho after this god-forsaken party.

. . .

A yawn almost slipped out of your mouth as the host of the party or ball, at this point you question which is it. The speech lacked any entertainment of the sorts causing you to just listen with half-lidded eyes.

Then came the introduction of the Prince that is having their born day.

A tall man suddenly came out of the curtains, aura filled with confidence and pride, gleaming and filling the room. You inspected his face and not gonna lie, he was indeed pretty, prettier than most princes you have seen — Long black locks neatly tied up in a ponytail, alluring eyes, thick and kissable li— You snapped out of your little bubble after noticing that you were checking the Hwang, this is not good.

You turned away from the center of attention and looked for your small group of friends but felt as if someone was boring holes into your skull.

Turning back, only to see no one staring at you but instead just the continuous blah blah blah’s by the Hwang Prince.

Sighing, you continue to scout the palace room for any signs of a certain fox-eyed brat, someone who dressed too dark and a ray of sunshine.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance when you still haven’t spotted the trio.

. . .

The Prince finally stopped talking and just announced that the dance will start in about an hour, giving his guests — free time to converse with one another.

After going through a sea of screaming princesses that want to marry him, you sighed in relief and just wished to leave this place. That is, until you finally caught a glimpse of a familiar royal. Finally.

.

You poked the shoulder of the foxy prince which startled him, almost causing him to spill his red drink over his royal wear. “God, Y/N, couldn’t you just approach me like a normal person.” he tutted.

Then returned his dimpled smile, he hugged you with one hand unable to engulf with his arms due to the drink he was holding.

“I thought you didn’t go to this clownfest.” you sighed, your words having a sarcastic tone.

“Me? Yang Jeongin wouldn’t miss a ball, especially one that is hosted by one of the richest kingdoms.” he laughed, taking a sip of his drink.

“Is that wine or juice? Also, why are you talking in third person?” you stared at him with confusion.

“This is red water.” he sassed mockingly causing you to roll your eyes and flick his forehead a bit too hard with your index finger.

“Ow!” Jeongin squinted his eyes at you.

He pulls on your ear at payback which you took easily before yawning and looking at the clock impatiently. You wanted to return home and sleep, and also give Minho a lecture.

“Where’s Bin and Lix?” you piped up before taking a seat at the small seat near a pillar, curiously scouting the again for signs of them.

He sighed and sat down right next to you, “Felix-hyung is hunting for more exotic food, since he liked the Shark meat a bit too much and well...” he trailed off, taking a sip of his drink and clearing his throat.

“Bin-hyung is getting flirted slash hitted on again by Prince Jisung of the Han Kingdom. I thought the he already gave up but nope. He still pursuing the Bin booty.” Jeongin chuckled, calling over a roaming waiter for a refill to which the worker happily obliged

You laughed at that since Han has been shooting hearts at Changbin for a long time and always had flirted with him at different parties. Changbin had always rejected his advances though.

“Also they sent a new representative from the Kim kingdom. I’ve never seen him before. Looks cute though, might be your type.” Jeongin said, nudging your shoulders and pointing at a specific direction. Your eyes raked over the prince’s form, charming and handsome but at the same time cute — He was leaning back at the wall, also drinking something.

You grumbled though, this is once again Jeongin trying to hook you up with someone again. It didn’t end well last time — The last prince, Jeongin hooked you up was Prince Yeonjun — All he wanted was sex though, causing you to immediately cut off ties with said prince, leaving a bit heartbroken at that since he only said that he wanted sex after you already spent the night together.

“Not this again, Innie.” you tsked, crossing your arms around your chest.

“Come onnn~.. I thought Yeonjun liked you a lot, he stared at you a lot during Taehyun’s party” Jeongin mumbles since he knows, that you don't like fooling around with people who didn’t even have a single interest on being on an actual relationship.

He felt bad matching you up with him, since he thought that was time you actually would get out of the singles’ list.

He nudged you and tilted his head to the Kim prince’s direction, “He’s walking over here.”

Your head immediately snapped to him, “Did he notice me staring at him earlier?!” you whispered nervously.

He raised his shoulders as he doesn’t know but you could already hear his evil mind spouting not-so-good ideas when he let out a grim grin.

“Well.....~ Y/N, I have to go find Felix, I kinda wanna try the shark meat, Ok byeeeee~” he said as if he was in a rush but this was just a part of his scheme.

“Jeongin, wait, don’t lea—” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he was out of sight, the man was already extremely near you, his eyes never leaving your own.

You gulp, not knowing what to do in this situation.

In a mere second, you were face to face with the unfamiliar prince. He looked down at you with a emotionless face before sitting down next to you.

“My name is Kim Seungmin, yours?” He spoke with a honey-laced voice crossing his legs as he looked at you with curious eyes.

A smirk was starting to form at the corner of his lips before you opened your mouth to speak.

But nothing came out

He was attractive but he had soft features and an aura that resonates well with his features. He had this cute puppy-look to him but by that smirk he isn’t all that rainbows and sunshines.

Now, this is totally not good.

Little did Y/N know someone was watching this interaction in the distance, a prince than seems to be allured to you ever since he saw you within the crowd. He doesn't seem happy though~

~ tbc

[beskarhearts]

re: you wanting one shot/blurb ideas: *chanting softly* domestic din, domestic din, domestic-

HOME (DIN DJARIN X READER)

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB!reader

Word count: over 1.9K

Warnings: very brief allusion to sexy time (I think that is it but let me know)

Summary: Sometimes home was a person, not just a place.

Notes: Just so you know, I completely ignored events of season 2 because I just wanted these 2 to be happy and we all deserve domestic Din. I hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

_____________________________

Home had seemed like such a foreign concept to both you and Din for so long. You were aware of its existence but it may as well had been the Force with how confusing of a thought it was to you two. The galaxy was a hard and tough place, one that seemed like you had to fight to get through each day. Din certainly had been handed the short end of the stick as well, having gone through more struggles and travesties than you could count on one hand. In a world that was so brutal and could sometimes be so cruel, how the hell were you to find a home in the midst of it?

But then for some reason, the universe aligned and you had met Din on a fateful day that changed the rest of the course of your life. It took awhile because of the walls you both had up and the lack of trust you had in humanity, but eventually you came to realize something. Sometimes home was a person, not just a place.

So for years you were content with Din, even if that meant living in the Crest with Grogu and traveling from place to place. You had him by your side and that was enough for you - enough for the rest of your life. You wouldn’t mind hopping from planet to planet as long as at the end of the day you could slip into a cot with Din, no matter how tiny or uncomfortable it may had been. And Din the same. Sure the Crest had been a sort of home to him considering how long he had it but it had never felt quite as bright until you were in it. Never had Din felt so settled and content until he felt the warm brush of your fingers against his hair and felt the wave you seemed to mold into his touch, like you were becoming one person. That was also when Din realized home could be a person.

That still didn’t stop you two from hoping though. You couldn’t bare to say it during the day but at night, when you two whispered sweet nothings to each other, you would also make grand plans of a home. Talk about how one day you two would settle down on a sparsely populated planet somewhere with Grogu. Find a small little house and take care of each other for the rest of your days until you were old. Maybe have a couple kids to fill the empty rooms with noise and happiness. You would talk of having a kitchen where you could make meals and teach Din how to cook, both of you eating something other than ration packs or broth on a daily basis. Find a place with some land so Din could step outside without his helmet with no fear and breath in some fresh air, while the child you had both come to love roamed around the tall grass. Din would speak of a bed - a proper bed - where you both could spread out as wide as you wanted (even though you both knew each night would end with you in each other’s arms, trying to get as close as heavenly possible). A place that could properly be decorated for holidays and special occasions, maybe even a big tree for a Life Day.

But all of those had seemed like simple dreams best to be spoken of in the warm confines of each other’s arms. Because things like that didn’t happen for people like you two.

Until they somehow did. Until somehow everything fell in line and you realized it was no longer a dream, but close enough to touch and grasp if you really wanted it. And hell, you both wanted it so badly. So when Din landed the Crest on a planet with warm air and fresh grass and flowers, he knew you would love it. It was meant to just be another pit stop until Din found an abandoned little house in the middle of this field and suddenly he realized everything he wanted was right in front of him. He could let you and the child settle down. You and him could relax and finally make the family you had discussed. It was sitting there right in front of him, like all the beautiful magical intricacies of the galaxy came together to form this perfect little sanctuary for you both.

Din had been so excited to show you that he quite literally ran to you, dragging you and the child with him in the most chipper mood you had ever seen the man. You had playfully teased him for his childlike behavior until your eyes landed on the small house and your heart melted. The look you have Din was not one you needed to explain because he had the same exact one. No words were spoken, no confirmation of what he wanted that place to be for you. You both knew and all you had to do was grab Din’s hand and walk him into the home for him to instantly decide to retire from his life and spend the rest of his days with you on a planet whose name he could barely remember.

The place had not been in the greatest shape. It was old and had clearly been abandoned for long enough that the place fell into a little disarray. But you and Din had certainly faced much worse so you didn’t allow it to scare you away. Instead Din worked on building furniture and fixing holes in the wall, a big smile on his face the whole time because he was constantly being hit with the realization of ‘this is what normal people do’. You had painted the walls with flowers like you could see outside the windows, filling it with more color than Din had ever seen in his life. And once the home was finally finished, equip with a functioning kitchen and the largest bed you had laid your eyes on, you and Din got married.

You could of traveled into the closest town and maybe found someone to officiate it for you, but that felt so conventional and unnecessary. You didn’t need another person to declare your love for each other and make it official. You had only ever needed each other so you both had as traditional of a Mandalorian wedding as you could, a bit difficult due to it being only you two and the very dapper flower boy that had been Grogu (who had managed to eat all the flowers and not throw a single one). Din wore his armor and you wore a small white dress you had made from a set of curtains but you both swore it was the most beautiful the other one had ever looked.

Shortly after you had gotten married, Din had begun to not-so-subtly, in fact very obviously, started dropping hints about kids. There would be times you were sitting on the couch and Din would look around before saying something like, "This house is a little big for just the three of us, don't you think?" Just the other day, Din had gone into the closest town for some supplies and came back not only with food and stuff you needed, but with a plethora of baby clothes that he all claimed were for Grogu (even though they were all obviously way too small for him).

You knew what Din was doing because it was the clearest thing in the world and you were on board. But watching Din drop the most obvious hints and slowly become more flustered the longer you pretended to be oblivious was hilarious to you. But eventually a dam broke and Din just grabbed you and marched towards the bedroom, very loudly stating that it was time to make some babies ASAP to which you responded with a fit of giggles.

And that led you to where you were now. Stood in the middle of your kitchen in your home, looking out the window where you admired the way the sun illuminated the flowers and trees. A warm cup of caf was clutched between your hands, the wonderful scent filling your nostrils as you held it close to your mouth. The home was silent, the child still asleep in his room and you had left Din to sleep in the bed while you snuck out.

The moment you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and pull you into a broad expanse of warmth, you let out a small content hum. Din's head nuzzled into your neck, his ruffled hair tickling your chin. "Mornin', cyar'ika." Din grumbled, his voice still laced with a type of sleep-drunk tone you adored. His voice in the morning was always your favorite - it seemed to amplify the gruffness and deepness his voice he usually had.

"Morning." you whispered back, feeling your heart flutter when a light kiss was pressed into your neck before he pulled away, grabbing a mug a caf for himself.

You admired his figure, eyes raking up and down in pure adoration. His hair was ruffled and messy from sleep, going in every which way. His eyes were still a little droopy and his whole body still sagged a little. He was wearing a shirt you had given him months ago, one that you were certain he found ridiculously ugly yet he claimed was his favorite because you chose it for him specifically. "Why are you up so early?"

"Wanted to watch the sunrise." you responded, your smile growing as he padded back over to you and planted a kiss on your forehead.

"You look beautiful."

You snorted, giving him a small lopsided smile. "I haven't even brushed my hair yet or washed my face. I am still crusty."

Din smiled, looking down at you with the warm brown eyes you had learned to love. "Well your crust is very sexy."

You threw your head back in laughter that time, shaking your head as he joined in with a slight chuckle. "Din, you are a horrible liar."

"I'm not lying. I love the morning crust. It's cute." he responded back, no hint of sarcasm in his voice but a slight twinkle in his eye.

"Shut up." you huffed, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Y'know, it is actually so sexy that we should probably-"

Din was cut off when the sound of cries began to fill the house, the noise coming straight from Grogu's room. You chuckled when an exasperated expression grew on his face and he placed his cup in your hand. "What were you saying, handsome?"

Din rolled his eyes as your sarcastic remark but you could still see the small quirk on the corner of his lip. "I'll go get him."

"You sure?" you asked.

"Yeah." Din mumbled, heading towards the door to Grogu's room slowly. He turned back to you once last time before opening the door. "Cyar'ika?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

You softly smiled. "I love you too."

Din smiled before opening the door to Grogu's room, slipping inside. Within a couple minutes, the crying died down and was replaced with soft cooing that filled your heart with warmth, accompanied by the sound of Din's soft voice as he spoke to the child. You placed the cups of caf on the counter and then made your way towards the room, thinking how this is exactly what home was supposed to feel like.

[whoacanada]

‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

____________

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Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

____________

____________

____________

They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

___________

___________

___________

“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

__________

__________

Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game —  he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

________

________

________

There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ��Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively —  defensively —  as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily —  burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.  

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

__________

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[littlemisspascal]

Pedro Pascal Characters as Element Benders

This has probably been done before, but I watched an episode of ATLA earlier and thought wow, I wonder what Pedro’s characters would be and thus this was written in about 15 minutes. It’s probably not very good cuz it’s so rushed, but read on if you want to see my headcanons for the boys.

Also if anyone out there wants to come up with their own versions, I’d love to see what you imagine ❤

Javier - firebender, definitely. I mean, the guy smokes more than any other character I’ve seen on tv and I love the mental image of him lighting a cigarette using his own hands. His anger, too, at the corruption of the government I imagine as a fire constantly burning away inside of him, making his skin warm to the touch and his snappy retorts scorch the ears of anyone who gets on his bad side.

Max -- waterbender only because he’d totally master bloodbending through it. He’s a vampire so of course blood has to factor in somewhere. His bending skills in combination with his hypnotism ability means he’d essentially be the most dangerous predator in the whole office building, inflating his arrogance beyond measure in the process.

Whiskey - waterbender because if Katara can use a water whip then Whiskey would definitely make use of one too. Enemies would think he carries a flask full of alcohol, but it’s really full of H2O ready to unleash upon them as a powerful wave. 

Pero - I really feel like he’d be an earthbender. I just picture him grumpily stomping the ground whenever William pisses him off (which is often) and sending a wall of rock directly at the Irish man’s face. Or if he gets really stubborn then he’ll just build himself a little rock fortress to block out the rest of the world and give him a minute of solace so he can pretend aliens don’t exist.

Oberyn - firebender, no questions asked. I mean, I don’t know much about GOT but I know Oberyn constantly wears a yellow robe with suns on it, plus I’ve seen a lot of interviews where Pedro talks about the prince’s passionate personality makes him impulsive. All those characteristics to me scream firebender and wouldn’t it have been awesome if during his final fight he actually breathed fire?!

Marcus P - this sweetheart is totally an airbender. He just seems like such a tenderhearted man and wants to help anyone in need whether that be sending them a cool breeze in the middle of a hot summer day or helping get a child’s kite down from a tree with one well-aimed current. Aesthetically I imagine his hair always looking fluffy and windblown, making his lover want to run their hands through his hair all hours of the day and he’d love every second of it.

Maxwell - earthbender. It’s canon he has a passion for gemology and an interest in oil and I mean, he literally becomes the dreamstone (sorry, spoilers) so in my mind it stands to reason he’d be a pretty good earthbender. Another spoiler (sorry) from the movie is that scene where the giant wall rises out of nowhere and blocks off the city? Imagine Maxwell doing it because that rich oil man pissed him off with his condescending personality. Everyone would know to never make a joke out of Maxwell Lord ever again.

Marcus M - airbender. I mean, the movie doesn’t really show what Marcus’ powers are precisely other than apparently he’s got a pair of katanas, so I think it’d be cool if instead of just having a really strong bond with a pair of weapons, he bends air to send them flying into his hands. Also that scene where he leaps at the alien and gets captured? It was a super high jump so I could totally see him using his airbending to help give him a boost. (I got nothing in this headcanon to explain why he uses the little droid to fly around though, so let’s just pretend that doesn’t exist).

Ezra - of course he’s an earthbender. Just like Maxwell, it’s canon this guy has a passion for digging stuff out of the ground and becoming rich off of it. I imagine it’d be a little hard for him to relearn how to bend with only one arm after the events of the movie, but maybe he could use his feet like Toph does and master a form of bending unlike any other seen before. He would also use his massive vocabulary and honey-sweet tongue to confuse/charm competing prospectors right before he makes the ground disappear beneath them. 

Din - I thought long and hard about this one and I kept coming back to earthbending only because the Mandalorians would teach him to learn metalbending through it. He would use it to get dents out of his armor as well as fix his beloved Razor Crest, but without a doubt the most important thing he’d use his bending for would be to play catch with Grogu and the little metal ball. The cuteness would kill all of us. 

Frankie - I see him as an airbender. He’s a pilot at heart, loves to soar above the earth through the clouds. When he was a kid, he definitely had one of those gliders like Aang does in the show and showed off to Santi just how high he could fly (I totally believe him and Santi were childhood friends, you can’t change my mind). There is nothing he loves more than the breeze ruffling his hair and occasionally using his airbending against the boys when they’re misbehaving by sending their hats flying off their heads. 

Dave - this murder-loving suburban dad is a firebender. He’s the type to burn at a low simmer, deceiving those around him by thinking he’s calm and collected, but he’ll burn you to ash the second you tick him off or get in the way of his plans. It also would explain why he lost so badly at the end of the movie because the torrential rain would weaken even the strongest of firebenders. 

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan​, @vintagesaph​, @sylphene​, @over300books​, @aerynwrites​, @softly-sad​, @chibi-yuki​, @theocatkov​, @oh-no-a-whovian​, @freeshavocadoooo​, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world​, @randomness501​, @lin-djarin​, @happiestsparkleofall​, @gallowsjoker​, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives​, @captain-jebi​, @absurdthirst​, @coaaster​, @leilei-draws​, @melobee​, @stilllivindue2spite​, @pointy-sharp​, @artsymaddie​, @disgruntledspacedad​

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 2)

This chapter took me so fucking long but after much struggle I have completed it!

It was supposed to be 3-4k words. It was exactly 6069 pre-editing according to google docs.

You're welcome.

Chapter Title: with your blessing i will go

Chapter Wordcount: 6073

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, discussion of death, non-graphic injury.

AO3

Chapter 1

i know they're losing (companion fic)

Actual fic under the cut:

The next few weeks are miserable, and if Scott tried to claim anything else, he would absolutely be lying to himself. Not that he doesn’t already do that, but he’s not too proud to admit that not seeing Jimmy is torturous. He knows he can’t, he’s firmly placed Jimmy on the off-limits list, but that doesn’t make the self-imposed rule any easier to follow. There’s still a part of him that wants to go running back to Jimmy’s arms, to beg for forgiveness and pray that Jimmy’s warmth is enough to curb the chill in his bones.

Scott shoves that part of him down firmly. He has no time to hesitate or regret, and he will not spend his days pining and sighing over a human. (Or so he tells himself.) He will be the perfect model of an elven king if that’s what it takes to gain his people’s respect, and he will make his parents proud, not that they’re around to see it. He will . Because Scott may not care about what the Council of Elders thinks of him- he hasn’t for twenty years now- but he does care that the people of Rivendell get a leader who cares for their wellbeing. It’s the least he can do, really.

So he takes on the meetings and the paperwork and the aching, gaping hole in his chest with grim determination, ignoring the way his hands always seem to shake a little and he can never quite get warm. It’s fine. Scott is fine. He’s not going to think about golden smiles or warm brown eyes or the look on Jimmy’s face when Scott told him it was over. He’s fine .

Flipping through the stack of official mail he’s received, Scott’s startled when his hand falls on an elegant cream envelope stamped with the crest of the Ocean Empire. How long has this been here? He hurries to get it open, nearly slicing himself on the letter opener in the process.

Out slides an official invitation in neat cursive.

To High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor, Lord King of the Rivendell Empire,

You are cordially invited to a royal ball to be held at the palace of Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs, at 8 pm on the fifth of August.

Formal attire is required.

RSVP as soon as possible.

At the bottom of it, there’s a note in slightly more rushed handwriting.

Smajor- elvenking or not, I will not appreciate it if you mess with Jimmy in any way, shape or form. This ball is to be a peaceful affair, and I will not hesitate to intervene should anything occur.

Lizzie

Scott winces. He...can’t say he doesn’t deserve the warning, any more than he can say that it doesn’t hurt to be warned away from his own husband. Ex-husband, he quickly reminds himself, reaching for stationary to pen a response.

Dear Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs,

He stops, giving it a bit of thought. Would avoiding Jimmy be worth the political consequences of refusing an invitation like this? No, he concedes reluctantly, it wouldn’t. He can always just avoid Jimmy at the ball- Lizzie would probably be happy for it, honestly. She’s been protective over him from the start. Scott puts the pen back to paper.

Luckily, I will be able to attend the ball. It sounds like a wonderful event and I eagerly anticipate it. As for your note, I will avoid antagonizing Jimmy as much as possible. I would hate to sacrifice diplomatic relations between our kingdoms for a petty squabble. Will that be satisfactory?

Sincerely,

High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor

What’s going on between him and Jimmy is far more than a petty squabble, but Lizzie doesn’t need to know that. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to run into Jimmy anyways, right?

The day of the ball arrives, and Scott spends far too long choosing an outfit. He’s not vain, not usually, but...Jimmy will be there. You’re not supposed to want to impress him , Scott scolds himself, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing his nicest golden jewelry. The rest of his outfit is far more strategically planned- long skirts to hide how terrible his balance is when he’s near-constantly struggling to get a full breath into his lungs, gloves to keep his dance partners from questioning his cold hands.

The ball is already in full swing by the time he arrives, the trip from Rivendell taking longer than he thought it would. He’s still greeted by the Ocean Queen herself, though, gliding over in her stunning ballgown of blue and green.

“Welcome!” Her smile is bright, warm in a way he almost envies.

Scott dips his head just enough to be respectful but not so much as to truly defer to her. He thinks that’s right, anyways; he hasn’t had to think about that particular part of etiquette lessons in some twenty years. “Thank you, Queen Lizzie. I apologize for my lateness, the trip was a bit harrowing.”

“No problem at all, I just hope you enjoy the ball!” Lizzie’s smile gains a sharper edge. “I appreciated your letter, by the way. Thank you for your promise to keep it civil, King Smajor. Now we just all have to follow through on our words!” She accompanies that bit with a little laugh, but Scott’s not a fool enough to take it as anything but a warning. She doesn’t want trouble at her ball, and who would, really?

“Hopefully we can manage at least that,” he offers wryly, earning another laugh and a bright “Hopefully!”

Scott doesn’t mean to cause trouble at the ball, he really doesn’t. But before he has a chance to even get a look around, Jimmy’s standing in front of him. And oh, this really isn’t how he hoped it’d go.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets, swallowing the lump in his throat. Jimmy cleans up nicely- really nicely- but Scott’s eyes keep going to the scar on his throat, the permanent reminder of how fragile and mortal Jimmy really is.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy says. The formality sounds awkward in his bright voice, and Scott wants to kiss the uncertainty right off his face. “Care for a dance?”

He can’t- he should, Scott knows. There would be value to an alliance with Jimmy, and he has no good reason to turn him down. That’s not why he says yes, though. It’s that look in Jimmy’s eyes, the hope poorly disguised by indifference. He’s so optimistic. Scott shouldn't encourage it, but he can’t find it in himself to break that fragile hope just yet.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind,” Scott says finally. He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one; Vilya rests on Jimmy’s finger, still, and it’s a battle to keep the memories of giving Jimmy that ring at bay. He wins that battle, though, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and Scott knows it. He steps on Scott’s feet, he gets off-rhythm- he’s frankly not made for dancing, much as the way he hums along to the tune is adorable. His hair, which was probably once nicely styled, has already fallen out of place, and his tunic is a little wrinkled. His hands are rough, tough from all the work he does with them, and his face has a tiny bit of mud on it that he must have missed when getting ready. He looks very much like a sweet little swamp boy, out of place in the midst of all the more elegant and powerful rulers.

He’s the most beautiful thing Scott’s ever seen.

Unlike the last time they danced, back in 3rd life where Jimmy leaned on Scott for balance as he tried to learn the complicated steps, this time it’s Scott clinging to Jimmy for stability. He feels bad about how harsh his grip gets, but he can’t afford to show weakness. He has to stay on his feet.

Scott’s silently thankful when the dance ends and he can lead them off the dance floor. He’s exhausted and shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can be around Jimmy without breaking down or doing something very stupid.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He takes a step back, banishing the lingering emotion of their dance.

A beat of silence, and then.

“Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?” Jimmy demands, earning a ripple of gasps from nearby guests.

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back, anger rising to fill the gap in his chest.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

Scott swallows down the lump in his throat. “Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I can still be in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says. He sounds so bitter, so tired. “I know , trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

Jimmy cuts him off, a rare occurrence. “Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf! You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

His chest tightens, and he can barely force the words out. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

It’s Scott’s turn to cut him off. “I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me.” It hurts, but it’s true. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.” Jimmy’s so wonderful, there are bound to be others who see it.

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy says. It’s almost childish, but his next words still break Scott’s heart. “I want you. ”

“You can’t have me.” Scott is vividly aware of the fact that there are eyes on him, that their little spat has attracted the attention of the rest of the ballroom.

“But why? Why, Scott?” Jimmy’s voice breaks, and the crack in it is damn near enough to make Scott lose his tiny bit of remaining self-control. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.” It sounds like an accusation, and maybe it is. Scott did promise him that, after all, and then he went back on it.

It wasn’t for no reason, though. He needs Jimmy to understand that it was for a reason. “I can’t give you that!” He snaps back, and his hands tremble when they try to form fists by his side. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.” It’s bitter, but it’s true. Scott can’t be enough for anyone, in the end.

“Enough for me? For ME?”Jimmy’s voice rises in outrage. “All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existence once in a while!”

Scott’s voice rises in response. “And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?”

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

Scott falls silent, breathing hard as the ballroom goes quiet around them. He spots Lizzie sweeping through the crowd, coming to a stop next to Jimmy.

“Is everything alright, boys?” She’s smiling, but it’s strained, and her eyes promise death if this quarrel was Scott’s fault.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” he says, and he tries to gather his composure as he dips his head to her. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.” He doesn’t look at Jimmy.

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and he only nearly stumbles when he turns to leave.

Distantly, he can hear Jimmy shout after him. “Coward!” The word is harsh, but there’s hurt beneath it. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott stumbles away all the quicker.

He keeps composed all the way out the doors and most of the way down the stairs until he’s sure no one can see him from the ballroom. It’s only then that he breaks into a run, lifting up his stupid skirts so he doesn’t fall. One shoe falls off, a twisted parody of a children’s fairy tale, and he doesn’t bother to retrieve it. The prismarine stabs at his exposed foot, but Scott doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he beats his wings, trying to get enough momentum for a good takeoff.

For a few precious moments, he gets off the ground, and then he remembers Jimmy’s face as he left, wingbeats stuttering with the sudden emotion, and tumbles back to the rough prismarine path. It hurts , it does, but it’s nothing on the pain in his chest. Nothing on the words still echoing in his head. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!

Scott lays there for a moment, half-wondering if anyone’s coming after him. It’s unlikely, he knows, given how badly he messed things up. He tells himself that that’s a good thing, that he doesn’t want anyone to come looking. He doesn’t need them. He should be strong.

Before anyone has time to notice or be concerned, he’s forced himself back to his feet, starting the takeoff sequence all over again.

This time, he gets in the air with little difficulty, though he lists to the side as he favors his right wing, which took the brunt of the fall. It’s fine. He’s fine, he doesn’t need help.

If Scott believed in the elven gods anymore, he would thank them for the fact that he gets back to Rivendell at all. There are tears blurring his vision, and every part of his body aches, his chest most of all. His flight is shaky at best, outright dangerous at worst, crashing into trees and rocks and the ground multiple times. Each time, he barely picks himself back up before mobs arrive. Sometimes, he questions if he should at all. He’s as good as dead anyways. And yet, the tiny stubborn part of him that got him through 3rd life won’t let him just lay down and die. For some reason, even though he’s slept enough recently (he thinks, anyways), there are phantoms on him. They sense when their prey is sleep-deprived, Scott knows, and wonders if he’s just weak enough to seem that way to them.

By the time he crash-lands on the mountainside, it’s pushing two in the morning, and Scott is more dead than alive. Not that he hasn’t been for a while now, he thinks, and laughs aloud to himself, bitter.

The night watch give him strange looks, but both elves on guard duty obligingly dip their heads when he stumbles by. He barely musters the energy to nod back.

Finally he makes it back to his house, slamming his door behind him and burying his face in his hands. This is the right thing to do, why does it hurt so much? He already lost Jimmy once, why does it feel like he’s losing him all over again when he never really got him back in the first place?

Someone coughs lightly, breaking through his thoughts. The voice is familiar when they speak- one of his advisors. “Lord Smajor? Any major events we should know of at the ball?”

Cold. Calm. Scott knows this is the way of the elves- their royalty cannot dare be human. “The Codfather’s our enemy and the Ocean Queen probably hates us too.” He doesn’t bother trying to make himself sound calm and collected, pushing off the wall and stalking towards the stairs.

“What?” The advisor’s voice pitches up in shock. “What did you do?”

“None of your business.”

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

“It wasn’t like I was fucking trying to,” He snaps.

A gasp. “Language.”

“Fuck off.”

They hurry after him, making to follow him up the stairs. “Lord Smajor-”

Scott turns to face them, taking in the shock and rage painted across their ancient face. “Leave me be.”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” the advisor scolds. “I remember when you were a child, you always were reckless, but this is a new level of disrespect! Why, Xornoth would never-”

“ Enough ,” he hisses. “Do not talk about my sibling.”

They freeze, a bit of genuine fear creeping onto their face. “My lord-”

“Get out of my house,” Scott snarls.

They wisely obey. Scott slumps against the banister as the surge of adrenaline abates, suddenly exhausted. He’s freezing, he realizes, a bone-deep chill that he doesn’t bother to pretend is from his trip home. Scott’s done lying to himself- he’s in pain, and he’s in love, but then again, those equate to roughly the same thing when all’s said and done. You can’t have heartbreak without love or love without heartbreak. (But oh how he wishes he could.)

Scott doesn’t get out of bed the next day, and no one dares try to force him. Varying members of Rivendell’s Council of Elders make a decent shot at trying to convince him, but all it takes is him fixing them with his dead-eyed stare to make them leave. The people of Rivendell are used to their ruler’s odd sleep schedule by now, brushing it off easily, and the empire itself is mostly functional without him. So instead of getting up and dealing with the corruption or making sure Rivendell’s stores are prepared for winter or any of the things he should be doing, Scott lays there in his own misery and thinks about Jimmy screaming that he’s a coward.

He’s right, that’s the worst part. Scott is a coward. He’s scared of Xornoth and the corruption and never, ever being enough, he’s scared of responsibility and his own mind, he’s scared of fading and dying alone, and- most of all- he’s absolutely terrified of how much he loves Jimmy.

His father warned him about fading, once, back before Scott was expected to carry a crown on his brow and the weight of a nation on his shoulders. He bounced Scott on his knee and told him that elven hearts are fragile, too fragile for how strongly they love. “Don’t fall too deep in love, son,” he said, and the words carried the weight of years of grief. “Don’t care too much about any one person, not if you want to live to be a legend of the ages. Doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, love can be lethal.”

Scott didn’t listen, of course- reckless, rebellious Scott, who never once listened to his elders, went and did the most dangerous thing an elf could do. He fell in love with a human.

And now he’s dying. Surely that gives him a pass to wallow in his own misery for a day or two. He’s been brave for so long, can’t he just rest a few moments? Just...just a few. He’ll just lay here a bit longer.

At that moment, the front door creaks open somewhere below him.

“My lord? Can I come up?” Someone calls from below. Their voice is also familiar- Gilnar. Gilnar’s a good captain of the guard. Dutiful, clever, and far more willing to respect him than most of Rivendell’s high ranking elves.

“If you’ve come to convince me to get up, it won’t work,” Scott calls back.

Gilnar’s head peeks over the railing a moment later. “Nope, not here for that. Just thought I’d check in, y’know?” The Sindarin words sound almost musical in their accent, rolling up and down with a unique sort of rhythm.

“Alright.”

“Are you okay, my lord?”

“No.” He’s done lying. “Leave me be.”

Gilnar shakes their head. “Sorry, my lord, can’t do that.”

“If you’re going to tell me my people need me, don’t waste your breath. I know .” Scott’s voice cracks on the last word, just a little.

“Not that either. But with all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.” They lean against the railing.

“What do you mean by that?”

They cough, a little awkwardly. “The soul-sickness. The fading.”

Scott’s mouth opens and closes, and he sputters. “How-”

“Trainin’ with the royal guard a few weeks back, your hands were freezin’ and your balance was off. You haven’t gotten up at a reasonable hour in weeks, and, well, with all due respect- I know what heartbreak looks like.”

He’s silent for a moment, utterly floored. “What do you mean by giving up?”

“Well, Lauriel and I were talkin’, and….your love’s still alive, isn’t he? The Codfather?”

“How did you-”

Gilnar flashes him a tiny grin. “He’s not subtle, and neither are you. Plus, he has Vilya.”

Deciding to shove that to the back of his mind for now, Scott sighs. “He’s a mortal, Gilnar. I’m not giving up anything that I won’t already lose in sixty years or so.”

“Luthien loved Beren, didn’t she?”

“I am not Luthien. I cannot sing so well that the gods grant me pardon.”

“And Idril loved Tuor.”

“I am not Idril. I cannot bring Jimmy to the Undying Lands.”

“Arwen still loved Aragorn.”

“I am not Arwen. I do not have the choice to give up my immortal life.”

Gilnar’s smile turns sad. “Caranthir still loved Haleth. And Celebrimbor loved Narvi just the same, didn’t he? The doomed love all the more fiercely, my lord.”

“The rest of the elves won’t be happy with me,” Scott points out.

“You think Thingol and Turgon and Elrond were happy when their daughters loved mortals? You think Luthien’s people didn’t scorn Beren at first?”

Scott doesn’t have any retort to that, and Gilnar hops up from their seat on the banister. “Well, I need to get back to my duties, my lord. Good luck with your swamp boy!”

They’re gone as soon as they arrive, and Scott stares up at the ceiling, his thoughts dragging him along a spiral of emotion.

“Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott is a coward. He’s a liar and a coward. Nothing he does will ever be right.

“Don’t fall too deep in love, son.”

Scott did, though. Like the idiot he is, he fell in love with someone the universe didn’t want him to have.

“Caranthir still loved Haleth.”

He did. And he paid for it. Does it matter? Scott thinks that losing Jimmy might be a price worth paying for the joy of loving him.

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

Scott didn’t mean to, but he still messed up and shouted at Jimmy. He’s a failure. Jimmy could do better. He deserves better.

“I don’t want a mortal. I want you .”

Jimmy’s so stupid. Stupid Codfather with his stupid bright eyes and stupid, stupid insistence on not giving up on someone he should never have loved to begin with. Scott loves him so much more than he could ever put into words.

“With all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.”

Jimmy deserves an apology. Scott won’t give up.

(Not on Jimmy, anyways.)

It takes him nearly a month of furious work to make the precious mithril bracelet, refining it over and over again. He picks the flowers and their meanings carefully- love, hope, protection- and the crystals too. Amethysts for protection, carefully traded for filled with any bit of magic he can spare for them. The lettering carved into the underside is yet another layer of blessings and meaning; he does it in Quenya, the Tengwar script, which Scott knows Jimmy can’t read. He has to look up how to write in it after so many years of never so much as looking at elven script, pouring over old books by candlelight. By day, he rules an empire, relying on the rush of adrenaline and motivation to carry him through even on the days when he’s swaying on his feet by the end. By night, he works on a courtship project like none he’s made before until at last, at nearly three in the morning one night, it’s finished.

It’s not the most beautiful it could have been. Scott isn’t one of the great Noldor smiths of old, he’s just an elf in love. His hands are perpetually shaky nowadays, and he has limited time to work on it between every other responsibility in his life. But every centimeter of it is handmade with all the care he could muster, and that has to count for something.

Scott hardly wants to wait to give it to Jimmy, but he forces himself to try and wait for morning. His anxiety doesn’t let him sleep much, exhausted as he is, but he curls up under the covers and stares at the bracelet on his nightstand. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off it, half-convinced it will vanish if he does. Eventually, his eyes slide shut of their own will, carrying him into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up long after the sun's risen, staggering out of bed and throwing on a cloak for the journey to Jimmy’s. The cold that he’s been banishing with the warmth of a forge has returned tenfold, and he’s shivering despite elves normally being resistant to chills. When he takes a glance at himself in the mirror, he finds that his hair is out of place, there’s a streak of ink across his cheek, and the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises. He looks a mess, and he doesn’t care. Jimmy is all that matters now.

The journey’s both long and rough, and his landing in the swamp is more like a frantic swan dive out of the sky. Luckily, though, the ground is soft here, and Scott’s able to pick himself up and hurry for Jimmy’s house, ignoring the stares of a few Codland citizens. He knocks, heart in his throat as he waits for the door to open.

The hinges squeak, and suddenly Jimmy’s standing there, a mix of emotions that Scott doesn’t even want to try and comprehend scattered across his face. He looks a little sleepy despite the fact that it must be near noon, and so very sweet with his hair falling in his face. The sight of him knocks the air right out of Scott’s lungs, and he has to struggle to remember why he’s here again for a long moment as they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Scott says weakly.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy sounds outraged, and Scott can’t blame him.

Scott swallows hard. “I came to apologize.” His tired brain scrambles for words, something, anything to convey how truly sorry he is. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps.

“I know.” God, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much to hear the rage in Jimmy’s voice. “I- uh- fuck.” Scott fumbles to get the box he put the bracelet in, holding it out. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy’s silent for a long moment, examining the bracelet. Scott barely dares breathe as he turns it over and over in his hands, tracing the flower designs with his fingertips. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.” And, well, isn’t that just the story of his life?

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says. He sounds genuine.

Scott lets out a breath, letting some of the tension go. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts, and then pauses. What does he say? An apology would be a start, maybe. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.” It’s the truth, as wholly as he can bear to give it.

“Is it that- that dire?” Jimmy’s voice shakes a little, and Scott gives a tiny nod.

“This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

Jimmy goes quiet again. His eyes are still on the bracelet, and Scott can hardly breathe again.

Finally, he can’t take the tension. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am still yours-” he’s always been, really- “if you’ll have me.”

The silence that falls after that is even more stifling than the previous two. Scott doesn’t expect Jimmy to want him back- far from it. He’s putting his heart in Jimmy’s hands, but he doesn’t expect anything other than it shattering on the floor. Maybe Jimmy will be kind enough to let him down gently, but Scott’s fragile enough that it would only take a tiny nudge to break him. And yet he can’t stop the tiny bit of hope that blooms, though it dwindles minute by minute as Jimmy stares and stares. Finally, he opens his mouth to make his apologies again and leave to his frozen, icy empire-

And then there are hands in his hair and lips on his, warm and sudden and bold. Scott gives a little startled gasp, which is swallowed up by Jimmy’s kiss. Their noses knock together and Jimmy’s teeth click against his just a little in their haste, but Scott’s far too overwhelmed by the sudden rush of warmth to care.

When Jimmy finally pulls away, Scott’s left breathless, cheeks warm in a way no part of him has been since Jimmy died in 3rd life.

He barely pulls himself together enough to manage a wry little “So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?”

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

Jimmy sounds so startled and offended at the idea that he wouldn’t , Scott’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again in response, and who’s Scott to protest? No, he’s more than happy to let Jimmy pull him close and kiss away the lingering sorrow. When Jimmy pulls away this time, he’s left dizzy, half caught up in the euphoria of being loved, half terrified that this is only a cruel dream.

By the time Scott collects himself again, Jimmy’s holding out the bracelet to him. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott can only nod, fumbling with the clasp a little. It’s not complicated, but his hands aren’t steady, and it takes him a moment to get it. Jimmy grabs his hands when he lets go, and he’s so warm that Scott can’t muster the energy to even question why.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he can’t bear to let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk a lot, Jimmy more than Scott. Scott learns that Jimmy’s been picked on by other rulers (no surprise, but his blood still boils at the thought), and he shares minimal details about what he’s been up to. Jimmy doesn’t need to hear about Scott’s issues, he’s already dealing with enough.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says, though he has to force himself to. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please.” Jimmy sounds almost afraid, which instantly sets off alarm bells.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep,” Scott tells him, very patiently.

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

Now the alarm bells are really going off in Scott’s head. He knows when his husband is hiding something serious, and Jimmy’s frantic tone isn’t helping his worry. “No, no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jimmy claims.

Scott frowns at him lightly. “ Jimmy .”

That’s all it takes. “I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts. He’s blushing a little. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

Oh, Jimmy . Scott holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me. It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!” Jimmy’s voice pitches up with distress, and Scott’s heart aches for him.

“Alright,” he says, as gently as he can manage. “How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.” More like, Aeor can protect them. Scott’s useless, even with Vilya.

Jimmy nods and takes Scott’s hand with a tiny little “Thank you.”

“Always,” Scott murmurs. It comes out softer than he means it to, though it’s the truth. He’ll always do whatever he can to protect Jimmy, which is why he asks “Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just… give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Vilya is one of the most important parts of his heritage, actually, and his advisors would pitch a fit if they knew he had given it to a mortal. For once, he can’t bring himself to care what his advisors would think, though. Jimmy is important, more important than any piece of jewelry.

Jimmy follows Scott to Rivendell, and Scott can’t resist a proud smile when Jimmy praises the buildings. He takes Jimmy inside, lets him curl up under the warm covers, his head tucked against Scott’s chest, and it’s only once Jimmy’s asleep that Scott lets himself break. He’s so tired , so utterly exhausted from being brave for so long. Even now that his husband is curled up next to him, warm and solid and real, he can hardly believe that Jimmy actually wanted him back- wanted him at all, really. Scott doesn’t want to move for fear of waking up Jimmy, but luckily for him, he’s good at crying silently. That’s what he does, tears slipping down his face to wet the pillow below. Only the faintest whimper escapes his lips, a tiny broken noise that he’s embarrassed of even in this emotional state. And when another slips out, he buries his face in Jimmy’s hair and forces himself back into silence. He’s not going to cry over the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t , but he’s just so tired of being alone that being with someone else is almost painful in contrast; he’s so cold that the slightest touch of warmth feels burning.

Jimmy shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds vaguely affectionate and pulling Scott closer, and Scott nearly chokes from the effort of restraining a sob. Gods, Jimmy . He could die like this, tucked in his husband’s arms, and he doesn’t think he’d regret it.

“I love you,” he whispers into the night. It comes out choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry, Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy mumbles something that sounds a lot like “I love you too”, and that’s what really breaks Scott. It’s a miracle Jimmy doesn’t wake up, really, with Scott’s quiet sobs shaking the mattress. He cries until he’s all out of tears, as silently as he can manage, and only then does he slip into a sound sleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Eye of the Storm

Warnings: nonconsensual sexual acts (tags to be added throughout series)

This is dark!Thor and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a new servant at the palace of Asgard but the job isn’t so easy as you thought.

Note: So I have been wanting to start a Thor series for months but I also have this little devil on my shoulder @lokislastlove​ who is constantly in my ear so while I continue to play with my old series and try to finagle whole chapters, I present to you what will eventually be a very scary Thor.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The palace was overwhelming in its splendor. You had never set foot in such a place and now it was to be your home. No, you weren't to live among the upper floors of nobles, but to serve them and reside with the other servants below. You couldn't complain as already the position was preferable to your former. You didn't miss the steam of the launderers down by the docks nor did you miss the smell of fish guts and worse things.

Melora was to share the thin hay-stuffed mattress with you in the servants' quarters and so it was also her task to accommodate you to your new duties. It was simple enough to clear away the plates and scraps of the wealthy and sweep away the dirt left behind by the soles of their polish boots and sandals. It wasn't some new and extraordinary mission, only the setting was different.

You first week was overwhelming only for all the new faces; servants and aristocrats alike. The latter swept by in their silky gowns and capes as you paused to show deference. You'd bend your knee and bow your head until they passed then resume your work in the corridor. You truly preferred the kitchen where there was little risk of encountering any of the noble Asgardians. One slip and you could be back to the docks or worse. 

Melora had already told you many stories of errant eyes and harsh consequences. Her former bed mate had scuffed the toe of Prince Loki's boots and was dismissed the next day. You wondered how long you would, or could, last. You'd just have to do what you did best, fade into the wall.

That night, the king, Thor, planned a feast to mark his late father's name day. It was to be a significant affair and the palace was alive with frenetic energy. Servants toiled below and nobles harried above to dawn the perfect attire for the occasion. 

You tended to the evening's meal along with the kitchen staff; several boars spitted for the occasion and mounds of vegetables pealed and speared on long skewers to roast. Casks of ale and wine were rolled in from the cellars and ewers shone as they were loaded onto carts along with stacks of golden plates, bowls, and goblets. You'd never seen such turmoil, not even when a storm crested just off the shore and the fishermen flurried to unload their wares should their ships be lost.

The hours flew by as the chores seemed endless and as the signal was given to start arranging platters, you were picked out with a dozen other girls to carry ewers filled with wine to the feast hall. Melora was just behind you, her toes whispered behind your heels as she kept close.

"We'll be serving for the night. It's tiresome, not a moment off your feet." She muttered. "Those nobles stomachs are as endless as their pockets."

You nodded, your voice locked deep in your chest. The hall glowed with glass lanterns that illuminated golden silk draped artfully from the columns around long trestle table lined with benches. You recalled the nicest dinner you'd ever attended was held by your mother when you were a child. Seasoned fish and carrots shoveled down in the small house behind the smithy.

Melora stopped you as you made to follow Irene to the north wall. She touched your arm and kept her voice low.

"We will keep an eye to these tables," She pointed the the three rows between you as she took her place beside a marble plinth, "Stay alert but don't let your eyes stray."

"Alright," You mumbled softly and hugged the ewer.

Scarlet table clothes draped the long tables and the golden dishes were set out precisely. You were distracted from your awe by movement near the doors. A man with a horn entered and placed his lips to his instrument. Voices rose from the corridors and the brass called to the approaching nobles, arriving from the ceremony held on the palace green

You lowered your eyes as the nobles entered in pairs and trios and larger groups. They trilled as they found a seat among the trestles and when all were upon the benches, the horn sounded again. The guests stood and quieted as they looked expectantly to the doors.

It was a moment before the king appeared. He wore his golden crown and formal cloak of a similar shade. You peeked at the hem of his cape but kept your chin down. You hadn't yet been in the presence of King Thor and you had been content to avoid him. The thought of it made you quiver. While he was known to many as a jovial king, you'd found that those rumours did not come from the lips of the palace staff. 

Music rose from the harps and fine lutes as the king's footfalls echoed through the hall. As he neared the table at the head of the chamber he turned and his people fell into an uproar. The applause was raucous if not overdone. You suspected that obligation was more the reason than admiration.

Well, it wasn’t your duty to surmise.

The king sat and the nobles followed suit. You mimicked Melora and the other servants as they walked the length of the table and filled the cups of guests. You went to the casks hidden behind a curtain at the rear of the hall and refilled your ewer before returning to your vigil. The hall burgeoned with the sound of scraping cutlery, buzzing voices, and booming laughter. For a moment, you envied them all. What was like to be them?

A cup raised and a call came for a drink. You diligently made your way along the table and filled the goblet. You glanced across as Melora did the same at the next table, just a little further down. A hand reached back and squeezed her ass. You blanched and righted the ewer. 

You retreated, eyes on the floor. What should you do if it happened to you? Melora only giggled and carried on. What if you overturned the pitcher? Well, Melora was rather pretty, perhaps it would not happen to you.

The night wore on as such, pouring and standing. You noticed that Melora was not the only servant prone to wandering fondles. None of the women seemed particularly bother however and tarried from their perches along the wall to act coy for the noblemen.

"Drink! Drink!" A deep voice called as a giggle chirped just in the next row. "Drink! Servant! Who will serve their king?"

Tho sounded as drunk as the next guest. You glanced over, just for a second, and took in his long golden hair and thick beard, the rosiness in his cheeks and the fire in his pale blue eyes. You looked around and none of the other servants seemed to hear him, they were all too distracted by the words and coins offered by the lascivious guests.

You blinked and hesitated. The wine sloshed in your ewer and you looked around once more. The king continued to call, growing increasingly irritated. You watched your feet as you turned and began down along the wall. You walked behind the line of chairs at the head table, fewer than the rest. Only Thor, his brother, and his closest friends had the honour.

Your heart was beating in your ears as you grabbed the handle of the ewer and lifted it from against your stomach. You saw the tail of his gold cloak, hung from the back of his chair, and his crown, sat beside his plate. You kept your head down as you stopped beside his chair. You squeaked first, your words garbled, then tried again.

"Your majesty?" You held up the ewer and he put his cup out toward you. You filled it and he rescinded it so quickly, some splashed over the rim onto his hand.

You bowed and backed away slowly. You heard a deep gulp as you focused on the legs of the chairs.

"Another, sweet maid," He called before you could get past the end of the table. 

He had drank so fast, you wondered how he did not keel over. You returned to him and filled his goblet again. He chuckled and took another drink.

"Your majesty," You repeated and took a step back.

"A shy one," He mused and you stopped. "I've not seen you before."

Your eyes rounded at the floor and your lashes fluttered.

"Me, your majesty?" You asked.

"Yes, you, I don't speak to my own brother," He scoffed. "So, are you new or have you hidden in the shadows?"

"I arrived at the palace only three weeks past, your majesty," You said.

He leaned on the arm of his chair and waved his fingers along the edge of your vision.

"Come closer or speak up," He urged. "I cannot hear you."

You swallowed and took a breath. You struggled to steady your voice.

"Your majesty." You said loudly.

"Well, you may look upon me, should you wish. It is not forbidden. Not looking, anyway." He drank again and held out his cup. You stepped closer to pour and watched the wine trickle from the ewer but still could not look up. "Very well. Your ears seems sharp enough. Stay close, I am thirsty."

You uttered another 'your majesty’ and carefully tiptoed away. You thought he would remand you once more; tell you how you had failed at the mere act of walking. He didn't and you backed up to the wall. You felt a warmth around you. He was still looking at you but you did not dare to raise your head. You did not dare to see what should happen if you did.

🌩️

The rest of the night was uneventful aside from the king’s lingering eyes. By the end, you suspected it was some sort of game. The same that all the other men in the room seem to be in on. The only difference was that your reticence made it little fun for either side. And in the end, there were a dozen other servants who would gladly accept the king’s ploys.

When the feast hall was empty, you remained with the rest of the servants and those who came from the kitchens to help clear the trestles and decorations. Like many of the others, Melora was still giddy from her flirtations and there was a slight jingle to her step as a few coins were nestled in her bosom. 

The next time there was such an event, you might request to remain in the kitchens. The very thought of those men touching you made you recoil and the memory of the king’s taunting gaze made you burn in humiliation. It was one thing to clean up after others, it was something else entirely to be mocked by them.

You were exhausted by the time you returned to your shared mattress. Melora whispered with Magga as you slung your arm over your head in hopes of tuning them out. It was so late that the morning arrived within a few hours and you woke with a heavy head. You pulled on your servant’s dress over your slip and belted it first with a plain strap of leather and then the apron you wore to mark your station.

You yawned as you went to fetch your broom and bucket. You were stopped by Agnes as you did, the older maid often sent you off where you were needed before ordering another to fix their cap or their dress. She caught the handle of your broom and snatched the bucket from you as you stared at her dumbly.

“The king has council this morning and I heard what Melora got up to last night.” Agnes took the broom and pail from you, “You will take her place and mind your place. You girls…” She sighed. “As quickly as you’ve come, you can go. I shouldn’t have to remind you so often.”

You nodded and she pursed her lips.

“Well, better go. You don’t want to be barging in in the midst of royal business,” She shook her head. “Remember to keep your mouth shut and your head down.”

You gave another silent affirmation and flitted past her. Melora rolled her eyes as she was handed your broom and you gave her a pitiful smile. You didn’t tarry to commiserate as you realised you had to find the council room on your own. You’d only passed it once in your short time in the palace and you weren’t quite trusting of your memory or sense of direction.

You went down the east corridor instead of the west as you reached the upper floor. When at last you righted your course and found your way, the chamber was empty. You placed the steins before the seats and poured the light ale in each. As you left the pitcher in on the side table, the door croaked and you turned to greet the first arrival.

Prince Loki entered with an arched brow. You bent and averted your eyes at once. You recited a quavering ‘your highness’ and he grumbled in response and sat. He let out a long breath and turned the stein before him with his long fingers.

“You haven’t any wine? Or in the least, water?” He asked.

“I brought some water as well but no wine, your highness,” You offered.

“Very well,” He shoved the stein away from him.

You poured him a glass of the water and he took it without platitude. He sipped and rubbed the arm of the chair as he leaned back and hooked one leg over the other.

“My brother and his cronies are ever late,” He sneered. “You might quit your hovering until they arrive.”

You bowed your head and backed up to the wall. The prince picked at his nails and fidgeted then another entered and he greeted him in monotone. Lord Geir sat heavy across from him and grabbed the stein impatiently. He was followed by Fandral, Volstagg, Hogun, Amund, and the solitary female, Sif. The king was last, almost a whole hour after his brother as he strode in and greeted the room with a booming jape.

Loki rolled his eyes and you caught yourself staring at the nobles. You sucked your lip in and listened as Thor sat and the wooden stein scraped on the table. 

“You all look well-rested,” He mused and a grumble rose from the table. “I must say I didn’t sleep much. Lady Dagny is rather persistent.”

“Brother,” Loki cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, “Shouldn’t we begin? You are already late and the day does pass us by.”

“Jealous?” Thor chuckled. “Oh, but you always were rather dull. I doubt you’d know what to do with her if she did venture to your bed.”

“This is a council meeting not one of your repugnant socials,” Loki drawled. “I’ve come here to tend to business but if you haven’t any business to tend, I will be on my way.”

“Don’t you fret, we will attend to business,” Thor declared and made a horrible squelch as he emptied his stein. “Once I get another ale.”

“Perhaps water would--”

“Ale,” Thor ignored his brother’s plea and waved his stein in the air.

You jolted away from the wall and took the pitcher from the table beside you. You swept around the table, head down in hopes the king did not recognize you, though you had faith he would not remember you, be it for his drunkenness or the sheer number of faces in the palace. You poured and uttered a “your highness” before you drew away.

You stood against the wall once more and stared at the back of the chair in front of you. Hogun’s shoulders slumped as he leaned on the left arm and yawned. You swore you were being watched but again did not look up. You assured yourself it was your paranoia. And after a night, you were certain it had been as much before. Thor was a king with much bigger concerns than a servant; especially you.

As promised, though with obvious reluctance, Thor began the session. You didn’t understand much of it and even if you did, it was difficult enough to listen to the dry discussion. You filled the cups as bid and kept your vigil by the wall. Your feet were sore from standing still for so long but so was the life of a servant. 

After two hours, the king gave his dismissal but not without a final disagreement with his brother who did not agree with some tax on lumber or another good. You hadn’t really followed. One by one, the council members trickled out. All but the king as he leaned back in his chair and belched.

“You’ve got more ale?” He asked.

“Your majesty,” You grabbed the jug again and neared. “Another stein at least.”

He waited silently as you poured the dregs of ale into his cup but he did not touch it. Your doubts were no longer so firm in your mind. He was most assuredly watching you. You made to back away and he raised his hand, his palm to you as he hummed.

“Stay.” He ordered. He sat forward and took the jug from you and put it on the long table. “Sit.”

You glanced over to the seat as he pointed to it. You didn’t move, too nervous, and just stared.

“Must I tell you again?” He warned.

You sat, almost falling as you did. Another “your majesty” rose out of habit.

“Look at me,” He planted his elbow on the table and he leaned forward and tried to look in your eye. “Sweet maid, look at me.”

You braced yourself and slowly lifted your head. As your eyes met his, a smile spread across his face. You blinked and your eyes fell just as soon as they’d risen. His arm slipped from the table and he grabbed your chin. He lifted your head and squeezed. You looked at him and took a deep breath. Your hands tangled in your lap as you went rigid in the chair.

“Does the sight of me offend you?” He asked.

“Wh-wh-- No, you’re majesty,” You stammered. “I only… Out of respect, I--”

“You have beautiful eyes,” He said softly, “I wouldn’t mind so much to have them upon me.”

Your brow crinkled despite yourself and he released you. He chuckled and grabbed his stein. He tilted it slightly towards you.

“Thirsty?” He asked. You shook your head. “Ah, you wouldn’t-- Other duties no doubt await you.” He took a swig and placed the cup down. “Be on your way then, sweet maid. I will not keep you from your diligence.” His eyes clung to you as you stood warily. “Your devotion is most admirable.”

“Your majesty,” You as good as whispered.

“I fear I haven’t your name,” He said.

You flinched and had to think. You were stunned by the simple request but managed to eke out your name. His smile grew and he nodded as he rubbed his knee thoughtfully. He said your name gently and nodded.

“I might see you again,” He said. “You do seem to be everywhere.”

[smarchit]

Look Around, Look Around pt 3

Summary: You escaped an abusive marriage, pregnant with your husband’s child. He sends a bounty hunter after you to bring you back. Everything changes. Din Djarin/pregnant!reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Pregnancy/related topics, implied/referenced rape, mentions of abuse

Notes: yaaaaaaall better get ready bc the story really starts to kick in during this chapter - stay tuned!

So you'd been travelling with the Mandalorian for a little over a month now. A month of helping him as best you could around the Razor Crest, which usually meant watching the baby while he was out looking for work.

He'd kept it to touring mostly well-populated planets for now, and ones usually far less dangerous than he was used to working on. He didn't want to put you in any unnecessary danger than what came with one in his field of expertise, so it was mostly touristy things on larger planets.

You had fun at first, but those weren't the type of places his work usually stuck around on. So you had to keep moving, keep hopping from skughole to skughole in pursuit of work.

Presently, you were seated on a crate outside of the Crest while he negotiated a docking fee from the Twi'lek woman who owned the hangar and adjacent inn. You rubbed a soothing hand over your stomach while the unborn baby inside you did somersaults. It's okay, little one. I'm right here.

"Need a room for your wife?" the woman asked, slightly louder so you could hear her. She raised a brow at the Mandalorian, who slightly turned to face you.

"She's not my wife - and no," he corrected sharply. "We don't. Just need the hangar spot for a day or so."

You sighed and looked down at the bounty hunter's little one that was currently trying to chase down a cricket nearly as large as he was. He'd tire himself out, which would be good for you later on.

It had been getting a little more difficult for you to sleep at night, not due to anxiety, but due to the creeping pressure on your back and hips.

The Mandalorian, stoic and chivalrous as he was, had offered you his bed to sleep in. He'd found some extra bedding in a shop on Tatooine and bought it all for you so you weren't suffering anymore than you had to. You were nesting. The child constantly was snuggling in the bed with you, and would make his way into your room while the Mandalorian slept, much to his panic. He'd wake in the morning and frantically search for him at first, but now he knew right where to find you.

"Ready?" the Mandalorian asked, making his way back over to you. He had a bag slung over his shoulder and the keys to a speeder in his hand.

Dare you say it, it looked very dad-like, and you actually found a smile creeping across your face at his casual pose.

"Where's this one hiding?" you asked as he shut up the door to the Crest. You scooped up the child, something that was getting increasingly difficult with each day, and stood with him in your arms.

"About a four hour ride that way," Mando said, gesturing with his whole hand pointing east.

You groaned internally. "Four hours!"

"You can stay here if you want," he said with a shrug.

You glanced around the old hangar and scowled. It was completely walled in, and you could see none of the planet from here.

"I'm coming," you said firmly.

He nodded once. "Alright then. Let's go."

***

It took almost five hours to get to your destination, due in part to the rough terrain and also to the fact that your baby thought it would be a wonderful idea to park itself on your bladder.

Coupled with the fact that you were carrying a squirming infant on top of that didn't make for an enjoyable trip.

You finally made it to a small inn in the middle of nowhere long after dark. The soft yellow light from the windows lit up the otherwise overwhelming darkness around you and the front door opened quickly as you neared the inn.

You pressed your back against his chest in fear. This was out in the middle of no where - you hadn't seen another settlement in hours. They shouldn't know anyone was coming...

"They're waiting here for us," Mando explained. "There's nothing to worry about."

You didn't relax even as the bike slowed to a gentle stop in front of the house. Mando jumped off first and held his arms out to you to jump into. The step down was higher than you realized and you stumbled off of it, landing against him heavily. He caught you with ease and set you back on your feet.

The child cooed in your arms when he realized how close his adopted father was. You gently shushed him and pulled his little swaddle over his head.

"Mando!" a booming voice called from the doorway of the in. You jumped a mile and yelled in fear. On instinct, you jumped behind the Mandalorian and turned your body to protect yourself and the two children from any harm.

"Dern," he said, holding up his hand in a greeting to the hulking figure in the doorframe of the inn. "Thank you for agreeing to house us. It's... Greatly appreciated."

"I'm always happy to help you after what you did for me all those years ago," the one called Dern said. He finally stepped into the light. A Devaronian man smiled down at you and you tried your best to not cower from him. He towered over the Mandalorian, who was already tall compared to you, and you had to crane your neck to see him.

"Don't mention it," Mando grumbled. "Really."

The Devaronian roared with laughter and slapped his hand on Mando's backplate hard enough to send him stumbling forward. He then approached you and you squeaked, holding the child tight enough to make him give a sharp cry.

"What's this?" he cooed, giving you a quick once over. "You have two little ones now, Mando? The green one Xi'an's or something?"

"Neither are mine," he said, sounding midly disgusted. You hoped that wasn't directed towards you. "I'm raising the one. The girl is a friend."

Friend. The word, you found, stung more than it should have. You were only that, you supposed. Patched him up a few times. He held your hair back when you got motion sickness on more than one occasion. You were the one he called for when he had a nightmare. He was the one you ran to when you first felt your baby kick - you had laughed when he called your baby aruett'ika when it stopped moving as soon as you managed to convince him to put his hands on your belly. Friend.

"Well, I'm always happy to give you shelter when you need it," he said, nodding in the Mandalorian's direction. "And as for her, I'm just happy to give shelter to anyone who can put up with you and not want to dump you in the Sarlacc pit."

You swore you heard Mando's eyes roll back into his head as he retrieved the bag from the rack on the speeder.

Dern held the door open for you and bowed when you entered. He waved one finger at the baby in your arms, who blew a tiny raspberry and made a mean face.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," he said, making a sweeping gesture at his living space.

You looked around, noting all the potentially soft places for you to lay and you sighed wistfully before making your way to a pile of cushions. The child wiggled out of your arms and plopped itself on a black cushion and babbled up at Mando, who gave a heavy sigh.

"I made supper," Dern offered. "Wasn't sure what guests you brought with you, so I made a bit of everything."

"Something with bones for the little one," Mando said.

"Anything that isn't fish," you said quietly, leaning back in the cushions. "It's been turning my stomach."

"Aren't you glad you didn't stay on Sorgan," Mando teased as Dern turned to the pot on the stove.

"Could have been making a fortune as a basket weaver," you hummed, pressing a hand to your belly. The baby had been restless all day and still hadn't settled and you shifted uncomfortably as they chose that moment to kick particularly hard.

"You okay?" Mando asked. He sounded worried and he leaned forward in his chair to get closer to you.

"Fine, fine," you murmured, "She's just jumpy."

"You think you're having a girl?" he asked, resting his elbows on his thighs.  

"Omera thought I was having a girl, so it just sort of stuck," you replied with a shrug.

"Might be nice," he mused. He sounded distant, like he was thinking about something. 

You wanted to ask him why, but Dern returned with two bowls of hot soup and a cup of broth for the child.

Mando gave an awkward cough and stood, taking the large bowl in both hands.

"Ah, forgive me, my friend," Dern said. "I have forgotten. A guest room is set up for you - please, eat there."

He nodded and thanked his host before he disappeared down the narrow hallway.

In the few weeks you'd been travelling, you realized you never saw him eat, never saw him take food into a room to eat. He must eat long after you and the baby go to bed. The thought broke your heart. How often did he wait for you to decide you were sleepy and go to bed so he could eat?

"So," Dern chuckled as he watched the baby slurp his broth, "You've been traveling with him long?"

You shook your head. "A month," you murmured. "He... saved me."

Dern nodded. You hoped he didn't ask anything else. It wasn't like it was hard for you to talk or make friends, like you imagined it potentially could be for Mando, but you really didn't want to consider the possibilities of all the stuff that could have happened to you had another hunter found you.

Would you be dead? Alive? You shuddered at your internal question - would you still have your baby?

"See?" Dern said, "Man's got a good head on his shoulders."

You nodded absently in agreement. You'd been told that by Cara before, and by a man named Greef Karga only a week or so prior when he realized you were sticking around for a while. The Mandalorian made an impact. He killed with such an acute precision and his skills as a bounty hunter were unmatched. Yet he was gentle in ways that you don't think anyone would believe if you told them.

You, the child, and the Devaronian ate in silence. You hefted yourself off the cushion and walked to the sink basin. Your host got up to follow you into the kitchen.

You were aware of his proximity to you as you took a sponge to wash your dish. He watched you with dark eyes and you felt your pulse rise in fear.

"If you're just a friend, who's child is it you carry?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

"My ex husband," you said. Then you added dryly, "He's dead."

It was a bold faced lie and you hoped he wouldn't notice and leave you alone. No such luck.

"Perhaps then you need some... Assistance with raising your bundle."

Dern trailed a broad hand up your arm and you shied away from his touch. Goosebumps broke out on your skin, but the act of touching at all made your flesh crawl.

"I'll manage," you said firmly. You heard the quiver in your voice and you kicked yourself.

"Are you sure?" Dern didn't even wait for you to reply. He reached a hand over and roughly grabbed your belly. He dug his nails into your arm and spun you so he had you pinned against the counter. One of the drawer pulls bit into your back. His hands gripped you tight enough to bruise your skin.

"She's sure," came a gruff voice from behind you.

Mando was standing there, bowl in hand, helmet firmly back in place. You could tell from his body language that he was upset.

Dern took a step back, his hands raised in surrender.

"Come here," Mando ordered, nodding at you. You walked over to stand by him, your legs shaking bad enough that he wrapped a hand around your waist to steady you.

"She's going to bed," Mando said, keeping his eyes steady on Dern. "Got it? If I find out you did this again, I'll reactivate your tracking beacon. I know quite a few people looking for you."

"Whatever," he grunted, turning to the dishes.

Mando took you down the hall to the guest room, making sure to not frighten you.

Once inside the bedroom, you let out a loud sob and a shaky breath. You leaned heavily against the door and pressed your hand to your mouth to calm yourself. 

"Breathe," he whispered, his strong hands on your shoulders the only thing keeping you upright.

"Just breathe. I've got you, okay?"

You nodded quickly and tried to even out your breathing so you wouldn't hyperventilate.

"Can I hug you?" Mando murmured. "Is that okay?"

You thought for a minute and then nodded. No one had ever asked if they could touch you before...

He gently wrapped his arms around you and held you. His gloves were warm as they spread across your back. You expected the chest of his beskar to be cold, but it felt warm against your belly.

"You're safe," he promised, the modulator of his helmet made it come out in a whisper. "No one is going to touch you unless you let them first. Just breathe. I'm here."

You took a few more gulping breaths and relaxed into his arms, one hand gripping the fabric between his arm guards. You didn't think a metal man would give great hugs, but you also didn't think there was a way out of your marriage. You've been known to be wrong before.

There was a gentle flutter in your belly and you laughed, wiping your cheeks. "It's okay, little one..."

Mando pulled away from the hug slightly and looked down at where your hand rested on your stomach. He made a slight move to pull away but you grabbed his wrist and gently placed his hand beside yours.

"I still can't feel it," he said softly but with as much seriousness as he could muster, "Aruett'ika."

You laughed louder than you had in months.

TAGLIST (ask to be tagged!): @miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @someplace-darker @the-last-twin-of-krypton @divineangelix @c1996 @mell-bell

[itsoutrageouss]

feel this? ☾ din djarin

ONE SHOT

summary: You’re Dins fairly new travel companion on the crest, and the two of you still have a lot to learn about one another. You have always been bothered by vivid nightmares, something you fail to hide from the punctilious bounty hunter… 

pairing: din djarin x reader

word count: 3,9k

warnings: sleep deprivation/insomnia, angst

A/N: Hi! Just to be clear, this is definitely not to romanticize insomnia or nightmares (I suffer from it myself) it’s simply to show how important contact and feeling safe can be when you feel like this, and uh this is my first ‘official’ piece of writing with din so lmk what you think!

✰✰✰

Din subtly notices the way your energy fades as the days pass. At first he doesn’t think anything of it, you’re human and you get tired of course. But the way your words sometimes slur or don’t totally make sense; the way you blink with slow, heavy eyelids and the way your complexion is pale like porcelain makes him worry. It still isn’t enough for him to comment on it because he respects your boundaries the way that you have shown him you respect his, but he notes himself to keep an eye on you. More than usual, at least. 

You are heading back to Nevarro. All the collected bounties are proudly stocked in the carbonite and the foundling safe asleep. Din hasn’t talked since he threw the last and particularly loquacious quarry on board. You figure he’s exhausted, so you let him be in the cockpit as you go to the hull for occupation. Din has asked you to fix the heat sink and cooling radiator panels that seem to be faulting, so you might as well get to it now. As you make your way up the latter, you suddenly get a rippling flashback to last night.

Crawling up a wall, trying to escape. The images pierce through your mind, but you keep climbing, screwing your eyes shut tightly. Damn nightmares. Not only do they deprive you of a normal sleep schedule (which the kid does not help with), but you spend so much daytime thinking about them too that you are absolutely drained mentally and physically. You keep chanting how it’s gonna pass like it always does, but it doesn’t seem to do it.

There are only two sliding doors between you and The Mandalorian, and you make sure he hears you come up the latter so you don’t startle him somehow, and silently let him know what you’re doing. Hair drapes over your face, so you automatically gather it and tuck it away in less than two seconds; number one skill to have.

You begin to disperse the panels, laying out tools randomly and picking up different screws and components to get to the core problem. Your back is tense and rigid from the work, and you involuntarily feel your hands fumble and sweat as the metal parts slur in your palms, slipping out with loud clings against the silver floor. Another flashback of your hands slipping on the wall’s hot stone hinges in your recent nightmare makes you drop the wrench on your toe. Biting down on your teeth harshly you hold back a growl of pain, managing just to hiss like a Loth-cat. You blink rapidly down at the tools, but they still seem unclear and you can’t really remember their names. Instead of trying to keep going, you shamefully plop yourself onto the floor completely, letting your shoulders almost pop from their sockets in exhaustion. The biting cool metal wall hugs your burning skin, and you press into it impossibly tight to cool off. You keep looking at the parts sprinkled around you to remember what you are doing, but they swirl together and double until your eyes strain so much that you have to close them. Just a few minutes, is your excuse this time.

...

It has been approximately 15 minutes, Din thinks. He knows that you are trying not to disturb him and he appreciates it, because getting used to not only a child but another person on the ship everyday takes some time and space. But for some dumb reason he still finds himself hyper-aware of the fact that you are just pacing around or fixing something, and that makes him restless to get up. The pilot's chair creaks as he drags his tired body out of the cockpit, and he opens the door to where he last heard you going.

It takes him a second to understand what he’s seeing. The panels are open and exposed, different parts and tools scattered on the floor. And in between them you’re sitting against the wall with your eyes closed. You look pale, and your hair is disheveled around your shoulders. Sighing, he admits that he can’t keep avoiding the issue anymore. He stands awkwardly for a few more seconds, debating the best thing to do. He wants to let you sleep, that is his first priority, but he can’t have you sitting on the floor or leaving the panels wide open. So he decides to stand just a little longer as still as an actual beskar statue, and before he can make a better plan you are moving uncomfortably and kicking a few tools accidentally. His head snaps to you as your hands drop the components they were holding. “Fuck” you groan, your neck sore from the position against the wall, heart racing at the stabbing sound of metal against metal. Your eyes are heavy as they drag across the unfinished work on the floor, leading to a pair of boots. You slowly look up to the T of a visor that is burning into your skin.

 “Are you sick?” He asks, before you can open your mouth, which is completely dry. You wipe your forehead with your shirt, scrambling to your knees to continue the work. 

“Nope. Not sick. Just tired” you huff,  waving the tools around to seem casual. “You’re not just tired” he states, sighing your name in frustration when you don’t as much as gaze his way. “You can sleep in the hull if that’s better, '' he tries, still looking down at you with a stiff stance. “S’ not the bed'' you mutter, trying to pick up where you left off. Din doesn’t want to play a guessing game right now, his patience wearing thin over these past few days. So he just leans against the wall, his arms crossed daringly across his beskar covered chest. You feel his visor burn into your side, and you close your eyes instead of rolling them. “It’s just nightmares'' you admit, trying to shrug it off  “It will pass” 

“If that was true you wouldn’t be falling asleep every second there’s silence” that is the longest sentence you’ve heard from him in a while, and it isn’t exactly softly said. You just scoff at him “It’s not your problem Din, it’s mine” you glare at him with a frown, your tired eyes narrowing from his helmet and back down to the panels.  

But he won’t give up so easily now that he’s got you on the hook. He’s still trying to get a taste of how you two communicate together, and his responses aren’t always the best, he knows that. But you also know how hard he’s trying.

“It is my problem because it’s affecting your work” his static voice comes through, still not particularly gentle. This isn’t how he wanted things to go. “Well I’m sorry but I don’t know what you want me to do about it. Right now you’re the one affecting my work Mando” you bite back, your head shielded from his sight by the panels, to your advantage because warm tears are silently prickling the corners of your eyes. He’s silent as usual, standing so still that you think maybe he’s the one sleeping. Until he sighs again in discontentment and leaves. So much for confrontation.

Now he knows, at least. Knows that it isn't him or the ship that causes your sleep deprivation. But you only feel more frustrated with this; You have failed to keep it to yourself and managed to let it interfere with your work, which is the last thing you want. You have to do something about this problem, but how do you just stop nightmares like that? Sleeping in a new place, constantly on new planets with new people is too much ‘new’ and you can’t do much until you finally feel settled in this lovely wreck you call a home now. And you know that this frustration and stress is only going to pile on and infiltrate into your sleepless nights. Almost automatically your hand fists and punches the panel in front of you, feeling the dull ache like lightning from your knuckle to your shoulder, muscles rippling in pain. You are sure Din hears it, and you’re already prepared to say that you dropped the wrench or something, because you just can’t handle more of his disappointed sighs today. Rolling on those 15 minutes of sleep you finish the work hurriedly, now with an injured hand.

…

You are bored as fuck. Din and you haven’t spoken since the incident, just lulling around each other in silence. It’s tense. Usually it’s a comfortable silence you find yourself in, because you know that’s just his typical exterior and way of communicating. But now you know there is a reason why he’s brooding and averting, and the feeling is mutual; It’s easier to let it hang in the air, despite the heavy feeling on your shoulders. 

Your hands roam the food stash, your arms fully swallowed by the cabinet. You’re running low, but there’s still a couple of silver cans left. You haven’t dared to ask Din how far from Nevarro you are, so you just put one can out for him and one for you. He isn’t around, so you place the can between your lips, feeling a sharp pain in your teeth as you bite down on the cool metal. Quickly you drag yourself up the latter, and place the can with a spoon outside the door of the cockpit. Right there on the floor, like a fucking gift or something. You curse at your own feverishness, fingers flexing in a rhythm.

Why are you suddenly so uncomfortable? You don’t even dare to knock on the door anymore. Usually you aren’t scared to confront and push Din’s buttons, almost excited to test the tin-bucket man's limits when you can’t physically see them on his face. You decide to just leave the food there, taking your own can and snuggling into the little bed of yours. It’s crammed into a small storage room that Din has cleared out for you despite your protesting about the floor being fine on it’s own.

Din hears you crawl up the ladder, but then your sounds -that he knows so well- disappears. He can always hear you: the way you breathe, the way your clothes sound when you move, the way you walk and talk. It’s not intentional, but he can probably pick you out of a crowd of a million just by the sound of your existence. 

For a minute he thinks you might’ve fallen asleep again, and he unwillingly turns to leave the cockpit. He almost steps on whatever is in front of the door, eyes darting around with no aim. He picks up the silver can, staring at it for way too long. Are you scared to be in the same room as him? Are you mad? You’re probably mad, he figures. That wasn’t a tool that landed on the floor earlier, he has punched the wall too many times and immediately recognized the sound- as always. 

He guesses you’re asleep by now, the child as well.

…

And you are, but you’re running. In the middle of nothing, but it feels like everything. Dirt, or sand under your feet you can’t tell. Your head is aching with the voice of someone you can’t recognize. They keep telling you to run, chanting it like a curse, so you do. And something is behind you. It’s loud and fierce, and right there. And you’re too scared to crane your neck backwards to catch a glimpse of it. It never seems to get any closer or any further, as you keep running. The wall is there again, the one you have to climb. And it hurts to climb it, it’s too hot and too long and too slippery. Your hair plasters to your glistening neck, your clothes stiff and scratchy as you grab the stones that stick out on the wall. The stones are covered in ridges and holes, the crookedness making it a thousand times harder to get a hold of them. All your senses are sharpened yet everything is blurry and out of reach as you grab the stones in panic. But your hand slips right at the very top. Your feet are aching, and you watch in slow motion as your hand lets go of the last stone. Feel the rush of adrenaline spike as you fall down, down, down.

“Wake up!”

Din’s voice is desperate, even through the helmet's moderations you can vaguely hear it. He was just about to go to bed, and he heard you rustling on your thin mattress. Before he could consider anything you were screaming, loud and terrified. It echoed between the steel walls, and his heart immediately jumped in fear as he pressed the button to the door.

You are writhing on the floor, legs tangled in the blankets, chest heaving and hands grasping for nothing. His hands shake your shoulders roughly, but stops immediately when you open your eyes wide and alarmed, as you snap forward into a sitting position. You pull your knees up, looking like someone that’s just been punched in the gut. Your breaths are erratic between stuttering cries, and Din can barely recognize your otherwise so familiar sound. 

“Hey” Din keeps repeating, trying to make you feel some sort of grounding. His hand is tight on your arm, the other one caressing your back as you feel your shirt rubbing your skin. “Just a bad dream” you hear him assure you. But sound dazes in and out, battling with your heartbeat and the rush of blood. You gulp loudly, your breath evening out slowly in the pitch black cargo room. 

“Feel this?” His voice is a low rumble but calming, and you feel his hand press tighter to your back. You nod, still gasping as not to cry out again. “Focus on that” his hand keeps rubbing your back, rough but not uncomfortably, just enough for you to be unable to focus on much else. And you do as he says, following his commands blindly while still being half asleep. You focus on his hand. The feeling of the cloth against your back. The feeling of his thumb over your spine. You sit like that for a while. You can’t tell what’s what anymore, the silence and darkness warping time and dimension in your brain. What is the wall and what is the bed, what is you and what is him. But you can’t remember much after that. Din says something else, you can only hear the tone in his voice as something like worry or guilt, as your eyes become one with the darkness again. 

…

You don’t wanna leave the storage. It’s too embarrassing considering what happened last night. You get ready, pulling the sheets neatly around your small mattress, sorting out your things. You do everything until you can't possibly procrastinate any longer. The light makes your brain hurt, eyes shutting from the dull ache of it. It’s much later than you thought, or maybe you’re just already on Nevarro. It seems like a sense of time is still missing in your mind.

You quickly find your first excuse of the day; The child. He isn’t asleep, you can hear his small coos, and spot two floppy ears swaying from side to side. “Hey chomp” you mutter, your voice stumbling over itself, being hoarse and weak. He makes the most adorable sound at the sight of you, and your hands envelop and embrace him tightly like you haven’t seen him in ages. 

“Hungry?” 

He shrieks excitedly at that word and you chuckle while roaming through the last bits of food. Before realizing it, you’re standing at the cockpit door again, your brain already working its new everyday routine. And it’s too late to turn around because a little green thumb presses the door open like it always does. “Thanks” you scowl and say through your teeth but the child just gives a high five to your side. Din turns around fast. So fast he might  fall out of the chair, and your feet stutter to a halt at that. His shoulders immediately slouch when he sees you, turning slowly back to the view of blue and white lights. Not at Nevarro yet, then.

You glare at the back of his shiny helmet that reflects the colors in a whirlwind. He doesn’t move his head but he looks relaxed, not rigid like you’d think.  The child coos once more and reaches with small grabby hands for the food “Yeah yeah give me a second chomp” you mutter, whispering almost in fear of your voice cracking or scaring him.

The food is a cream colored goo, and it doesn’t look particularly tasty but the little green womp rat eagerly swallows it down as you lead the spoon to his tiny mouth. “Did I forget to feed you or something?” You ask him, stroking his tiny soft hairs as you scrape the excess food on his face into his mouth. Din watches you carefully, his helmet tilted no more than needed to catch the sight. You’re completely oblivious of his presence, either because you’re tired or because the child is craving all your attention. That’s until Din says your name, softly this time, like you’d break if he said it too loud. You don’t reply, but he sees you straighten your back as a way of letting him know that you aren’t completely ignoring him. 

“I’m,” he pauses, looking for the right words as his hand taps his thigh gently “sorry I got angry at you,” he stutters and goes silent for so long that you think he was done. You part your lips to reply but Din adds a tiny “it’s not your fault” before you’re able to. Your eyes narrow slightly, automatically cradling the child as he begins to sound bored. You can’t muster the way his helmet is observing every single movement you do, “I don’t need pity, Din. It’s okay.” Your voice is exhausted, and your eyes smile so gently that he wouldn't see it if he didn’t look so intensely at them right now. You still feel embarrassed of the way he caught you last night, and you’re trying your hardest to make it seem like nothing, assuring him that everything is okay even though it isn’t. But you can’t fool him, you’ve never been able to.

…

It’s night time again, and you’re only one day from Nevarro. Or so you think, you're in space so you have no way of telling but the day has felt endlessly long, so you decide to put an end to it. The white noise of hyperspace is still somewhere far off as you enter the cargo room. The air is cool despite being the very same for days. You gulp, hands smoothing up and down the side of your thighs as a way to calm yourself. Good thoughts. It’s just the Crest. The Child. Din Djarin. You. Nothing bad about that, quite the opposite actually.

Chanting that in your head, you lie down, feeling your back touch the floor through the thin mat. The only sound you can hear now is your own breathing, deep and shaky as your nails make little crescent moons into the skin of your thighs. You force yourself to shut your eyes, closing the galaxy off for a bit. It’ll be morning soon, is your last thought before giving yourself into the feeling of nothingness.

Din can’t stop thinking about it. How he had said that it bothered him that you were tired, when it clearly is much worse for you. He can’t stop thinking about the way your body shook as he held it, as your voice sounded so weak and estranged when he heard you or the way he held you till you fell asleep. 

So he does the most rational thing his mind can muster, and sit outside your door. As simple as that; no further plan than sitting. His legs stretched out on the floor, his helmet leaning against the wall underneath the button to enter the room, his armor discarded and ungloved hands in his lap. Maybe it was that same protective thing that kicked in whenever anyone even looked at the child, he doesn’t know. But it makes him feel just a little better, so he lets himself lull to sleep right there on the floor. 

That’s until his head bangs against the wall, metal on metal making a piercing sound. You’re screaming again. Or sobbing. Or both. His hand fumbles above his head for the button, and he almost throws himself into the room even before the door opens. Once again his quick reflexes come in handy. You are sitting up again, hunched over with your hands fisting the sheets and your hair draping your face wildly. He reaches out for you, but you violently flinch back at the sudden touch of someone you can’t see.

“It’s me. It’s Din” he assures, his hand suspended mid air, eager to comfort. You want to tell him to leave, that it’s okay but your throat is dry again and you’re too vulnerable to hide the fact that a part of you wants him to stay. A soft touch on your shoulder, so fragile underneath his coarse skin. “Lay down” he whispers.

Din is trying to be intuitive. He’s never been in this situation before but he’s skilled at acting fast and keeping cool so it couldn’t go that bad, could it? The way he sees the pure fear in your dim eyes makes him lose that part of his brain slightly though. You once again do as he says, finding comfort in his deep rumbling voice as you lay down on the messed up sheets again, greeting the suffocating warmth. He closes the door, shielding the two of you from any harm. The ‘mattress’ is barely big enough for you, so he settles on the floor again, right next to you. He stares to the ceiling, listening to your breathing as his head lulls in exhaustion. You hear him sigh again, but this time it doesn’t sound disappointed, more like he was feeling genuinely sorry for you. Your breathing doesn’t calm down the way he hoped.

“Hey” his helmet scrapes the floor as he turns his visor to you. Your throat is bopping and straining no to let out anymore cries, your eyes blinking rapidly in the dark. His hand envelops yours, his electric skin colder than your own. He’s only in his undershirt and pants, stripped as vulnerable as you feel right now. Your hand trembles in his but he grasps it tighter, inducing you to follow as he places it on his chest, pressing down firmly. “Feel this?” He asks again, and the repetitive question makes you feel at ease again. And you nod, not sure if he can see it. But he very much can, and doesn’t let go for a second. You feel the thrumming of his heart, letting it surge through your entire being. It’s beating faster than it should, but still slower than yours. “Focus” he whispers with a voice you have never heard before, so defenseless and tender. You nod again, closing your eyes shut to feel it clearer in your warm palm. Dunk Dunk, Dunk Dunk. The same rhythm in a constant, so alive and so exposed. You forget everything around you. Everything other than Din, as he takes you under his wing, shielding you from the cruel galaxy. “I won’t leave, I promise”

[ak-spra]

Nothing left to burn

CONTINUATION FROM X.

Spock’s thought of little else but the news since he heard it. He finds himself constantly sliding open the case, revealing the image of the ambassador and his crew. Older, happy, content. He knows that that their hands are the only ones that likely handled the object, knows that it was intended for him, as a reminder of what to hold on to, what he could become.

There are so many questions he never found the courage to ask, both about the life Ambassador Spock had lived and how he held himself. They spoke, fairly often but not often enough, and the regret soaks into Spock like rain, setting into his shoulders first and weighing him down so slowly that he doesn’t even realise he’s drenched until a familiar hand settles on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts.

The words wash over him, heard but not absorbed. Understood but not retained. He can feel the waves cresting, each breath he takes shaking a bit more, drawing the line higher in his threshold, and he’s so grateful for them being alone. As is often illogically the case, it’s the verbal confirmation of his grief that really pushes the emotion into something unavoidable.

Wordlessly, he turns towards Amelia — the person who may know him best in the whole galaxy — and winds his arms around her waist, hiding his face among her soft hair before the first hot tears begin to fall. She’s smaller, of course, so the angle isn’t quite right. It’s usually reversed, Amelia slotting perfectly against his chest and is arms seeming designed exactly to wrap around her shoulders. This is less common, though not impossible. It’s the safest place he knows, but he still holds himself back from leaning his entire weight, emotionally and physically, onto his dear companion. ( @snowinabottle​ )

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Star-Crossed: Bound by Blood

Chapter One

Master List

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x OFC Baast’Mal

Warnings: I'm making this up as a go, Canon divergent from the series during chapter 13, mild violence

A/N: I make this stuff up as I go along, if I screw something Star Wars-y up, apologies in advance, I didn't do it on purpose, but I'm new to this Fandom. I will be cross posting this story between AO3 and Tumblr except the smutty bits. Those chapters will only be available to registered users on AO3. (I'm trying something new for people who want to read here on Tumblr, but to also avoid the smut for minors controversy. We'll see how it goes.)

*I do not have a tag list* Please follow the story on AO3 if you want email updates, or follow @tilltheendwilliwrite-library where I post the new/latest chapters of all my stories.

***

In the sweltering heat of the jungle, Din Djarin crouched to better scan for tracks in the rotting foliage at the base of the tall trees. Pools of light made it difficult to adjust correctly for the shadowy depths; add in the thermal activity of the plants and animals in this stinking sewer of a planet, and he was having a hard time tracking his quarry. 

When he'd accepted the puck, he hadn't known what he was getting into as her chain code was surprisingly sparse. The only additional information he had was her name - Taa Marel - her last known location and face. 

And what a face. Even on a holo, she was stunning, not that the Mandalorian would let that sway him one way or the other. 

He'd tracked the stolen ship from Bogano, where she'd initially been hiding out to this skug hole of a world that was made to torment men in beskar, causing them to swelter in their helmet.

The kid, however, loved the place. 

Constantly cooing, riding in his pouch, he touched everything he could get his chubby green fingers on. Leaves, flowers, bugs; those, of course, went straight in his mouth. By this point, Mando accepted the womp rat could and would eat just about anything.

Upon arrival, they'd found the ship nose down, destroyed, and abandoned, but the crash landing had created just enough space for Mando to set the Razor Crest down. Then the hunt began.

After three hours of slogging through the heat, he was ready to kill her. After four, he decided death was too good for someone who made him sweat this hard. After five, he was determined to make her suffer. But they were closing in. He could feel it like an ache in his bones.

Tracks led forward, but something didn't sit right with that. They were too obvious. After hours of following such a well-covered trail, this was an insult to his skills. Footprints led straight down a game trail like a beacon meant to lure him astray.

It wasn't right, too easy by far, and the skin on his nape crawled.

He looked up, straight into the eyes of the woman he was hunting. Even through the distorted colour of heat vision, he could see they were a vibrant green.

He moved on instinct, whipcord shooting out, wrapping around her shoulders, and dragging her out of the tree.

She screamed the battle cry of a hunting cat, an inhuman sound before she twisted mid-air and landed lightly, crouched but on her feet. 

"Taa Marel, I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold," he warned her, hand hovering over his blaster.

"That is not my name. And I choose option three."

Her voice kicked him in the groin and made his dick twitch. Stunned, he could only watch as her hands came up and nails like talons shredded his whipcord. 

Someone had left a few things out of her chain code.

"Put the child down."

Mando blinked. "Why would I do that?" 

What did she want with his foundling? Had she heard about him? Would she attempt to take him? 

"I intend to kick your ass, Mandalorian, but I do not hurt children. Put him down."

Surprised, Mando reached for the strap across his chest instead of his blaster. "You're not going to run?"

She lifted a proud chin. "You will continue to hunt me. I would rather die than return to that hell hole, but I will not go easy. I will fight."

She was beginning to impress him with more than just her face. 

Din lifted the strap over his head, his eyes fixed on the target, studying her outside of the holo he'd memorized. 

She stood with her chin raised, body slightly turned in a stance that bespoke proper training. If one could call it that, her green tunic had no sleeves, crossed over her breasts, tied just beneath them, and ended a few inches thereafter, baring the wealth of sun-darkened skin over tightly packed muscles. Pants hugged slim hips, billowed at her thighs, and tied tight to her calves thanks to the soft, short boots that went to her knee. 

Sweat gave her a sheen that made her glow, her vibrant eyes shadowed behind thick, long lashes. Her face was a treasure trove of sculpted brows, sharp nose, and high cheekbones over lips that looked like ripe fruit, begging for teeth. 

A mass of hair, the colour of sand, fell in heavy waves to her hips. It began to darken toward the tips until it was as black as the deepest corner of space.

As he moved the kid, she untied a thin cord from her wrist and slowly began to bind her hair in a low tail.

He'd never met a woman like her, a bounty like her, ever. This one - fugitive or not - had honour in her.

The kid cooed and waved. Her lips twitched into a smile as she winked and waved back.

"Fear not, Mandalorian. Should I kill you today, I will raise your foundling as my own."

Din's blood ran cold. "You won't get the chance."

He hung the child's satchel on a low tree knot and drew the beskar spear from his back in the same motion. Though he'd won the spear from magistrate Morgan Elsbeth on Corvus and helped the Jedi Ahsoka Tano defeat her forces, the Jedi held no answers when it came to the kid. Though, Din wondered if that had more to do with him than the little green monster. She'd told him to seek another Jedi, someone with more training than she, but had given him no direction in which to search.

"He is rather cute," she smirked. "But his kind age so slowly. You will be long dead before he is grown."

Mando paused. "You know of his kind?"

She arched a brow. "You do not?"

He lowered the spear and held up his off-hand. "I am tasked with returning him to his people."

Her posture never changed, but her eyes filled with sorrow. "He has no more people. The last of his kind, or what was thought to be the last, died some years ago. Master Yoda was his name."

"I'm to help him find the Jedi," Mando murmured.

Her eyes lost their sadness. "I cannot help you."

"Will not."

"They are one and the same," she whispered. 

Lightning fast, she rushed him. Mando barely blocked the first swipe of her claws before the second clanged off his pauldron. He used the spear's shaft to knock her back, even as she kicked him in the ribs, bypassing the beskar.

"Do you know the life you condemn me to, Mandalorian, if you return me to that horrible place?" she asked, crouched once again, a few feet away.

"You're a bounty. I don't make deals," he stated, watching his quarry while keeping his body between her and the kid. His ribs smarted, but he'd had worse.

"No. You just work for the people who Purged your planet!" she spat, leaping and clawing. 

She was fast, damn fast. Barely able to keep up, it was all Mando could do not to lose ground until he saw an opening and swept the butt of the spear at her leg.

She jumped back, breath coming hard.

"I didn't ask who the bounty was for." Greef Karga offered him the chance for a big payday, and right now, they could use it.

"You work for the Empire," she sneered. "Returning me to torture and experimentation. Do you think I was always like this!?" She stood and held out her arms, flexing fingers tipped in dark claws. She bared her teeth, revealing wicked-looking canines, then lifted a portion of hair to reveal a sharply pointed ear.

Again he paused, a thing unheard of, to ask, "What are you?" Her chain code said human, but she was certainly not that.

Her proud chin lifted in defiance. "Do you know what a Zentari is, Mandalorian?"

Din inhaled sharply. "That's not possible. They were wiped out."

"All but one. I am Baast'mal, last of the Zentari. The Empire took me as a child and used my gift to ruin me. They bound my blood to the Corellian Sand Panther and Manka Cat. They have so thoroughly defiled my biorhythms that if the constellations were kind enough to cross my path with that of my mate, I do not know if I could bond with him." Pain flickered across her features. "I am sullied, broken. I am a monster," she whispered before shaking herself free of the melancholia and raising that proud chin once more. "So kill me if you can, Mandalorian, for I will not go willingly."

The beskar spear fell from his fingers as Din dropped to a knee and bowed his head. "I am a Child of the Watch. I must offer aid, Zentari. This is the Way."

"The Way?" She took a step back. "The Mandalorians no longer follow the Old Ways. They no longer conceal their face from all but their riduur and ad. The creed is long dead."

He shook his head. "My Tribe is one of zealots. We hold to the old ways of Mandalore. I only recently learned of this as I was raised with them in hiding. The Purge took much, but the ways of the Zentari are remembered in the covert."

She hesitated, eyes wary. "I have faced Mandalorians before. They knew not the Way."

Din stripped his gloves from his hands and held them out, palms up as if catching water. He raised them above his head and brought them down over his helmet, appearing to another as if he washed with air. "Zentari of the Bright Star, may the constellations bless this warrior with a treasure greater than beskar that they would be mine. Cyar'ika. Ka'rta. Riduur."

She inhaled sharply. He watched her fight tears, lip trembling before she closed the distance between them and knelt. She dipped her fingers into his cupped palms as if they held water, brought them to her brow and stroked them down over her eyes and out along her cheeks. 

Her hands shook as she lifted them toward his helmet and laid her palms lightly on the sides of the beskar. 

His hands gently grasped her wrists, her skin warm and soft beneath his fingers. She wouldn't remove it, that he was sure of, but it was an instinct he couldn't deny when someone touched his helmet.

Her voice was whisper soft when she spoke. "Mandalorian, Holder of the Creed, blessed of the constellations. May you raise warriors strong in the Way and find your riduur. Your cyar'ika. Your ka'rta." 

"This is the Way," he murmured, shaken by the encounter.

"This is the Way," she agreed as she drew him forward until his helmet lightly kissed her brow.

The shudder that raced through her raced through him with equal intensity. The Zentari race was a myth, a legend, a beautiful dream. They were so lost to time Din felt like his heart would burst with joy. 

"Have you ever removed your helmet, Mando?" she asked softly.

The shortened form of address made his heart skip. "Not before any living thing." The Droid on Nevarro didn't count, and no matter what Bo'Katan said, the creed was his way. He would never show his face to any besides his wife or children. 

Let Koska scoff as she liked at his traditions. She had not found a Zentari. She likely wouldn't know what to do with the Zentari if she did.

Din rocked back on his toes and pushed to his feet, surprised when she followed him with equal grace. "Zentari, we should return to my ship. The Alor will want to meet you. The covert will rejoice."

"Baast."

He froze as her hands landed lightly on his beskar covered chest. "What?"

"To you, I am Baast." She stared into his visor as if able to see his eyes. 

"Baast," he murmured, wishing he could speak her name without the modulator.

"Yes, Din Djarin," she smiled. 

He still held her wrists, and his hands became her shackles. "How do you know that name?" he demanded.

Long lashes swept her cheeks, a coy smile curling her lips. "Grogu told me."

His grip tightened more. "Who is Grogu?" 

She tilted her head to look past him at the kid cooing at them. "He is Grogu."

"You can understand him?" Din asked, his shock registering even through the modulator. 

"Not in words, but he speaks to those who can listen. Images. Impressions. The Force is strong in him," she smiled at Grogu. "He loves you."

"He's okay." Mando was grateful for the helmet that hid his foolish grin.

"You fool no one," Baast chuckled. She gently twisted her wrists, reminding him of her bondage. 

He let her go and stepped back to pick up the spear. 

"You are a man blessed of beskar," she murmured. "You must be a great hunter."

"Something like that," he murmured. It still shamed him how he'd acquired his armour, but if he hadn't turned in the kid - Grogu - he wouldn't have been as well-equipped to get him back and keep him safe as they ran from the Empire.

Baast headed for Grogu, her smile growing as she lifted down his carrier and situated the baby against her chest. Grogu giggled and babbled something Mando didn't understand.

"Oh, I see," Baast chuckled, casting a side-eye his direction.

"What?" Mando muttered.

"Clan of the Mudhorn. A clan of two." She flicked her claws over his sigil. "I wondered. Grogu explained."

Mando glared at the kid- Grogu. "Don't tell her all my secrets."

Grogu cooed. Baast cuddled him and smiled slyly. By that look, he was pretty sure it was too late for his secrets.

He turned to go, heading back the way he'd come. It would take hours to return to the Razor Crest, and it was already getting dark. 

***

They didn't make it back to the ship before nightfall, but he found a hollow tree in which to spend the dark hours. Creeper vines had choked the life out of the behemoth, leaving them in a cage of vines and dry, dead bark with a wealth of firewood to choose from. 

The fire burned brightly, drafting well, casting shadows across Baast's face and keeping the larger predators at bay. She slept curled around Grogu, lips gently parted. The air had finally cooled at sundown, but now he could see the shivers and goosebumps developing on her flesh. 

Slowly, he leaned forward to remove the cape from his back. Then, just as quietly, he rose, rounded the fire, and draped it over her and Grogu. She stirred but didn't wake, and Din returned to his watch on the far side of the fire.

A Zentari. He could scarce believe it.

She was a myth made flesh—a beautiful dream. Once, when Mandalore still followed the old ways, Zentarus was where many warriors sought their mates, their most cherished riduur. 

A Zentari was always fast and strong and incredibly rare. They grew quickly but aged slowly, their years stretching out into eternity, some said. Fine in face and form, when they met their match, they bonded, taking on traits of the other and giving a few as well. 

A Mandalorian could live a very long time with a Zentari mate. 

But most Mandalorians came home empty-handed as a bond with a Zentari could not be forced, but those who the stars smiled upon, those most blessed with a cherished mate, bonded in ways that grew legends. It was said their children were the most incredible of warriors.

Baast'mal was everything he imagined when told stories of Zentari as a child new to the Tribe. It didn't hurt that she was the most mesh'la female he'd ever seen. Fast. Strong. Deadly. He wondered at what the Empire had done to her, how they could force the blood bonds on Sand Panthers and Manka cats, and just what other mutations they'd caused.

He also wondered at her Force sensitivity. What she felt or even what she could do had not been discussed, but Mando knew there was more to her than he had yet discovered. 

But it was the ache in him, the growing need to once again touch her skin that concerned him. 

It was primal. Feral. It clawed at him. It had him itching to be closer - much closer - to her. He wanted to show her his face and hope she found him as pleasing as he did her. 

Din had nothing to go by in comparison. He'd seen his reflection before, of course, but he had no way of knowing if a woman would think him handsome. He'd had encounters before, ones in which everyone walked away satisfied, some paid for, others freely offered, but the helmet and the beskar never came off.

With her, he wanted to be bare, stripped off all trappings. Din wanted to feel his naked skin against hers. He wanted to taste it.

"You are a very loud thinker," she mumbled, bright eyes glowing softly beyond the fire. 

Mortification filled him. "I'm sorry, I-"

"I do not know your thoughts, Mando," she clarified, "just feel a gentle buzzing from the beskar. It restricts what I pick up from you."

Relief almost had him sagging. Baast closed her eyes, but he was loath to let the conversation end. 

"How old are you?" She looked young, maybe twenty-five.

Her brow twitched, amusement in her smile. "It is rude to ask."

"I wondered how long the Empire had you," he explained. 

Shadows darkened her eyes. "Forty years."

"But they've only been around for thirty," he frowned.

She gave a hollow laugh and sat up. "They have been around much, much longer. I remember the day they came for us. They slaughtered all who fought, men and women. Every child they could catch was rounded up and taken away." She looked away, down at dark claws. "I was the only Zentari to survive the experiments."

"I'm sorry." He was. "I know what it's like to lose everything."

She tilted her head. "You were a foundling."

It wasn't a question, and Din didn't answer her.

"They began experimenting with my blood almost immediately. I was ten when they bound traits of the Manka to me. I was fifteen when they brought in the Panther."

"How? Why?"

Her eyes burned into his. "Because they could." She flexed her fingers. "Because they are depraved. Because they are monsters, who turn others into abominations."

"You're not."

She looked at him in surprise.

Din shifted until he stood and made his way around to her side, where he offered his hand. Baast took it and joined him in the shadows as he led her a few steps away from Grogu. He stripped his gloves from his hands, the need to touch her no longer under his control.

Slowly, he reached up to caress her cheek. He pushed her hair back, revealing the pointed tip of her ear. Her eyes gleamed from behind heavy lids when he stroked his fingers down her tricep and finally cupped her elbow.

He closed his opposite hand around her nape; his thumb pressed to her spiking pulse. "You are no monster."

"My blood is sullied."

"Perhaps. But you remain unbroken," he murmured. "You lived. You escaped. Mesh'la, you are a beacon of shining hope to my Tribe. If there is one Zentari, perhaps there are others."

She closed her eyes. "There is not."

"How do you know?"

A tear trickled down her cheek. "I felt the last die three years ago. It was what gave me the strength to escape."

"Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore," he murmured, rubbing his thumb on her pulse.

"Pressure makes gems; ease makes decay?" A small smile twitched her lips. "Am I a gem, Mando?"

"No." 

She arched an amused brow.

"You are something more precious than any gem," he murmured.

Colour dusted her cheeks. "A Mandalorian who has a way with words? I truly have seen it all," she teased.

He sighed and made sure it echoed through the modulator. "Get some rest." He attempted to move away, but she grabbed him by the belt.

"Stay."

"Baast?"

"Stay." She took his hand, led him closer to Grogu, encouraged him to sit against a fallen chunk of tree, and then curled up beside him, tucking herself under his arm.

"The beskar is too hard," he worried.

"No harder than a prison cell, and you are much warmer. I have not known the comfort of another since I was seven," she admitted.

He sighed again but gave in, curling his arm around her.

"Thank you for your cape."

"Hm."

Her chuckle was more of a low purr. When it rippled through him, Din swore he felt something inside him purr back.

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