#and commission a face-up (if he comes blank)

[yakii-m0chi]

Natlan Boys as Fathers

i thought this would be a super cute idea to write !! ever since ororon showed up in the questline and how wholesome his character is, i wanted to write something w/ him and kinich!!

pairings: kinich x reader | ororon x reader (gender neutral)

🦎 Kinich

you were out with him while he was completing a commission.

bby wanted to take you with him bc you wanted to see the saurians and he knew how much you liked it when he swung around with you in his arms

eventually he came across the commission site, and the mother that he was supposed to capture had already passed on

obv he was disappointed since he wouldn't get commission money, but you were sad about something else.

KINICH!

what is it?

IT WAS A BABY SAURIAN :(((

more specifically, it was the baby of the mother who was already dead

devastated was an understatement to how you felt

the baby saurian seemed to cling to you for dear life, seemingly bawling in your grasp

...

look at them! the thing is practically glued onto Y/N for dear life! it's already imprinted on them!

kinich ignored ajaw and looked at you and the saurian, his usual blank expression showing hints of fondness.

he was completely fine with taking care of a saurian, but it wasn't going to be easy.

and he also didn't really want to end up taking care of it for you since he already had a lot going on in his life

you're going to ask me if we can keep it, aren't you?

mhm! look at it, kinich! isn't it cute?

hahaha! of course Y/N would be attached to some lowly crea-

kinich put ajaw into timeout.

ofc he'd let you keep the baby saurian since he saw how happy you looked with it

and he also couldn't resist your pleading gaze

love, you do know how much work taking care of a saurian is, right? you need to feed it, train it, make sure it has a place to sleep, and nurture it.

i know! i'll do all of it!

kinich knew you didn't know until reality settled in, but you'd do anything to keep it.

oh well, at least this was a good practice run when it came to parenting

kinich is such a great saurian dad

everyone knows this already, but he's a super caring guy underneath that blank face

even though he did find himself taking care of the little bby, he still enjoyed how much the saurian seemed to blend into both of your lives

ajaw would sometimes plot with the bby saurian about how to take kinich's body, but it was always met with one of you interrupting his bad influence

(if your bby is a yumkasaur) kinich would teach bby how to swing around and frequently takes it on commissions. he'd probably have your bby blast enemies with flamegranates from a tree since he doesn't want your bby to get hurt

(if your bby is a koholasaur) he'd regularly run cool baths for it to swim around in whenever he didn't have time to take it to the hot springs or rivers. led to a lot of father-baby bathtimes that r so wholesome!

(if your bby is a tepetlisaur) kinich would bring your bby to kachina to go digging together for cool gemstones. one day, kinich had come to pick up your bby since you were busy with your work and saw your bby with kachina splashing around in a whole wheelbarrow of gemstones.

🌱Ororon

oh my BABYYY

MY SWEET PRECIOUS BABY BOY

he loves his aphids, as everyone knows

one day, you end up bonding with a particular aphid that he looks after

he noticed it while he was out growing vegetables and doing maintenance on them

you were playing around with one of the aphids, who seemed to enjoy your head rubs and affection

honey? what are you doing?

oh, just playing around. this lil guy seems to like me a lot.

he couldn't help but huff from amusement, seeing the endearing sight of you playing around

i never thought i'd see the day when an aphid enjoyed someone's affection like that. it's almost acting like a dog.

really? the way he's acting, i thought this was completely normal...

not quite. i tend to give them space so i won't scare them off or defer them. but... it looks like he's fond of you.

ororon was so fascinated

and the funny part is, that aphid kept coming around to your shared home every single day

it was as if you two made a small companion friend, but it wormed its way into your hearts and somehow became like your son

ororon found himself preparing servings of food for the small aphid who dined with you all for every single meal. the little guy even threw fits when food was late

sometimes, the aphid would cuddle with you while you napped. ororon had plenty of photos on his kamera of it, and those are some of his favorite

you two even celebrated major holidays with your aphid, and the aphid went everywhere with you two

merry christmas, my love

merry christmas, ororon. and merry christmas, little one.

*holds out some berries*

oh! that's where they went! you stole them for a gift? for me?

*flies up and down*

he's becoming sentient, darling

so it seems...

to the night kingdom, to the colosseum, to the groceries, around natlan - everywhere

ororon managed to purchase some silk flowers to make fabric for the bby :(

when citali came by, she was so confused lol

lady was like "wtf is a bug doing at the dining table? and why is it eating off of its own plate???"

she was very concerned but then saw how tame it was and didn't feel the need to shoo it off

ororon is a great dad :( bby gives your aphid so much love and care

he's so wholesome too! sometimes when your aphid flies off, he gets a little concerned and worried since he knows how much you love him (and ngl, the aphid grew on him)

protect both of them at all costs

[charlotteking23]

The Lion's Lamb - chapter 1 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The lion's lamb series: Aesthetics, Ch. 2, Ch.3, Ch.4

You spent most of your life alone. It wasn't your decision but artists tend to isolate themselves by accident. you were the type to find inspiration and peace when alone.

You would spend hours in your room, painting, until your vision became a reality.

Most people would never work as hard as you do to make a living, but you lived in Monaco. The country where money flowed. You knew you weren't like other residents that surrounded her in this country.

You weren't rich and you didn't have a trust fund to fall back onto. Don't get it wrong, your paintings sold high enough to be able to live in the country permanently, but you were barely scrapping by.

Some might ask why you choose to live in Monaco when you could have been living somewhere else more comfortably.

Monaco itself was known for their wealth and in your line of work, you need the rich to buy your work. You had about three regular clients in Monaco that provided 80% of your entire income.

Coffee was the only time you took a break and wandered into the outside world. And today was one of those days where you needed a break. you had been in your room for the past 4 hours trying to come up with something, but your mind was blank with ideas.

A client had commissioned a piece about 3 months ago and gave the 23 year old a wide range of creative ability on the painting as long as it was a darker piece.

You were the epitome of bright and bubbly and couldn't seem to get her mind into a darker frame of thought. With the piece needing to be done in a months time, you were starting to stress.

You had ordered your cup of coffee at your usual spot. You heard your name being yelled at the counter and quickly went up to grab your drink. Once in hand, you turned only to run into a wall, spilling coffee all over herself and the wall.

To add fuel to the fire of the already embarrassing situation, you slipped on the coffee that had spilled on the ground and fell to the floor hard causing more attention to be drawn onto you. While on the ground, you noticed two shoes in front of you.

You hadn't run into a wall like you originally thought, but instead a man. Your eyes followed the shoes all the way up at the man's face.

Piercing blue eyes stared down at you in annoyance. You could tell he wasn't truly taking you in but rather glaring at you for spilling both their coffees.

Jumping up quickly, You immediately grabbed some napkins off the counter of the coffee shop and tried your best to wipe the stains off the mans white shirt.

"I'm so sorry sir!" you said with tears building in your eyes. "I didn't see you! I'm so sorry!"

As you wipe the man's chest, he grabs your hands causing you to look up at him. It was then, he took in the details of you standing before him.

Your big eyes stared up at him, tears threatening to spill out of the sides. You had a light sprinkle of freckles that ran along her cheekbones and over your nose.

You had long hair that was pulled back out of Your face, but bangs to frame your face perfectly. Your lips were the perfect size and your cheeks were now the color of your lips from embarrassment.

There was a certain shine in your eyes that drew him. He couldn't tell if it was because of the tears or something else, but he needed to find out.

"It's alright," he said. You picked up an accent that wasn't from Monaco but you didn't know where.

"Please, sir, let me buy you your coffee! It's my fault, I can at least try make up it up to you by getting you another."

He nods his head at your response causing a smile to erupt across your face. The man loved how every part of your face lit up at his response. He didn't even say a word, yet you acted like he hung the stars just for you.

"How do you like your coffee?" you asked.

"Black," he state.

With a nod of your head, you told him to sit down while you waited in line. There were only two people ahead of you but you didn't want the man to have to stand with you after you ruined his clothes.

Being around him longer than necessary would cause more embarrassment on your part.

After getting both their coffees again, you found your way back to the blue eyed stranger sitting at a corner table by the window.

"Here," you said while putting it on the table. You noticed his shirt was definitely going to stain and winced slightly at the brown blob on his chest "Again sir, I am so sorry!"

You started digging in your bag for some money to give to the man for dry cleaning. Pulling out whatever you had, you tried to hand it to the man, "Here. It's not a lot but it should pay for dry cleaning to get that stain out."

"No," was the simple response you got.

"Please! It'll make me feel better if you take it! It's the only way I can make up for spilling you coffee!"

"Sit down," he said. You tilted your head in confusion at the blue eyed man. "Sit down and tell me your name. I don't want your money but I will take a name and a conversation as payment."

A blush quickly took over your cheeks as you shyly looked away from the man and sat down across from him. When you sat down you finally got a good look at his face.

He was attractive. He had these piercing blue eyes that would stare into your sole. He looked at you with softness but you were scared to be on the other end of that stare when he was angry.

He was tall, or at least taller than you, but that wasn't saying much compared to him. He was a dirty blond and had a bit of scruff that started to turn into a beard.

You could tell he didn't smile much due to him having very little smile lines. He was a serious man and it showed.

"Your name?" He stated.

"(name)," she said softly, "and yours?"

The man's eyes quickly flashed a look of surprise before they softened again, "Max."

[lady-phasma]

Martyrdom

The Vampire Armand x gn!reader

Warnings: not that many really, tragically over-dramatic comfort, implied canon trauma if you know a little about Armand’s history (book or series)

Summary: 1k words of 🥺 and comforting our beautiful monster.

a/n: so yeah, I had to work out some stuff between 2.07 and 2.08 because Armand needs some comfort. This is the most melodramatic thing I have ever written. This was going to be fem!reader but then it really wasn’t important to the comfort so it became gn!reader.

Armand didn’t stir as you walked in. His head was bowed, iPad balanced in one hand, tapping at the screen with the other. His dark curls framed his face. You knew he heard you, of course he did, but whatever was happening on his tablet was engrossing. You walked behind the sofa and rested your head on his shoulder. A glance at the screen showed you an online art auction. You smiled as you leaned down to kiss his neck, ear, and cheek. His singular focus wasn’t unusual but when you looked back at his iPad you saw the thumbnail and item description.

The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian - Marius de Romanus

You straightened up and let your hand linger on his shoulder for a moment. He wouldn’t move from that spot until he owned the painting.

When the bidding was closed he found you in the bedroom on your own iPad. You looked up as he walked in. The blank expression he wore was a familiar sight. He didn’t look sad or dejected as others might. Sometimes he simply didn’t emote. But his eyes would betray him. He didn’t make eye contact with you right away. However, he wouldn’t have come to you if he wanted to be alone.

He thought often, spoke less, about broken things, people he had loved. He rarely spoke of those who had broken him. Sometimes you caught a glimpse of him when he felt unobserved and the vacancy in his eyes would be filled with regret and remorse.

“You own a new painting?” You asked with no inflection. You closed the iPad’s cover and set it on the night stand as he sat on his side of the bed. His back was to you, shoulders stiff.

“Yes.”

“When will it arrive?” You didn’t really need to know, but wanted him to know you understood the significance.

“Approximately 4-6 weeks,” his tone was flat. “Possibly sooner.”

“When was the last time you saw it?”

“500 years ago, give or take.”

“‘Give or take?’” He couldn’t see your raised brows.

“492, I believe.” His shoulders slumped slightly.

“What’s the provenance?” You didn’t expect him to answer.

“Venice, Milan, Prague, a few years unaccounted for, then Berlin,” his tone had changed. Rather, there was now tone to his words. The mildest hint of pain colored the city names. It had changed so many hands. It wasn’t rare for a painting to have been sold before the fire. It was the nature of the painting and who you could assume may have commissioned it, that concerned you. Possibly it was for the Church, but more likely for a private patron. Even so, had it been in a church, a museum? Hundreds of eyes moved by the martyrdom of a real boy who they would never think about. Did they even think of the model for Sebastian at all or only of the saint and his ecstasy? If Armand had wanted you to know that a public institution had once held it he would have said. You didn’t press.

You watched him as he slipped off his shoes and turned to sit more comfortably. His long fingers toyed with the crease of his pant leg. He stared off, looking at nothing, for a moment. Then he turned to you. Your heart ached for him. It did from time to time when he would casually mention something from his past, but this was different. You had only seen an expression like this a couple times before. You looked at him, unsmiling, but with a soft gaze, no judgement. For a moment he looked as if he would speak then he closed his mouth, his lips forming a tight line.

Armand wanted to tell you about the nausea he felt, a peculiar feeling, increasingly rare at his age, when the alert had appeared on his phone. He wanted to tell you that he even had an alert for Marius’s name, but he couldn’t. He had never told you everything, there was far too much to tell. But he had told you the broad strokes. He felt he might never tell anyone all of the details, those he could remember, except in the rare moments of weakness when he was jealous of Louis’s and Lestat’s ability to reveal everything.

You sat up straighter and moved toward him. You gently touched his face. He leaned into your hand as you cupped his cheek. His brow furrowed slightly and he closed his eyes. You stroked his cheek with your thumb. You let your hand slide down to his neck. He sighed quietly and when he opened his eyes to look at you, he became every bit the ancient creature trapped in a young man’s body. Every wrong done, every hurt inflicted, every lie told, by him and to him, turbulent beneath his ageless façade. Over 500 years of mistakes, violence, atonement, none of it truly forgotten.

Your fingers gently caressed the back of his neck as you held his gaze. You couldn’t conceal the expression on your face, the compassion and disconsolation. Slowly you moved your hand to his shoulder and guided him toward you. Armand gave in. He rested his head in your lap, his body folded up alongside your outstretched legs. You leaned back against the pillows and headboard. One hand automatically began stroking his hair, smoothing it back from his face. The other lay against his back, making small circles with your fingers against his shoulder blade.

He felt his shoulders relax first, then the tightness in his chest began to fade. He hadn’t realized tears had started to well in his eyes until he closed them. None came, but he was unsure how long they would stay away this time. He sighed heavily and let himself soften against you. Your steady, consistent movements were a balm to the raging of conflicting emotions inside him. He would think of them another day, perhaps when the painting arrived. Now, in this moment, he could rest.

Note about the painting: The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, Marco Basaiti (active 1496-1530 in Venice), located in Santa Maria della Salute, Venice

Masterlist

[biolumien]

Hi Hi! first time requesting like this and I just recently finished watching the latest episode of Kaiju number 8. I was wondering if your could write something for Vice Captain Hoshina.

I was thinking something along the lines of a reincarnation storyline? Maybe Reader is a renowned painter or something. And one day they come across a dream of Hoshina in their past life and they paint his face. And Hoshina is suddenly bombarded by a few officers/cadets a few days later about a sudden article blowing up online with a painting that had extremely similar structure to his face. And maybe they'd end up meeting because of it?

I love your writing. Particularly the one with the glasses reader that I read a few days back. You're free to change things as you see fit. And I'm sure whatever you come up with will be very nice. Sorry if my words are confusing. I don't speak english language that well. 😊👌 Thank you if you decide to write for this ask.

notes: ok the way i am. actually obsessed with this i hope you enjoy!!

every 'one line' drawn.

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no warnings, i think wc: 1768

in your dreams, you always see the same face. red eyes watching your face, purple hair framed over his face and the feeling of a callused hand on your hand, on your cheek. and every time he leans into kiss you, you find yourself pressing your face closer to his, as if desperate, and then you wake up. 

and when you wake up, you always feel the telltale trickle of a tear down your face, the feeling of salt on your tongue. 

there’s no time to wonder what the dreams ever mean, what with your job as a painter. you lived commission to commission—and while your customers were always high brow and paid generously, still meant that you couldn’t be lost in daydreams forever. 

and in your studio, with the pungent smell of turpentine and linseed oil, with your hands inevitably smeared with oil paints, it was easy to forget the stranger whose hands felt rough and weary, and yet held your face with measured gentleness. it was easy to forget him—up until you went back to bed, and you’d always be back in the same dream. 

“i keep seeing you,” you murmur in your dream. “who are you?” 

the man laughs. 

he seems sad, for a second. 

“a dear friend,” he responds. you see it on his face, the way his lips twist at his words, that it’s not quite true. and he leans in again, watching your face. “it’s okay if you don’t remember me.” 

“but i do,” you say in protest. you think you remember this face. “i want to.” 

you must remember this face, surely—this face that, upon your words, looks sadder. and then you wonder if he’s even real—or if this is simply your subconscious, saddened that you can’t remember. saddened that your mind replays this moment, again and again, a repeated brushstroke pulling open the blank canvas underneath. 

“we all want things we can’t have, sometimes,” the man says. 

he leans into kiss you, 

and you jolt up out of bed, awakening to a phone call from your manager. 

“hello…?” you mumble into your phone, pressing it against your cheek as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “it’s rare you call me randomly like this…” 

“tis no random call,” your manager responds. “you’ve received a request to exhibit some of your works from a museum. will you do it? i hear the pay’s pretty good.”

“mmm… any specific theme?” you ask. 

“not really. they said to let your imagination go wild.” 

“hm.” 

you touch your lips, and when you close your eyes, you see a hint of those crimson eyes again. 

“alright. i think i’ve got a pretty good muse this time,” you say. 

[…]

hoshina wasn’t exactly someone who was very in the know about art. his job, for one, meant that it’s not like he would exactly be interested in art in general, and it’s not like he was even spending his days off on art museum trips or admiring the local art scene. 

so why was it that everyone seemed all abuzz about art today?

and why did it seem like there were more eyes on him than before? not that he particularly abhorred attention or anything, but the eyes seemed to be looking at his face specifically. 

his eyes flit to some of the new officer recruits—iharu, reno, kafka… fuck, even haruichi and aoi? what the hell was going on—huddled around a laptop. haruichi’s brow furrows as he stares at the illuminated screen, and then flits up to look at hoshina. when hoshina stares back, harder, haruichi’s gaze immediately ducks back to the laptop.  

okay. 

well, something was definitely up. 

hoshina strolls over to the recruits, who immediately seem to start panicking—the panic is written across kafka’s face more obviously than the others, and reno elbows kafka in the side. 

“what’s all this about? if you’ve got time to huddle you’ve got time to run laps—” hoshina starts, leaning over at the screen before—

“about that, vice captain,” iharu says. 

hoshina’s in stunned silence staring at the screen, because… isn’t that—

“holy shit,” hoshina says. 

“holy shit indeed,” haruichi says grimly. 

on haruichi’s laptop screen is a painting of— him. hoshina’s damned face, brows gentle and a softened smile on his face. it was a beautiful painting, and yet—there was something sad about the smile, the brows belying deep sorrow. 

“this painter’s pretty well-known, too, aren’t they?” kafka asks. “for like… the psychedelic stuff.” 

“no,” reno says. “they’re like our modern-day monet or something. impressionist paintings.” 

“impressi-what? how do you know this much about art, reno?” iharu asks, wrapping his arm around reno’s neck in a headlock. reno coughs, slapping iharu’s arm. 

“shut up,” reno chokes out, but even as the bickering picks up, hoshina’s gaze is still transfixed on the painting. 

it’s him. no doubt about it. 

“i’ve never talked to them before,” hoshina says after a moment. at once the arguments rattle to a halt, but in the empty relief of silence is the carved truth—that the painting is definitely of him, and its painter was a person who he’d never talked to before in his life. 

“the artist is going to be doing a panel about their exhibition soon,” haruichi says, glancing up at hoshina. “i think they can get me a ticket if i ask.” 

“… just don’t expect me to lighten your laps around the training course,” hoshina says with a chuckle. 

[…]

you hated speaking in front of an audience. cliche, of course, the introverted artist that squirrels away in in their studio—but that was often your reality. you liked to say you wanted your work to ‘speak for itself’, as it were, so you didn’t often make public appearances. 

but your most recent exhibition, featuring the painting of your mysterious dream visitor, created far more buzz than you could have asked for. suddenly everyone and anyone wanted an answer as for who your muse was, why he had a very striking resemblance to soshiro hoshina of the japan anti-kaiju defense force’s third division, and had you gotten permission from hoshina to do it? did you have a specific message surrounding your work?

“just stick to the script,” your manager says to you. “i talked it through with some of the reporters and i wrote some answers for you if you’re scared.” he hands you a slip of paper, and your eyes scan the page, and you swallow the lump in forming in your throat. 

“i shouldn’t have done the painting after all,” you say.

it was strange. in the days and weeks you’d worked on the painting, you hadn’t seen your muse in your dreams at all. you’d been forced to rely on only the memory of the dream–which only seemed to get fuzzier and fuzzier until it became barely a wisp. and now, in those ensuing weeks that the painting has been on exhibition, you almost felt embarrassed of the painting–its vague subject matter might have been charming and a little kitsch, but charming and a little kitsch wasn’t supposed to garner this much attention.

“nonsense,” your manager says. “it’s a wonderful painting.” he pushes you by the back, gently urging you forward. “they’re ready for you.”

you push past the door separating you from the reporters–and then are immediately flashbanged with cameras and lights, and jumbling, layered voices creating a discordant symphony that made you wince.

“um. thank you… for…” you wince as your grip fumbles on your microphone, nearly dropping it, the feedback screeching across speakers. “um. sorry. i’m not exactly the best public speaker–my repertoire of events… like this, isn’t many. but thank you for attending this panel… surrounding my exhibition of my latest work. i’ll answer… a few questions.”

the reporters looked like a jumbled blob for the most part–a thrumming organism of similar faces that melted together into one homogenous mess, a splotch of badly-mixed paint on the palette that you’d scrape away with a knife and discard. 

reciting your manager’s written responses wasn’t the hard part. as you continued to banter, your eyes swept across the crowd.

what were you even doing here?

you wanted to crawl back to your studio, already, and go back to painting. at least then the idea that you’d dreamed up some man who bore a striking resemblance to someone who already existed would fade away with time. and then your eyes found that telltale shade of crimson and purple–for just a moment. and you think his eyes meet yours, too–crimson eyes the exact shade as the one in your dreams. 

his eyes widen. 

“... as you were saying?” a reporter’s words float back to your ears, ephemeral, and you pause.

“can we… no more questions.” you shake your head, finding your vision swimming, blurring, and you raise a hand wiping tears from your face. “sorry. something just… came up–”

and you push into the crowd, trying to find the face from your dreams.

that had to be him, right? his face? it was like as soon as you saw him, the underpainting of your memories flowed back to you–a heartaching loss pounding in your chest. something was wrong. something was missing, because you’d forgotten–and now that you’d remembered it, it hurt. 

“i’m sorry,” you say. 

“you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” the man says to you, and leans in to kiss you. “i’ll find you again in the next life.”

“i’ll remember you,” you say. 

the man watches you, a somewhat sad look on his face.

you press your thumb to the corner of his lip.

“and when i do, i’ll do something big. to capture your attention. and then your eyes will be on me forever.”

you finally manage to catch the man in the crowd, and you realize you’ve seen him before. only once or twice, though–on a small poster or on television. soshiro hoshina, of the third division. you did know this man–but just barely.

he lets out a surprised noise as soon as you collide with him, and you gasp breathlessly. 

“i’m sorry,” you say, looking up at hoshina. “i just… have we…”

“met?” hoshina answers your question, cocking his head, blinking down at you.

“yes,” you say. “i think… i think so. maybe. we… you look familiar.”

hoshina blinks, and then smiles.

it’s so different than the way he smiled at you in your dream. the corners of his lips quirk up, his eyebrows relax almost as he watches you. 

“i thought so too,” hoshina says, and you hear relief in his voice. “so… um. hi.”

“hi,” you respond, and he laughs.

[specialagentlokitty]

Aizawa x reader - even after months apart

You stood in front of the hero commission, a heavy heart in your head, but a blank look on your face as you stare at them.

“So you want me to infiltrate a gang of villains, and gather as much information as you need?”

One of the men nods, clasping his hands together.

“Yes, with your quirk, your heightened sense you are the perfect candidate for the job, we need to know everything regardless of how small it may seem.”

You nod again, looking down at the engagement ring on your finger before looking back up at the ground who had gathered in front of you.

You didn’t exactly have a choice in this, these people controlled your whole career, and if you didn’t thousands of people could be hurt.

“What about my family…? Friends…?”

Someone else sighs and she speaks up.

“They’ll be told that you went missing on a mission, which means we’re going to need your ring, and your phone.”

You hand over your phone, and hesitate to hand over your ring, and they were patient while waiting.

After what felt like forever, you slowly slide it front your hand, pressing a kiss to it, whispering a quick sorry before handing it over to start your uncover mission.

It was going to be long, dreadful, and it would take a while to earn the villains trust before you could start gaining valuable information that’ll help the other heroes when the time comes.

Every night you would sit on your bed in the room they had eventually given you, just staring up at up at the ceiling, thinking about the man you loved.

The man you left behind so you could do this.

The same thoughts always rushing around your mind.

Would he be okay?

Would he be safe?

Is he still looking for you?

Has he moved on?

Will he hate you if this all ends?

Would he still love you?

Would he forgive you?

You sigh, burying your face into the capture scarf of his that you had managed to take from the apartment months ago before you left for this mission.

He didn’t use this one anymore, it was ripped and had some holes, but it still smelt like him, reminded you off him and brought you comfort.

With another sigh, you sit up and cross your legs as you close your eyes, focusing on your hearing while you activated your quirk.

You listened to everything going on around the villains base, moving from sound to sound to find anything that could be of use to the hero commission.

Sometimes you would linger on a conversation to just listen to what villains spoke about when they weren’t committing crimes before you moved on after a few minutes.

Everything of interest you heard you would pick up a book and underline certain words.

More months slipped by, and you dropped the book off in a post office with an address written on it, before going back to the villains base.

They only send you out on small run missions, dropping things off at the post office, each time you changed the address to the hero commissions office.

On the way back you grabbed a new book, and carried on walking down the street with your hood up.

“Stop walking now.” A cold voice demanded.

Your whole body tensed up, and you stopped, recognising the voice.

He was standing in an alleyway just behind you.

“So this is what you’ve been doing? Hiding?” He snapped.

“Shouta please….” You whispered.

“You just disappear without a trace, leave your engagement ring with the hero commission without saying a single word. Is that really how much how relationship was worth to you?” He asked lowly.

You sigh a little bit, keeping your gaze turned towards the ground.

“No….”

“Then what the hell was it?!” He snapped quietly.

You let out a heavy sigh again.

“I think about you every night…” you whisper.

Aizawa carefully looks at you, you wouldn’t even turn to look at him.

“I just… I pray that after all this ends I still have a place inside your heart…. When you see what I’ve become I just… I want to know if you’ll love me for who I am…”

You take a small breath.

“I’ll be back some day… I just hope when that day comes you won’t hate me…”

With that, you slipped into the crowds before he could even think about saying something else to you.

That was all you saw off him, and even then you couldn’t bring yourself to look in his eyes, you felt so ashamed for hurting him the way you had, breaking his trust, leaving him alone.

The mission went on for a few more months before everything was in place for the heroes to move in, and you were immediately taken back to the hero commission and here you spent hours in and out of meetings.

When they were all finished, you stepped outside of the building into the morning sun and took a small breath, looking around.

Your phone was dead, and had been for months, you weren’t sure about going back to the shared apartment, you didn’t even know if Aizawa would even still be there, so you headed to a hotel instead and booked a room for the week.

Getting a shower, you went back out to buy some clean clothes and a charger and went back to the hotel room for sleep and to charge your phone.

What woke you up a knocking on your hotel room door, and with a grumble you got up and walked over to answer it.

“Room service…?” You asked half asleep.

“Guess again.” A gruff voice spoke.

You stared at Aizawa half asleep, and stepped aside to let him in.

“I’m too tired to argue with you right now…”

You walked back over to the bed and laid down, resting your head in your arms as you laid on your stomach.

Aizawa closed the door and walked over, standing at the end of the bed.

He just stared at you with narrowed eyes, and his gaze slowly moved to a few scars on your arms.

He knew you, he knew your body, and he knew that before you just up and left you never had those scars.

He slowly walked over, sitting on the edge of bed, carefully leaning over slightly, getting a better look at them.

“What the hell happened while you were away…?” He whispered.

You just grumbled, still exhausted and rolled on your side with your back to him, your shirt rose up, and he could see a few smaller scars on your lower back and he looked to the bottom of your shirt, slowly reaching out.

Within an instant you grabbed his wrist, now sitting up and looking at him with a warning look.

“Shouta don’t….”

“(Y/N) what the hell happened…? What have you been doing all these months…?”

You took a deep breath, loosening your grip on his wrist but not fully letting go as you looked away.

“I can’t tell you… I’m sorry…”

He nodded, he had a feeling it was something to do with the mission he was sent on with a lot of other heroes to a group of villains base, but he wouldn’t push you to talk about it.

Aizawa sighed gently

He glanced to his scarf that you had taken which was sat on a chair in the corner of the room, then back to you.

“I’m sorry for everything…. For leaving you the way I did… if I could go back and change it I would…”

“I think I understand… but I just… I wish you would have reached out (Y/N) to tell me you were okay… that you were alive…”

You looked away, and he slowly pulled his hand back until his palm was pressed against yours, and he slowly laced his fingers with yours.

You still couldn’t meet his gaze, and his face softened.

“Hey… hey look at me…”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and he brought the back of your hand to his lips, softly kissing your knuckles.

“Whatever happened then.. you’re safe… now come home?”

“You… want me to come back…?”

Aizawa rolled his eyes, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head.

“Yes, the bed is empty without you and I can’t find anything, come home.”

This made you laugh a little bit, and you grabbed what you had to go back to the apartment with him.

The moment you were through the door Aizawa placed his hands on the sides of your face, gently leaning down to kiss you.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds and he dug through his pockets before finally pulling out your engagement ring, putting it back on your ring finger before kissing it.

“Mine…” he mumbled.

He rested his chin on your head, still holding your hands in his, and you closed your eyes in content.

This was all you wanted, to be back here with him, to be back with your future husband knowing you were safe and loved

[myownwholewildworld]

THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 | easter eggs pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you―?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

��I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

[luimagines]

Undivorcing Time

Another Commission!

They asked for a fix-it-fic for Time from the Divorce Headcanons post back in April. Which you can read right here. :)

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

The last two weeks have been arguably the worst sort of hell that Link decided he would never wish upon his worst enemy.

Every day he woke up with a sharp and spiking pain in his chest. A piercing ache that threatened to topple him over until his legs refused to work and his brain was overloaded with the pain.

He had to keep moving. Moving lessened the pain.

Link gulped down another breath as he closed in on the once home he shared with you. He found himself breathing harder and heavier as the building came in closer and closer. He can’t think. He can’t even look at it.

Epona is merciless as he brings him closer step by step. She’s always remembered the way home. She knows where to step to not slip on the grassy hillsides and where to go without any need for his direction and guidance.

Link keeps his head down, keeping his grip tight on the reins even though he refuses to give Epona any more commands. It feels like a punishment, but he knows it has to be done. You’re likely to have already gone, taking everything you’ve wanted to keep and leaving him with who knows what.

Not that it matters.

Even if you’ve decided to leave him with nothing, he still plans on getting rid of whatever is left. He already has what he wanted to keep. It’s all on his back and in his bag. He didn’t even bother packing anything that Epona would have to carry. She’s too old to do much anymore. If anything, it’s a miracle she’s still up and running as it is. She’s already over 20 years old. 

Soon he’ll have to say goodbye to her too.

The pain in his heart deepens, the beginning of tears forming in his eyes.

He hasn’t cried once. He hasn’t allowed it.

Link takes a deep breath, wipes his eyes and smacks his cheeks. No tears. He refuses.

Epona takes the left and the little gate he set up five years ago comes into view. Epona stops.

Link stays on top of her for a moment longer. He stares at the back of her mane. Absent-mindedly, he pets her and lets his mind go blank for a moment longer. He doesn’t want to move. It’s a primal part of his brain that tells him to stay put, to avoid the pain.

But he hasn’t been a hero since childhood for nothing.

He can handle the pain.

He hops off of his horse, patting her side as he goes to open the gate. It creaks a bit, alerting him that the hinges need to be oiled. His immediate thought is that he’ll have to get to it at some point… But this isn’t his house anymore, is it? No. No, no. It’s not.

He walks through, Epona following loyally through the creaking gate.

He decides to put Epona in her place at the stable he built for her so many years ago. She should be somewhere familiar before he takes her away from this for good.

“Link!” You shout from the entrance to the house. The tone of your voice is shocked and he doesn’t blame you. He had left so suddenly. Quietly. He’s aware that while it was your idea to get a divorce, he was the one that had left without a word. You had woken up to an empty house.

However, the sting in his heart only persists. He can’t bring himself to lift his head and look at you even if he tries. And frankly, he doesn’t want to try. He brushes Epona down with a loving hand.

Faintly, he can hear your frantic footsteps stumble towards him. You’re off kilter. Unbalanced.

You crash into him at once, wrapping your arms around his midsection and squeezing him tightly. It’s enough to nearly knock the breath out of him. Both figuratively and literally.

Link instinctively wants to take comfort in the familiarity of it all. Your form. Your scent. Your warmth.

He takes your hands off of him.

No, he thinks, no more. No more pain, please. He can’t go through this a second time. He was hoping beyond hope that you would have either left already or that you wouldn’t want to face him.

“Link.” You say, letting him detach you from him. “I was wrong. I was so so-so wrong!”

He doesn’t speak. The walls of this throat won’t let him. It’s tight. Link can barely find the strength to fight against it just to swallow his spit. Tears well up at once without any warning. He fights for his life, trying to keep them at bay. He won’t let you see him like this.

“I don’t want a divorce.” You admit, beginning to shake. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. That’s the thinking. I got stuck in my own thoughts and I wasn’t being honest with you- I thought you would want something better than what we had and that I wasn’t being good enough-”

Link snaps his face to you and you shrivel up in your verbal vomit just seeing the expression of destruction on his face. Your own face falls as you begin to cry. “I was being stupid. I know that now. I’m sorry. I’m so so so sorry.”

You sniffle, shaking something terrible, but willing to face the consequences head on. Link says nothing. He doesn’t think he has much to say, when in reality he has everything to say. He wants to yell, scream, cry, shake you- anything to let out the amount of pain and frustration he feels with every fiber of his being. But he does nothing. It’s too much and far too little for him to process.

You take that as your cue to keep talking. “When I noticed you were gone, I thought that you had finally chosen to leave me…“ You gulp. “I thought things would be better for you. I thought that maybe I would be able to figure something out since I’ve always lost people that matter to me.”

You hiccup, taking a moment to wipe your face. Link wants to be the one to do it, but he forces himself to keep his hands at his side. Is it petty? Is he the cruel one? 

No. You broke his heart. Shattered it into a million pieces without so much as asking for his opinion. If anything, he’ll let you finish explaining yourself.

You step a little bit closer to him, hugging yourself tightly. You’re making a bigger effort than he is to make eye contact. “It was literally the day after that I panicked. I broke down. I broke the mirror. I broke a vase. I had a completely utter mental breakdown because the only thing that kept playing through my head was that I ruined… the best thing that had ever happened to me.”

Yes, he nods subtly, you did.

You swallow the spit in your mouth and wipe your nose as it begins to run from your amount of tears. “I kept thinking of how much I wanted you next to me. That you were the only thing that would have made me feel better. How much you’ve done for me, for us as a family, and just… how much I love you and need you- I’m stupid, ok? I’m dumb and an idiot. I know this is my fault, ok? You… you don’t have to take me back…”

You hiccup, slowly dissolving into sobs. “I don’t know… what you want to do… but I’m sorry. It’s your choice now. I just want you to know… that I don’t want you to leave.”

Link take a deep breath. The tears he’s been fighting back all this morning finally break through his steely will and track down his face. He reaches out to you and gently, with the back of his pointer finger, wipes away a rogue tear. His voice, once he forces it through the confines of his throat, is hoarse and weak, but you hear it all the same. “...I don’t want to leave.”

You break down into harder sobs as your knees give out. Link falls with you, cradling you within his strong arms at once. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping himself completely around you as if you were to suddenly vanish in front of him. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m sorry.” You say again, tucking yourself close to him after he speaks. “It was dumb. I never should have ever said it.”

“Never say it again.” Link growls, hugging you tighter as his tears fall into your hair. “It almost killed me.”

He hiccups and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. “...We’re going to have to have a long… and very honest conversation about this.” He’s not exactly excited about it either. “You know that, right?”

You nod, sniffling and making a wet spot against his tunic. “I know… I know. I’ll tell you everything, just don’t go again.”

“I won’t.” Link whispers. “I made you a promise that only death could take me away from you. I intend to keep it. I never go back on my promises… As the golden goddesses as my witnesses, I married you. I am your husband.”

You fall silent for a long time. The two of you stay in the middle of the field between your house and the stable, crying into each other’s arms. 

Link feels at this point he can’t even be mad. He’s just glad that you don’t actually want to go through with it. But his emotional relief aside, he knows that this was only the result of a far deeper problem that he was previously unaware of. 

The words that you said when you tried to explain yourself, saying he was better off without you and that you always lost the people that mattered to you- that was something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he refused to continue to believe such lies. You were always more than enough. You were more than good enough. You were always.. Exemplary… stunning… everything he could have dreamt of and then some.

He had no idea that you had thought so little about yourself. And he never could have imagined that such thinking could have impacted your marriage in such a way. Link had faced many foes and demons alike, but this was a challenge of a different color entirely. And one he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight in the conventional manners he knew how.

This was something you alone were battling and will continue to battle for many moons to come.

He can only hope to be of support to you into the future. 

Link hugs you tighter and presses a tender kiss into your hairline. 

He’s almost at a loss of what to do now. There’s still so much heartache in his body that he feels physically ill. Crying isn’t enough to let it all out now. He gulps down the spit in his mouth and sniffles his own tears away. Link presses another kiss to your forehead. “I love you. I love you.”

You look up at him and cup his face, tenderly holding his jaw in your palms. “You’re not mad?”

“Furious.” He says softly, capturing one of your hands and kissing the palm of your hand. “That mirror you broke better not have been the one by the entrance.”

You press our lips into a thin line. “...It cracked in the corner…But no, that wasn’t the one I shattered. You know the one in the bathroom?”

“Oh.” He almost laughs. His arms tighten around you just a smidge more. It’s almost embarrassing how much he’s willing to give to you if you simply agree to stay with him. “Good. I hated that one.”

“Link! That was a gift!”

“...It was still ugly. Good riddance.”

[wandascosmic]

you've got a smile that could light up this whole town (2)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part two of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 3868

warnings: sexual harassment in the workplace, talks of sexism and racism, small mention of blood in a joking setting

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

“That’s the thing. It’s very sturdy paper,” you speak to the client on the phone. “And on the back it says 100% post-consumer content.” 

You’re on the phone with Mr. Deckerd, the CEO of one of your biggest clients who amounts to about 25% of your commission for the whole year. Wanda makes fun of you for buying a mini bottle of champagne every time you make a sale to him and his company, but you can’t help but celebrate a little. This year, you’re pushing recycled paper on them for about 1% more, so maybe you’ll buy a medium-sized bottle of champagne if you make the sale. 

Suddenly, you hear a static noise in your ear. “Hello?” you ask, wondering if your client is still there. You plug the ear that isn’t touching the phone to hear Mr. Deckerd better, but the static sound continues. “I’m sorry, Mr. Deckerd I think I’m losing-” 

But then you can’t hear anything because your stupid desk neighbor is shredding his papers at his desk. 

“Hello? Hello?” But you can’t hear anything because of the stupid shredder. “Hold on one second,” you reassure your customer, even though you have no idea if he’s still there. 

“Sam! Do you really have to do that right now?” you yell over the shredder.  

“Yes, I do,” he responds, barely paying you any attention. “I should’ve done this weeks ago, actually.” 

You flip him off under your desk. 

“Mr. Deckerd, I'm really sorry,” you speak on the phone. “What were you-” 

You still can’t hear anything, and it makes you give Sam an annoyed expression. “Can you give me one second?” you tell Mr. Deckerd on the phone in your fake nice sales voice. “Yeah, just one second. Thanks.” 

You press the off button on Sam’s shredder with your pointer finger, and he narrows his eyes at you.

You shrug back in response. 

“Hello? Oh, that’s it. Perfect,” you let Mr. Deckerd know. “So, what I was saying-” 

Sam hangs up the phone for you by pushing a button on the docking port and you want to slap him in the face. 

“Hello?” when you hear nothing but the dial tone, you set the phone down and run your hands over your face. “Thanks a lot, Sam.” 

“Retaliation, Y/N. Tit for tit.” 

“That’s not the expression.” 

“Well, it should be.” 

Now you want to punch Sam instead.

“Solitaire?” you ask Wanda, popping a jelly bean from the candy dish at her desk into your mouth and leaning over it to peek at her computer screen. 

“Yeah, freecell,” she tells you, brows furrowing in focus at the game. 

“Six on seven,” you point to the digital cards. 

“I know I saw that,” she nods.  

“So, why didn’t you do it?” you ask. 

“I’m saving that,” she gives a shy smile, “cause I like it when the cards go…” she imitates the shuffling cards. 

“Who doesn’t love that?” you shrug, smiling at her. 

She giggles in response, and you help her win the rest of the game.  

Tony comes out of his office. “Everyone in the conference room,” he announces. “Diversity day seminar.” 

Everyone gets out of their desk to go meet in the room, but you stay on the phone in order to make the sale to Mr. Deckerd.

“Y/N,” Tony states. “Wrap it up.” 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Uh, Mr. Deckerd-” 

“L/N, hurry up, please.” 

“Uh, Mr. Deckerd, I'm actually going to have to call you back,” Damn it, you were so close. “Thank you, sorry about that.” You hang up the phone.

Wanda meets your stride as you both walk in together and she wraps her hand around your elbow absentmindedly. 

The two of you usually sit together, but unfortunately, you were both the last to walk in due to your phone call so you both take a seat on opposite sides of Thor.  

Once you sit down a man from corporate hands you a blank card for you to fill out by writing down a work-related incident you found offensive, and you and Wanda look at each other, knowing exactly what incident you were both going to write. 

A couple weeks ago, the head of corporate, Thaddeus Ross had made disgusting remarks and had acted completely sexist and racist to every single female or ethnic worker in the office. He had reduced every single person to just their ethnicity or sex and had made incredibly vulgar remarks that you didn’t want to think about again because of how offensive they were. In fact, they were so ugly that those who had taken the worst of his comments didn’t come into the office for the next 2 days because of how violated they felt.  

You bite your tongue as you remember the lewd comments he had made about Wanda that day. 

“Wanda’s really easy on the eyes, don’t you think?” he had whispered to you, his coffee breath making you want to push him as far away as possible. “I bet she’d make way more money on her knees rather than behind that desk…” 

You had frozen in your seat, shocked at the words Ross uttered out of his mouth. You were about to reprimand him and let him know how inappropriate his comments were, but you didn’t get the chance because he got called over by Tony right after uttering those awful words. So instead, once he was gone from your sight, you had immediately stood up and gone over to Wanda at her desk while she was faxing documents Bruce had given her to let her know about the disgusting comments Ross had made. 

Wanda’s expression had hardened once you told her, and she had taken many deep breaths to reel in her emotions. “Thank you for telling me,” she had breathed out. “Honestly, I’m not surprised with the amount of times he’s cheated on his wife,” she had told you with a weak smile. Ross always confided in Wanda about his affairs for some reason, and he gave her a copious amount of detail about his nights spent in bed with other women. 

You had watched her brave resolve crumble as she played with the rings on her fingers, a nervous tick of hers, and it made you see right through her act. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I'm ok,” she had told you, “But I’m never staying within six feet of him again for safety reasons,” she gave a shaky laugh.   

For the rest of the morning, you were able to tell that she was still rattled, with the way she kept zoning out while doing her work and kept playing with her rings and biting her nails. 

So, you decided to do something nice for her to calm her down. During your lunch break, you had gone out to buy all of Wanda’s favorite things. Initially, you had told Vision to do it after letting him know about the incident while he was working down in the warehouse, but all he had responded with was that he was busy and would check on Wanda when he had the chance. 

You knew of his busy schedule, so instead, you thought it would be good to go yourself, and it ended up being so worth it. 

That day, you had bought Wanda chicken paprikash from her favorite restaurant, many packages of the obscure Sokovian candy she really likes, a pocket-sized package of her favorite book series because she was a sucker for miniature items, her favorite perfume because you could tell she was running low based on the way it was becoming less and less strong as the days passed by, a box of chocolates just because, and a mini disco ball, which you bought as a joke hoping it would put the smile back on her face. 

You had definitely gone overboard based on how your bank had called you that day because of how much money you spent, but Wanda didn’t need to know that. 

Plus, you didn’t really care because, well, it was Wanda.  

“Hey, Wands,” you had gone up to her at the end of the day with a plastic bag in your hand. 

Which to Wanda by the looks of it, seemed very heavy. 

“Hi, Y/N,” she had greeted you back softly from her chair. “What’s in the bag?” 

You smiled as you pulled out the mini disco ball, pressing the button so it lit up and placing it on the ledge of her desk. 

“For you,” you had told her, “so every day is a party,” you joked. 

Wanda had picked up the disco ball between her fingers, “you bought this just for the sake of making that joke,” she had answered back with a grin. 

And the disco ball had worked just as you wanted it to, because she had smiled again for the first time that day. 

You shrugged. “Maybe, but it did make you laugh, Maximoff.” 

“Smiling isn’t laughing Y/N,” she said cheekily. Before you could respond she asked, “What’s in the rest of the bag? It’s definitely not that heavy with just a tiny disco ball inside.” 

You slowly pulled out each of the items one by one, making sure to keep the mystery for as long as possible. And it was so worth it, because with every item you pulled out Wanda’s smile widened more and more. 

“Wow…” Wanda trailed off, slowly dragging her index finger over each item as if they were made of glass, until her finger stopped at the candy. “Y/N! They only sell these at that store 40 minutes from here!” her eyes gleamed with worry as she looked at you since there was a snowstorm that day too.

“30 minutes,” you corrected, “and it was nothing, Wanda, honestly. This is supposed to be kind of like a ‘Ross Sucks’ fund. You were shaken up, so I wanted to do something nice for you.” 

Wanda had pushed her tongue against her cheek as she watched you with tears in her eyes. She made her way around her desk until she was in front of you, and had hugged you as tight as possible. “Thank you,” she had whispered while squeezing you as tight as she could.  

As she pulled away a couple moments later, she had kissed your cheek and gave you a soft look while whispering the words, “I’m really glad I have you as my best friend.” 

It was the best gift anyone had ever given her. Somehow, you had singlehandedly turned Wanda’s awful day into one that would bring a smile to her face for the rest of her life. 

The next day, the mini books and disco ball had ended up displayed at Wanda’s receptionist's desk, and Wanda had given you a cheeky smile while popping a candy into her mouth. 

The man from corporate took each of your papers back with a small thank you, eventually creating a large stack. 

“Alright, so I’m here today to talk about diversity,” the man began. “It has come to my attention that a recent issue from an anonymous source has made you all very uncomfortable, so I was called here. We are all still unaware of who made the offensive comments we have heard of, so corporate thought it would be best to put all of the Shield Industry branches through this seminar to be safe. Let’s get started.” 

You started zoning out in worry at losing your biggest client, since Tony had made you hang up the phone due to his lack of patience when it came to being late to an event. After this morning’s exchange with Sam, you hoped he would continue to remain with you as his salesperson. 

You didn’t even notice that you had stopped paying attention until Wanda tapped your shoulder to whisper about how the man from corporate looked a lot like Dracula from Hotel Transylvania, and you responded that you should test if he’s really a vampire by putting blood in Sam’s bag so he’s the first to go.

You don’t know how much time has passed until suddenly, Tony’s voice brings your attention back to the meeting. “Hey man, I’m sorry, but you need to leave.” 

“What?” The man whose name you still don’t know responds. 

Long story short, Tony kicked out the man and forced you all to get back to work simply because he didn’t like his face. 

“Uh, hi, is Mr. Deckerd around?” you spoke on the phone. “Oh, well, could you just have him call me after lunch? Thank you.”

You ran your hands over your face in stress, god, you really hoped you didn’t lose your biggest client. 

“Attention, everyone!” Tony yelled out stepping out from his office. “The replacement seminar corporate is making us go through will occur immediately after lunch, so don’t be late!” he stepped back into his office. 

You’re too anxious to eat anything, so you spend your lunch break playing solitaire with Wanda while she eats the sandwich she packed this morning, since she usually spends it answering calls anyway. It’s the perfect pass-time because you’re still near the phone in case Mr. Deckerd calls, and she’s excellent at distracting you and making your worries fade away. 

The last ten minutes of your break are spent at your desk staring at your phone, the busy tone ringing out suddenly seeming like it's mocking you.

Around 1 pm, a tall short-haired lady walks in, “Hi, I’m here to lead the diversity seminar?” you hear her introduce herself to Wanda at the front of the office. 

Wanda stood up to shake her hand. “Welcome, I’m Wanda. I’ll let Tony know you’re here.” 

She ran into Tony’s office to inform him of the woman at the front, and from your point of view, you could tell that this new woman was attracted to Wanda based on the way she was staring at her from behind. 

“Everybody in the conference room!” Tony yelled out as he stepped out of his office, leading the orange-haired woman corporate hired in the direction of the room. 

Thankfully, this time, you and Wanda walked in a little earlier so you could sit next to each other at the back. 

Wanda had a clipboard in her hands to take notes as part of her job as a receptionist, and while she wasn’t looking, you drew a small smiley face at the corner of her page, a long-time tradition since you first joined the office a year after her. 

“Alright, now that everybody’s settled in, hi, my name’s Pepper, and I’m here to lead the diversity seminar after this morning’s complications,” the lady said, giving Tony a look. “To start off, what can you tell me about diversity?” 

Sam raises his hand. “It means having a diverse background.” 

“Yes, very good. Anybody else?” 

“It means being inclusive to people of all race,” Bruce answers. 

While Nat is answering, Wanda notices the small smiley face at the corner of her page and smiles softly. 

“What about you, hon?” Pepper asks Wanda while she’s lost in thought. 

Wanda’s head snaps up, “Sorry?” she clarifies. 

“What do you think about diversity?” 

Wanda pauses to think for a moment, “I think it’s acceptance of people of different background that’s not only limited to race but also gender, economic status, age, social class, and sexual orientation.” 

“Wow, impressive,” Pepper smirks, staring Wanda down like she’s almost a piece of meat.  

Wanda’s eyes widen and she shifts uncomfortably under Pepper’s stare, as she feels incredibly objectified once again. 

“Nerd,” Sam coughs into his fist. 

But Wanda can’t focus on Sam’s comment, because for some reason Pepper’s gaze is starting to remind her a lot of the way Vision looks at her. 

But it’s probably nothing, it’s probably just that he’s attracted to her because they’re engaged. 

Pepper’s seminar goes on for another 30 minutes, and while she’s discussing an acronym called HERO, you hear the phone ring. 

You don’t mean to be rude, but you’re so anxious you’re going to lose the sale you sprint out of the conference room to answer the phone. 

“Hello? Hello?” you answer, but you get no response. You tap your foot nervously on the ground and hang up the phone, running your hands over your face. 

You really hope Mr. Deckerd answers soon. 

Back in the conference room, Wanda still feels Pepper’s gaze on her and it makes her increasingly uncomfortable. The way Pepper was eyeing her like she was her prey to devour mercilessly made her feel so awfully degraded, like she was just an attractive object to be used and not another person. It made her want to jump out of her seat and run away as far as possible, or at least to you, since you were her best friend after all and you could calm her down with just a touch. 

But Wanda calms down when you walk back in and take your seat next to her, giving her your infamous smile despite the way she can tell you’re stressed due to your stiff posture, and it fills her heart with warmth. 

Pepper is still on the same slide as when you left, so you don’t think you missed much. 

“Diversity, equity, and inclusion are the three factors needed in running an office that feels safe to people of all background,” Pepper continues and you can tell that everyone is starting to get sick of the seminar. 

“How much did I miss?” you whisper in Wanda’s ear. 

“Barely anything,” she whispers back, and Wanda feels her nerves settling. “She’s been repeating the same thing in different ways for the past 5 minutes.” 

You let out a small laugh. 

And Wanda does too. 

And you both try your best to suppress your laughter for the next two minutes.

You sit there for a while trying your best to listen to Pepper’s speech, but it proves to be an incredibly hard struggle because her presentation voice is ridiculously robotic. 

“Excuse me, Pepper,” Sam states. 

“Yes?” 

“What’s diversity again?” 

God, this was going to be a long seminar. 

You were in the middle of zoning out for the third time when the phone rang, causing you to spring out of your seat and sprint out to answer it. 

“Mr. Deckerd!” you greet into the phone the second you get in your chair. “We didn’t lose your sale today, did we?” you chuckle. “Excellent! Okay..” you pull out a pen. “Let me just get your– What’s that? No, we didn’t, we didn’t close last time,” your brows furrow in confusion. 

“I just need your, uh–Oh! What code were you given?” you’re still confused. “Oh, okay. Yeah, no, he’s actually another salesman here.” Oh, now you realize what’s happened. “Yeah, I can redo it if you want to do that. He gave you a discount?” Well played. “No, no worries, I don’t blame you,” you reassure him. “Okay, thanks, have a great day, Mr. Deckerd, it was nice speaking to you.”

You slowly place the phone back onto its docking port, sighing, and putting your head in your arms on the table.  

It was official. 

Sam had stolen your biggest client. 

You walk back into the conference room with your hands in your pocket, noticing that Pepper is coming to the end of her presentation. 

You sit down, thinking about how you hope that Sam enjoys the mini champagne you left on his desk. 

Then, all of a sudden, you feel a soft weight on your right shoulder, causing you to snap out of your thoughts, and the scent of your favorite vanilla perfume fills your senses. 

You turn your head to take a closer look at her, and once you see her face, a huge smile breaks out across your own. 

Wanda Maximoff has fallen asleep on your shoulder. 

And it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Her features are soft and relaxed, devoid of all the stress the office usually brings her, and Wanda’s delicate beauty is completely on display for you to see. She looks ethereal, as if she’s been crafted piece by piece by every single goddess to ever exist. 

You stare at her for what feels like an eternity, and she seems so soft and so Wanda that it feels like a small delicate butterfly has landed on you, and you never want her to go away. 

The smile doesn’t leave your face as you do your best to sit as still as possible for the next few minutes in order to avoid waking Wanda up while Pepper wraps up her speech.

“All right, everyone, it’s after 5, so you’re all dismissed,” Pepper announces once her presentation comes to a close. “Hope you learned something today.” 

Slowly, everyone makes their way out, and you hear their soft muttering about how the seminar was completely useless as you watch them from your seat, careful not to disturb the brunette angel sleeping soundly on your shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you two were together,” Pepper says once everyone has left, packing up her bag.

“Hm?” you ask. 

“You and Wanda,” she points to you and the receptionist. “She seems very nice, you’re quite lucky.” 

“Oh!” you laugh. “No, Wanda and I aren’t dating. She’s engaged,” you clarify. “And yes, she’s wonderful.” 

Pepper laughs, “Oh, good to know. Sorry for assuming, she just seems very fond of you.” 

“No worries,” you reassure her, “I’m very fond of her too. She’s my closest friend,” you say, giving a small smile.

“Well, I wish you two the best. Have a good day, Y/N,” she waves goodbye to you. “And tell Wanda I’m sorry for making her uncomfortable during the seminar, I recently got out of a breakup and was looking for a distraction and she was the first thing I saw, but it was wrong of me,” she admits. 

You frown. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” you respond. “Thank you for letting me know, I hope things get better for you soon.” 

Pepper smiles and nods, heading out the door. 

As she walks out of the office she can see you staring through the window of the conference room, and she knows that Wanda’s not just a close friend to you.  

You and Wanda are left alone together, and you give her one last soft look before deciding to finally wake her up. 

“Hey,” you whisper causing Wanda to begin to stir. 

“Hm?” she asks groggily, rubbing her eyes, slowly coming back to her senses. "Oh,” she quietly murmurs, slowly blushing as she realizes she fell asleep on your shoulder and lifting her head off.  

“We can go now,” you let her know with a small chuckle. 

“Yeah, um, sorry,” she mumbles apologetically, getting up from her chair and grabbing her clipboard. 

“That’s okay,” you let her know with a soft laugh. 

“Um, I'll talk to you later,” she says shyly, walking out. 

“Yeah, talk to you later,” you agree, following her with a smile still on your face as you look at your shoes. 

And as you pack your bags, the phone at your desk where you lost your best client only a foot away, suddenly, it’s not a bad day anymore.

part 3

[theturtlelovers]

Hi! May I request, for the sentence prompts, number 5: “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.” For a female reader with Donnie who are bf and gf, and the reader is saying it to Don?

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Pairing: Donnie/GN!Reader Rating: Everyone Contents: The reader is implied to be female in request but can be interpreted otherwise, Donnie licks icing off of pop tarts Warnings: None Wordcount: 666

Notes: Hehe, getting back to knocking those requests down! It'll be a while before I even consider reopening requests, though.

What you were doing wasn't particularly new. It had become a routine to lovingly annoy your boyfriend until he had no choice but to turn his attention to you. Because miraculously, the moment he did, he would see you fluttering your lashes and sending him a sickeningly sweet smile dripping with feigned innocence. If it were his brothers, Donnie would be ready to scold them to the point they'd regret even being in the same proximity as him. Yet, because of that victory grin you would flash when you got him to look at you, he couldn't bring himself to do so.

And it was very interesting because you'd always find new ways to grab his attention.

One time, you texted him that you needed assistance at your apartment. Being the helpful lover he is, he came over ready to lend a hand, only to find that you had lied and just wanted to have dinner with him. Although annoyed as his mind was already recalling his list of tasks, he realized how hungry he was and how much he yearned for your touch. So, he ate the home-cooked food you made and then stayed even longer for movies. 

Another time was when he hadn't emerged from his lab for nearly an entire week. While you absolutely respected the effort and dedication he put into his work, you missed him, and he seriously needed to take care of himself. So you sat next to him and started reading. Out loud. Very monotonously. And it was the Bible! "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth," you began, your voice droning on in a blank tone. "And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.”

Donnie didn’t register it at first, but then he looked at you in absolute confusion.

"And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light," you continued, not missing a beat.

“What are you doing?” If he had eyebrows, they’d definitely be raised right now. In his confusion, he was trying to fight a smile creeping up.

You looked up from the overly thin pages of the scripture, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “What do you think? I’m reading till you love me again.”

The self-taught scientist rolled his eyes, his annoyed confusion forgotten. “Okay, okay, come here.” Then there was that smile.

This time, you decided to employ the most annoying yet basic tactic to garner his attention: poking him repeatedly. Leo had once again clumsily broken the toaster, and it was out of commission. Donnie wanted to be able to toast his Pop-Tarts before licking the icing off later, so repairing the toaster was an absolute must.

It was hard to do that, though, when you slid in like a worm (he’d still love you as a worm; you’d be beneficial in different ways) and started poking him.

The first few pokes didn’t bother him at first. They were so fleeting and feathery he didn’t really care that you were touching him. They weren’t impeding his work.

But then they got a bit harder. And longer. And it was actually affecting his ability to think since you were choosing to poke random spots.

“I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

Donnie took a deep breath and slowly turned to you. You blinked at him blankly. God, he was so lucky was madly in love and your cute face and pretty lips- Donnie’s eyes closed for a moment. He took another deep breath and released it with a small shake of his head.

“Well, you certainly have it now.”

You did your little weird giggle as if you were some sort of gremlin. “Hehe! What’d the toaster do to Leo this time?”

While he recalled Leo’s version of the grand battle he had against the appliance, Donnie couldn’t help grinning when he saw the same smile you always have. Victory once again.

Tagging: @mrghostings, @whygz, @supershiny-raven Interested in getting tagged? Come check it out!

Like what you read? Check out my masterlist to see if you find anything else!

[strawberrystepmom]

izuku x f!reader. enemies to lovers au, workshopped with @izvmimi <33333 her follow up part can be found here. wc 3.6k.

With an exasperated sigh, Izuku points the remote that looks comically small in his hand toward the flat screen TV screwed into his office wall to turn the volume up the moment you come on screen. 

“This week, yet another family was displaced by the inaction of heroes. When the focus shifted from merely catching villains rather than protecting the public…”

Your voice drifts into a blur, the man choosing to focus on your mouth and how it’s moving rather than what you’re saying. Plush and soft, topped with camera ready shimmering gloss. Your eyes are wide and doe like, your cheeks round and trustworthy. You’re the picture of empathy, pretty and polished, immaculate in every way.

It certainly isn’t hard to imagine why VOHSV, Victims of Hero Supported Violence, picked you as their spokesperson. Who else could manage this busy talk show circuit with expert precision? Watching you play the crowd and hosts’ emotions like a violin makes him roll his eyes but he can’t deny you are damn good. 

Your message is infuriating to him and his colleagues but at least you look like heaven sent while spreading it. It’s probably why everything you say spreads like wildfire across the social media apps he has open on his unlocked phone that rests on his desk. 

He’s listened to your spiel enough times that he can already fill in the blanks of what you’re saying but he picks up the remote and turns the volume up an additional click to be certain you haven’t deviated from your usual points. Costly property damage, displacement, lack of available care to those affected by the trauma of villain attacks, blah, blah, blah.

The interviewer appears on screen as the camera pans, nodding at the last comment you made that Izuku didn’t care to actually listen to.  

“And how does your organization suggest the Commission begin combating these issues?”

The camera is quick to pan back to you with your perfect smile, teeth striking and bright and dazzling. The man watching from his oversized office and overstuffed chair clenches his fist watching you, uncertain if it’s annoyance or desire that fills his chest, but he doesn’t look away despite the flashing red light on his desk phone telling him he’s being paged by his assistant. 

“I am personally calling upon the top heroes to do better.” Your smile doesn’t waver and the camera zooms in on your head and shoulders, allowing your next impassioned plea to land directly where you intend it to. “Deku, you claim you care, yet you are responsible for the most costly property damage caused by a hero in Japanese history. How do you explain that with that big smile plastered on your face?”

Bold of you to be taunting the man chuckling humorlessly from his desk about plastered on smiles with a high definition flat screen sized Cheshire grin of your own on your face but he appreciates the audacity. 

“Be a hero instead of just talking about being one.”

Perhaps if your life’s path were different you’d be a hero just like him or maybe he’d even be you, full of righteous anger toward those who only wish to help no matter the means. Or collateral. 

Without thinking, Izuku pulls his phone off of the top of his desk and his jaw slackens when he presses the little pen in the corner of the current most popular app in the app store. The speed of his thumbs is almost impressive, big hands on a little phone screen won’t stop the number one hero, and he smirks when his phone pings letting him know his post has gone live. 

Deku (@fight4smiles)

Name the time and place, VOHSV. I’ll gladly drop a check by to cover some of the damage you allege I’ve been doing. 

He gets to see your reaction in real time, the camera panning from you to the interviewer who grins excitedly, pressing on their in ear microphone and back. The man chuckles to himself, swinging back and forth in his chair, lips curved into a smirk. 

“It appears the current number one hero has responded to your challenge. He’s willing to meet.”

Your smile droops but you’re quick to put it back in place, brows raised and head nodding wildly. The adversarial relationship between the two of you is nothing new, Deku having spent the better part of this entire year ducking and dodging your direct invitations to speak with the VOHSV. 

He watches you smack your lips together and purse them, primly placing your hands in your lap and laughter comes easily. It’s no big deal to him to cut a check to help put some buildings back together, the many zeros on the end of his bank balance just one of the many perks of being at the top but it has never been about that for him.

Deep down, he knows he’ll never change your mind about your crusade but he would love to shut you up at least for a little while. 

“How brave of him to finally step up. I will be reaching out to him soon with details.”

The red light on Izuku’s desk phone continues to blink wildly and just as he leans forward to answer it, his office door opens and his assistant stares at him with disbelief with the current number two Dynamight hot on their heels, pulling his mask off of his head and gently shoving them out of the way.

The assistant scurries back to their position outside of Deku’s office as quickly as possible, allowing the men privacy.

“Why did you do that?” 

Izuku looks down at his cell phone and tosses it on his desk with a relaxed shrug. He catches a glance at your pretty face one last time before shutting the TV off, tossing the remote aside and turning his attention toward Katsuki with his arms folded over his chest. 

“You know that you’re giving them what they want, right? Giving these shitheads attention is just going to create more of ‘em.”

More of them - outspoken victims’ rights activists. VOHSV is simply one of many groups that have cropped up over the last several years as hero academies have continued to churn out bigger and better heroes with every graduating class. It has been a decade since Izuku and Katsuki graduated and the classes after them have only become stronger, a source of pride for both of the men, given their hefty donations to their alma mater. 

Sure the battles have become bigger, spectacles to be adapted into films and documentaries later, but isn’t that what being a hero is all about? What’s left behind after you save the day, no matter who may be affected?

The heroes of today are simply doing what they’ve been taught to do and that’s save the day no matter the cost. It’s hard to hold it against them when it’s systemic and historically that has been the main reason why most advocacy groups have fallen apart but not the VOHSV. They are succeeding because they have you, coiffed to perfection and ready to take anyone you can to task, including the devilishly handsome and arrogant man topping the hero charts.

Izuku sighs, his phone buzzing persistently on the desk in front of him. It’s certainly his agent or his PR team or someone eager to scold him for what he’s done so he ignores it, sliding the little piece of metal aside.

“I’d care more if their points were valid but we both know they aren’t. I’ll cut a check, flash a smile, and hopefully make their mouthpiece look silly enough she’ll stop doing press circuits. It seems like a winning situation to me.”

Bakugou snorts, unimpressed with the answer.

“What if this backfires and you look stupid?”

Izuku’s phone continues to buzz and he opens his desk drawer, sliding the device inside rather than deal with the issue at hand. He’ll comfort everyone later, what matters the most to him right now is when you’ll be brave enough to reach out to show him your hand. Right now, he has you backed into a corner and he simply wants to watch you make your way out of it, smug that he’s the one who has you pinned there.

“Impossible. People don’t take these organizations seriously enough for me to look stupid.”

Katsuki snorts, leaning against the door frame rather than fully entering the office. He was asked to stop by earlier this week, the two of them supposed to be ironing out details to appear at a hospital opening in another part of the city, but the task has clearly been put aside for a petty online feud headed by the Beacon of Hope himself.

“I think you’re already stupid.”

Izuku offers a curt smile and nods at his friend.

“I’ll take that into consideration along with all of your other opinions, don’t worry.” 

Any further argument between the two is cut short when Deku’s assistant bursts back onto the scene, peeking around the door frame. 

“Uh…the VOHSV spokesperson is on the phone for you, Mr. Midoriya.”

Izuku laughs and raises his brows, shifting forward in his chair and pressing the flashing line one button indicating a call is waiting. He presses his thick finger to his lips to encourage Bakugou and his assistant to be quiet and he hits the speaker button immediately.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

It takes all of you not to toss your phone across the room at the sound of his voice through your speaker. You’re in the back of a chauffeured vehicle, phone pressed to your ear so hard you swear that your cheek and head are going to hurt later, nursing a bottle of water in your free hand. 

You weren’t expecting to hear from him so soon, either.

“I figured since you are so eager and have so much to say we may as well get this over with. We have an event on Friday night and you will be forwarded the details on location and attire and we are anticipating your donation of over five million yen. It will help many who have been harmed due to your recklessness.”

The blood pulsing in his ears makes the room seem smaller, the walls caving in on him with your words. You’re so adversarial toward him, so eager to bite and nip and bat with your claws out, and he wants to know why. What happened to make you distrust people like him so much? 

Remembering he’s the one who has you backed into a corner, he shifts in his chair and tents his fingers on the desk in front of him.

“I’ll have your check, don’t worry. I won’t let you look silly in front of the fourteen VOHSV supporters you have to impress.”

You scoff incredulously. There is something seriously wrong with this man, his arrogance blinding his common sense. Your fingers ache where they grip into the metal sides of your phone and the driver keeps shifting his gaze from the road to the mirror to see your face twist into varying degrees of frustration and anger. Taking a deep breath, you let your lips curve into a smile and narrow your eyes. 

Focus. You have him where you want him.

“I didn’t realize this conversation was meant for stooping to petty insults but I can’t say I’m shocked. It’s hardly a surprise you refuse to take anyone else’s safety given your own personal record of injured civilians while you’re handling villain attacks.”

Bakugou’s jaw drops and Izuku leans forward to lift the phone from its cradle, pressing the button to turn it off speaker at near record speed. It takes all of his self control to keep from snapping the cord in two knowing it would effectively end the call and thus his opportunity to antagonize you further.

“Well, you aren’t the only one who has done their homework. We pulled a profile on you months ago and know your entire background. You have no relevant experience that would allow you to criticize heroes the way that you do. Put yourself in our shoes.”

You snort from the other end of the phone, impressed by how bad he is at lying. Arrogance has truly won out over any logic this man may have in his entire body and you suck your teeth, jaw slackening because you have truly won this round.

“See, Deku, here’s the thing. If you were telling the truth about anything you just said then you would already know that I am a graduate of an international hero academy. I have been where you are, or at least wanted to be, but then I came to my senses. I used to hope you’d be able to do the same but it appears my faith was misplaced.”

Now Izuku’s jaw drops, his emerald eyes darting across the room as though the words he needs will magically spring forth from the walls. Sadly, nothing happens and he sits there with his mouth agape dumbly. 

“I look forward to seeing you on Friday. Don’t forget that check.”

You pull the phone from your ear and end the call, laughing to yourself knowing that you left this cocky asshole speechless. He mimics your motion in his own office, pulling his desk phone from his ear and placing it back where it belongs. As badly as he wants to be frustrated by the loss to you, he’s impressed by how easily you hit back without an ounce of fear or worry of what you’re getting yourself into.

A woman as beautiful as she is brave and irritating.

He feels his cock stiffen slightly in his sweatpants the longer he thinks about it and frowns, immediately thinking of exploding buildings and grandmas to distance himself from the fact he’s into how eagerly you spar with him.

His assistant and Bakugou both stare at him, his friend laughing and turning on his heel to leave, waving dismissively.

“Like I said Deku, you’re already stupid. Have fun on Friday.”

Izuku’s assistant follows suit and closes the door behind them, giving him time to lick his wounds.

The rest of the week continues like his weeks usually do. He’s called four times to handle villain attacks, each one ending a little less destructive than the last, and Thursday is when he sees you on TV again, smiling brightly on a different talk show in the same time slot you were in on Monday.

He keeps the TV muted, uninterested in what you have to say about the people he saved this week, but he watches your mouth move silently. His eyes narrow every time your tongue darts out, the tip of it wetting your bottom lip and his freckled cheeks heat when your lips twist into that winning smile. 

That damned smile.

This man has made bringing smiles to faces his entire personality since the day he zipped up his prototype suit years ago, vowing on that day to work as hard as he could no matter how bleak things seemed. It worked and it’s what he’s known for, joy and hope and safety the things he strives for the most. 

Watching you smile while calling his character into question makes him simultaneously furious and hard again and he has to cross his legs and imagine those same exploding buildings when you press your lips together on the screen in front of him. 

A knock on the office door captures his attention and his assistant opens the door, clipboard in hand.

“You have a tux fitting for tomorrow.”

Reaching for the remote he turns his TV off and rises with a nod. Everyone knows you have to look your very best for your biggest battles and he has no intention of showing up to meet you face to face looking like anything less than a magazine cover.

He just never imagined you’d do the same yet here you stand, 8 pm on Friday night, draped in dazzling gold silk that hugs every inch of your body. You’re taller than he expected, one long leg jutting from the slit in your dress and elegant neck draped in simple jewelry.

You’re beautiful in a way that TV did little to capture and the arrogant man finds himself speechless when you hold out your hand in his direction, grinning at him. He searches for hidden fangs and finds none, just perfect pretty teeth.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier this week, this organization is my passion and it gets the best of me sometimes.”

Your words catch him off guard so he just nods and shakes your hand. If you notice his sweaty palm you keep it to yourself and he internally chides himself for his nerves. He is the fucking number one hero, his face is plastered on every single corner of Japan, and he needs to remember that. 

“Hey, we all have bad days. I’m just glad to be here to shed some light on a small cause.”

Your smile dims and his widens, your palm quickly leaving his. Heat simmers in your core and you feel disgusted by your own desire. Sure, he’s one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen - all big muscles that his tuxedo does little to hide and pretty green waves falling over his face but he’s also the biggest asshole you’ve had the unfortunate luck of meeting.

Drawing your hands close to your body, you fight the urge to petulantly fold your arms over your chest, and he digs in his pocket to produce the check he promised. He holds it out in your direction and you pluck it from his hand, eyes widening when you notice that the amount written on the check is far larger than the five million yen previously discussed. 

“Doubled your donation. Very kind of you, Deku.”

He smirks and you feel warm again, cheeks heating in perfect time with your core. Perhaps it’s the glass of champagne you downed an hour ago to calm your nerves or the low lighting of the event space but he is undeniably attractive and you are undeniably attracted to him.

A terrible realization to come to while face to face with a man you called a liar and a fraud four short days ago.

Izuku enters your space and crowds around you, dipping his head low enough that his mouth is just above your ear. He’s bigger than you expected, an entire head taller than you, and you feel overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne and the way he carries himself. He has the demeanor of a man who knows he’s the shit and as much as it aggravates you, it thrills you too, the same heat lashing through your stomach with every flutter of his long lashes.

“Call me an optimist but I think we can still salvage a friendship out of this situation.”

You laugh, shaking your head and clutching the check he provided to your chest.

“There’s an after party starting soon if you don’t have more buildings to go destroy. I’m sure the rest of the VOHSV team would love to thank you personally for your generous donation.”

The hero presses his lips together and raises his brow, blazing green eyes meeting yours. The tension between the two of you is so thick that even the most unaware onlooker would feel it but the room is relatively empty and you’re grateful for it.

“Maybe I only want one person to thank me for my donation.”

Raising a brow to match his, you purse your lips and quickly consider your options. You could give in to the undeniable attraction, a sordid affair with a man you seek to change as part of your life’s work couldn’t possibly be good for optics if you were to be exposed. You could walk away and publicly embarrass him but that doesn’t sound like fun either so you do what you do best - think on your feet and hide your true intentions behind big doe eyes and a winning smile.

“There’s a powder room down that hall, last door on the right,” you motion to a corridor to your left and his eyes follow your movements. “Be there in ten minutes.” 

Izuku nods, moving enough to allow you to slip past him and he watches the way your dress shifts across your ass with each step you take away from him. He isn’t going to bother to be polite anymore knowing what is coming next, his mouth watering at the mere thought of watching that pretty little dress drop to the ground below both of your feet while he uncovers the treasure beneath it. 

His half hard cock presses against the zipper of his tuxedo pants and he doesn’t bother to adjust himself, taking a shortcut that keeps him against the wall and away from prying eyes to the hallway you instructed him to follow. Each step makes his cock throb and he groans when he reaches for the door handle, wondering what he’ll find when he opens it.

Twisting the handle, he chuckles humorlessly when his eyes fall upon an empty powder room. A large mirror framed by lights with a small sink and counter in front of it are all he finds and he shakes his head, eyes falling upon a folded piece of paper sitting on the counter.

Flicking the paper open with his thumb and index finger, he frowns at the words he reads first.

Better luck next time.

Followed by your name signed in delicate penmanship he traces the tip of his thumb over. The ink is still wet and it smears, his thumb marked with black. His eyes trail further down the note and spot your number below your name, the ink the digits were written in still shining.

At least you leaving your number tells him there will certainly be a next time.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Comforting Pino after a long day...

~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~

This is a commission of sorts I've been working on a while, coming back to it now and then, as my college work has been very demanding as of late so I haven't been able to dedicate much time on it 🥲

(The premise is that he gets back to the hotel very early in the morning, hoping to just remove his legion arm and climb into bed with you, but he doesn't find you in your room so he's all :( until he finds you leaving the kitchen with a cup of milk and honey because you can't sleep, and he just hugs you. He tries to explain, but he just can't get the words out and gets a bit frustrated with himself so you Just give lots of soft reassurance and comfort as you help remove his legion arm to get fixed in the morning, setting it Eugenie's workbench to be looked at, and you just pull him into your bed and stroke his hair and speak to him till he feels better. I may have wandered off track a little, but I hope you enjoy it!)

~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~~⚜️~

~As the veil of twilight fell upon the derelict streets of Krat, Pino found himself at wits ends. No matter how persistent Gemini was with his encouraging crickets and chirps, his mood refused to shift. At this point it was as sodden and groggy as the cobblestone streets were. With every fleeting encounter of clashing blades and flying sparks, he only found himself growing more and more irate.

His legion arm was practically immobile at this point, the fleeting moments of rest in-between fights were spent rolling his shoulder- and all Pino could do was lightly grimace as his shoulder popped and creaked.

Broken.

With such a bitter way to end the evening, Pino could only clench his jaw and straighten his posture.

~ "we better get that fixed up real quick, huh pal?". Gemini chirped from the confinement of his lantern, at which Pino only held his breath back and huffed softly. His expression fed-up and sullen, and continued his way onwards all the while ignoring Geminis cautious little whines of 'you annoyed at me Pino?'

~ the warm glow of the hotel illuminated in the darkened sky was a welcoming sight, a beacon of light and safety, and it eases pino's clenched fists a little. The lit lamps flickered with warmth, contrast to the cold glimmering starlight amongst the heavens, and pino's footsteps quickened in pace as he hurried to the hotel entrance. Eager to feel the embrace of warmth- and most importantly, the sight of you waiting patiently for him.

~ shouldering the heavy door open, he peers around the golden entrance hall- crimson and amber filling the room, whilst the stargazer glimmered with a cold blue light- Sophia poised solemnly, seemingly in deep thought.

Pino wastes no time searching the room for you, glass jeweled eyes peering around, before his brows knit a little  in confusion.

You weren't there...

~ as if he has brought the rain in with him, his face falls once again. With his brow fallen and his eyes glassy and blank, he sets himself on the task of finding you- the desire to be within your presence burning within him wildly to the point it was the only thing driving him forward. At this point, it burnt brighter than the ergo within him.

~ the door to your bedroom was closed, and your room was absent from your heartbeat and your breath and your voice... Pino stood dumbly at the door, a little voice that wasn't Geminis whispering poisonous words in his head.

They're gone. They've left. They don't need you. They've found a human to be with. What did you expect?

~ "Pino?"

~ the swiftness of his head turning caught you off guard a little, almost making you drop the steaming porcelain cup of warm milk that you've been cradling in hot palms ever since you left the kitchen. The sound of your voice felt like he had just been pulled out of the deep end- his saviour.

Your puppet companion stood tall in the lavish hallway- out of place, like a ghostly phantom. Drenched like a wet cat in oil and rain, there was something not quite right with him... The way he carried himself right now. Usually he is tall and confident and sure in all his silent will of steel- but now he seems like a weeping willow. Befallen, drooping. It was not him at all.

~ "hey- are you alright Pino?"

Like a sirens call, he follows.

~ the way he walks alarms you. He looks... hurt. Eager, but hurt.

At first- he seems to stumble, a misguided step that practically has him slumped against you, and it takes every strained muscle in your body to not allow his weight to take you down with him. With your arms clumsily steadying him by his waist, his head falls into your shoulder- an idle hand palming the curve of your side before his face comes out of its retreat from the warm crook of your neck, the chill of his nose pressing against your cheek barely registering in your head.

~ he looks so tired- which was startling. Surely puppets didn't get tired, right? Although Pino was a unique puppet, so who was to say...

~ "oh no..." you gasp softly, peering agastly at pino's arm- which appeared in rather poor shape.

His expression stills at your concern- before he rolls his shoulder, which only creaks and startles you more by the irate jagged sounds it makes.

With a knit in his brow, his lips part as if to speak- but nothing more than a silent breath passes by his porcelain lips, and it only seems to deepen the knot in his expression.

~ after ushering him into your room, you begin to lightly inspect his arm with your touch, your fingertips run up the grooves of his wrist up to his forearm, where a rather large gash was torn into it. Like a broken doll limb, and you force yourself to leave your warm milk and honey to be forgotten on your chest of drawers.

With a few words of assurance, you help him take it off, and you're so careful with him whilst doing so he can't help but admire you as you do so, the tension in his body unwinding from your gentle touches.

Pino is still drenched in rain and oil, his pale porcelain skin splotched dark and glossy stains, and you could feel that there was smear of it on your cheek where he had nuzzled against you earlier.

~ running the bath, you turn to see Pino standing behind you, unmoving- his gaze piqued in interest of the running water and the foaming bubbles.

Seeing him make no move, you do so yourself. Lightly ushering him to you, he follows without question, and he stands perfectly still as you begin to unbutton his shirt and lightly tug it down his shoulders. Only then do you realise that he's staring at you, and you can't help but retreat away a little in embarrassment because you've just hurried to undress him all the while he looked at you so endearingly and devoted. His doe eyes are all droopy and gentle as he gazes at you softly.

~ Pino reaches for you, wanting to gather you close, before realising he's only got one arm to embrace you- so he gently manouvers his remaining one around your shoulders to pull you to his chest. A soft hum leaving him as your arms wrap around his waist, his face resting contently against the crown of your head. His lips brushing over your hairline.

~ his hand lightly prodding your shoulder to get your attention, before he timidly signs you a thank you :(

~ giving him privacy to clean, you throw a spare shirt that he had learnt you earlier for him to wear on the bed. You work diligently to make the room as cosy as possible- snuffing out candles and drawing curtains, the faint glow of the oil lamp on the bedside table illuminating the room just a little. You also peel your now slightly damp and messy clothes off and change into fresh pyjamas, after all you practically got hugged by a sopping wet puppet 😅

~ appearing at the doorway of your en suite is pino, now fresh and clean. Helping him into the shirt, as he struggles a little with only one arm- you gesture invitingly to the bed with a tired smile.

Pino expression speaks enough, his face elating subtly at your words. Expecting him to huddle under the covers, you're startled as he suddenly picks you up with one arm and flops you both onto the bed- his sturdy arm embracing you close to his chest, and his soft smiling face nuzzled soundly into your chest.

~ for the remainder of your night, Pino's lonesome and poisonous thoughts dissolve like seafoam in the warmth of your body against his. His doubts and worries seep away like the blackened bathwater down the drain. Nestled in the embrace of your heartbeat and breath, he falls into a peaceful state of rest. He's not quite sleeping, but he's also not quite conscious... Like a deep state of vulnerability, and he does so willingly because he knows he's safe with you. There is no need to be on guard, nor survey his surroundings, because he's with you right now and you always make everything ok

<3

[solarisfortuneia]

✦ info: moments where they come to your rescue. kinda.

✦ featuring: kaeya, wanderer.

✦ warnings: spiders, injuries.

✦ notes: posting (or reposting, in this case) all the works i can with kaeya in them before the ebg <3

kaeya.

a loud scream pierces through the quiet air, and he startles, knocking over a bottle of ink with his elbow. dark liquid slowly spreads over oak and fortunately blank paper; but he pays it no mind; all he can feel is familiar anxiety wrapping ugly tendrils around his lungs.

his feet almost fly across the floor in his effort to find you as quickly as he can. he flings open the kitchen door with a bang, out of breath from worry, not exertion, calling your name.

“what happened?” he takes long strides towards you, finding you huddled up in a corner. his hands gently grip your face and he searches your panicked eyes for hints of what may have scared you.

you point to the far side of the room, eyes wide. “there’s a spider!”

“what?” he asks, unsure of what he just heard from your lips.

“spider! over there!” you frantically wave your arms in that direction. he follows your movement, and sees a tiny house spider on the wall, unassuming and unintimidating.

the tendrils vanish, and kaeya throws his head back in laughter. “you yelled that loudly over a tiny, tiny spider?”

you make a face at him, offended by him laughing. "i don't like them, okay?"

"i don't like grape juice, but you don't see me screaming about it, my love." he coos at your expression, pinching your cheeks and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"you rant enough about it, though." you swat at his hands. "just get rid of it without killing it, please?"

"oh? but i think we should let our little friend stay a while. perhaps we could give them a name?" an eye of moonshine sparkles with mirth. "i wonder what would fit this itsy-bitsy spider?"

"kaeya alberich, i swear to archons above—"

he holds his hands up in surrender. "alright, alright. can't have my sweetheart be mad at me, now, can i?"

he swiftly entraps it in a glass and slowly shoos it outside. "there. it's gone now." he turns to you with a mischievous grin.

(good luck, you're never living this down.)

wanderer.

"tch," he grumbles. "when will you stop being so clumsy?"

"i'm not clumsy, the ground was just uneven," you say, sitting down on a nearby rock. "besides, scrapes and bruises are a standard part of commissions." you rummage through your bag for antiseptic solution and some bandages.

"you can't even do a simple commission without getting hurt; at this rate i'll have to accompany you on all of them." he shoves your hands away gently, a contrast to his tone. "i'll do it," his hands make quick work of bandaging your wound, ever-so-carefully.

and after he's done, he softly pats your bandaged knee as if to soothe it. and as you stand up, his gaze never leaves your form, as if to make sure you'd be okay with walking on your own.

you bend down to retrieve your items, but he beats you to it.

you call his name. "hey, i can hold my own bag." you reach for it, trying to pull it out of his hands. "it's not fair if you hold everything, let me carry something too."

"you want to hold something?" he looks in your direction. "fine, hold this." he slips his hand into yours, hoisting your bag on the other. almost as if it was an afterthought, he adds, "so you don't fall again."

"sure," you agree. "so i don't fall again. but i still feel bad about you carrying every—" you're cut off by him plopping his hat on your head.

"there, you have something else. don't complain." a slight red dusts his cheeks, and he looks ahead, resuming your journey back home.

"okay," you say, acquiescing.

he's so cute.

[drabblesandimagines]

Portrait

Joshua Rosfield x (painter) female reader Commissioned piece, 4,600 words (minor end game spoilers) Thank you so much for the commissioner for commissioning me in the first place and for letting me share here with you all! x

“No, no, no.” You’d swear the woman before you should be stomping her foot along to her words, her mannerisms being similar to those of a petulant child not getting their way.

The Empress of Sanbreque is usually a picture of decorum – carefully composed expression, hands clasped, never a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in her gown – but her façade appears to have cracked for she is scowling at you with clenched fists by her side. “Did you not understand my directions?”

You open your mouth, and quickly shut it again. Your mind is blank on an answer, probably looking foolish as you do so. You look at the portrait you’d unveiled moments ago for her private viewing, trying to see what she’s taken umbrage with, though you’re sure you followed her instructions to the letter.

“Your Grace, I-”

She raises her hand, stopping you before you can even begin a defense.

“It is quite clear that you did not.” Olivier, her three-year-old son and the subject of the portrait, sits at her feet, disturbingly well-behaved for his age, even for one of noble blood and upbringing. His eyes almost seemed lifeless at times – unnervingly so – with a cruel smile that was beyond his years. You’d tried to soften it out, is that what had upset her so?

“His Grace has been most pleased with my previous works.” You’d been brought in under the Empreror’s service first – endless commissions of he and the crown prince to celebrate every momentous occasion over the last few years.   

“His Grace has, yes, but only of Prince Dion.” The way she pronounces Bahamut’s name is as if it leaves a foul taste on her tongue. “But these won’t do at all for my darling Olivier.” She pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation as she casts her eyes over your work once more. You swallow your pride. After all, it is far better to keep in the Empress’ good books than make an enemy of. “I will start anew-” “No – I’ve seen enough. You are dismissed, without pay. Come, Olivier.”

He grabs her hand obediently, but not without throwing you one last cruel smile.

--

Although you knew it would be difficult to remain in the city, you hadn’t expected a group of soldiers to appear at your door that very evening – armed with swords and spears, one holding a scroll of decree and beginning to read to you the moment after your name was confirmed.

“By decree of Empress Anabella Lesage, you are hereby commanded to leave Orinflamme at once.”

“Leave?” You’d planned to move – you knew her handmaidens would make quick work of spreading the gossip of your dismissal, whispering in certain noble ears to make sure the word spread far and wide – but to be banished altogether?

“Leave.” The captain of the guard confirmed, no sign of emotion on his face. “Refusal to comply will be seen as treason, of which the punishment is execution. You are to be gone by sunrise.”

You look around your small abode, trying to work out what you could possibly pack up and take in such a small timeframe – could you scrape enough gil together to rent a chocobo for the travel?

“Furthermore, all of your possessions are now the property of Empire. You may, however, retain the clothes upon your person.” The way in which he says it makes you think that he believes that is being far too generous.

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice calls and the crowd of guards splits. Prince Dion Lesage, regaled in the armour of the Dragoons and spear at his side, walks forward with purpose.

“My prince, there is no need to trouble yourself with such matters as these.”

“The Emperor himself requested my presence to make sure the Empress’ wishes are fulfilled. If you will excuse us, I assure you I have it handled from here and you may return to your other duties.” He casts a scathing eye over the seven men. “I doubt this task required this many of you either.”

“Yes, my prince.” The captain replies, tersely, with only a slight bow of his head, but none of the men make to move quite yet.

Dion’s hand tightens around the hilt of his spear and you are rendered speechless as he grabs you by the crook of your elbow and pulls you forward, out of your home – not even a chance to glance around and bid it goodbye - past the assembled guards and starts to lead you towards the city gates in long strides.

“I am sorry, my lady,” Dion says, softly, trying to avoid prying ears. You have always been fond of the crown prince – he had always treated you kindly in your interactions during portrait sitting sessions over the last few years. “I tried to speak to the Emperor to overturn the Empress’ command as soon as word reached me, but he would not be swayed.”

Your eyes widen at the idea. “Prince Dion, you shouldn’t have. That is far more kindness than I deserve.”

“Nonsense,” he chides. “I just wish I could do more. I saw the portrait before the Empress commanded it destroyed. I cannot think what has offended her so – it was the spitting image of Olivier.” He drops your elbow at last and retrieves a pouch off his belt, holding it out to you. “It isn’t much – shamefully, I am not adept of carrying gil around on my person – but hopefully it will be enough to see you through your travel.”

“No, your highness,” you shake your head. “I couldn’t possibly accept.”

“You must,” he presses the pouch firmly in your hand. “Do not make me order it so. It will be a long journey ahead - my concern is Northflame is too close to be out of the Empress’ influence.”

“I’ll head to Port Isodole – enough nobles reside there for me to gain employment once more, I’m sure of it.”

--

It was tricky upon your arrival to Port Isodole. You wanted to remain positive that you’d be commissioned on reputation alone by some of the Imperial nobles who resided there. Unfortunately, it soon became clear that the word had already wormed its way into eager ears, and those who sought the Empress Anabella’s favour wouldn’t dare to associate with someone she’d dismissed so blatantly and banished from the city itself.

You’d made do with work as a barmaid, part of your wages taking up with your food and board. Slowly, you’d built up your art supplies over the years and remained positive. Afterall, you could have had much worse luck in life than what you’d faced.

Finally, you decided to take a few of landscape pieces to market, hoping that surely enough time had passed - the Mothercrystal had been felled, Orinflamme abandoned in consequence, so why would the people of Port Isodole still hold such regard for the word of an Empress now stationed so far away?

“My dear, these are truly wonderful.” His voice is boomingly loud, surely drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. A tall, stocky, bearded man, dressed in finery looked in awe at your display and you so hoped pockets heavy with gil might be in store. “I feel as if I’m actually there, casting my eyes across the horizon once more.”

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything you’re looking for in particular?” “Mayhaps - do you dabble in portraiture?” “I do… or I did. It’s been a little while.”

“And who is your patron?”

“My… patron?” You hesitate, wary now that this is where Anabella’s tarnishing of your name would lead to your undoing.

“With a talent such as this, you must have one.”

“Well, I-“

“Lord Byron”, a man interrupts, looking scornfully at you and keeping his distance. A beautiful woman is hanging off his arm and looking mortified by the whole thing. “I’d be wary of her. Empress Anabella dismissed her from her services.”

“Oh… Oh, my.” He sets his face in a solemn expression and your heart sinks. “Thank you, my good man.” Byron nods his head, giving the man a hearty pat on the back and begins to walk away with the couple. You feel as if you may cry. Maybe coming here was a mistake, but it was as far as you could’ve gone with the gil Dion had kindly given you. Is Anabella’s scorn going to follow you round forever?

You try and steel your resolve for other potential customers – who would want to purchase anything from a tearful merchant? - though many pass without giving your wares so much as a second glance. A cloaked man strides past, hand scuffing your table as he does. At first you think he meant to swipe something from it, but there is only an addition in the form of a letter.

You lean over the table and pick it up, breaking the wax seal.

My sincerest apologies for how we parted. If you would be so kind, please attend the manor this evening and dine with me. I wish to discuss your talent further and, if I may, commission you, the Empress Anabella be damned. – Lord Byron Rosfield.

--

Lord Byron had heard tale of your portraits, it had turned out, but he still wished to see your work first hand before he would tell you what he truly wanted. A workroom was set up for your disposal, a plethora of supplies that made your eyes water at the potential cost, but he had waved it off, declaring himself a lover of the arts. He’d marveled at your portrait of him and bid you come the next day to see the project in full he wished to discuss. As you entered the workroom, the large table had been covered in rolls of what you thought were parchment, but instead turned out to be precious segments of his dear brother’s portrait – the former Archduke of Rosaria, Elwin.

“I fear it is far beyond repair – I was lucky to salvage enough as I did - but I wondered if you would be up for the challenge of a recreation.”

“I can certainly try. There’s definitely enough of his face to base from. And I have your likeness, my lord, to assist.”

--

“Oh, Uncle,” Clive has tears in his eyes as he beholds the new addition to Byron’s parlor. “It is just as I remembered – he is just as I remembered. How did you even get hold of this? I thought everything destroyed after the siege.”

“The original was beyond saving, torn and burnt in places, yes. This, my dear boy, I had it commissioned, using parts of the original as a guide. You see, I have taken into my patronage a very talented artist – allow me to fetch her.”

Joshua’s breath had been stolen when he saw the painting of his father. He could swear if he stared long enough, the eyes would blink in return, that he would see his father’s chest rise with breath once more. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be proud of the man he’d grown to be, if he had done the Phoenix proud before the Eikons were stripped from the world.

A warm palm rests on his shoulder. “It is like he is the room once more, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, brother. Quite remarkable. I… I worried I had forgotten his face, after all this time, but this…”

Clive squeezes his shoulder then, no more words needed.

The silence is soon interrupted by the heavy footsteps of their uncle as the door is thrown open.

“Lord Bryon,” you protest, trying to step back but his hand on your back remains firm, “My apologies, but I really am in no state to-”

“Nonsense, my girl!” It is too late for you are pushed in front of two of the most handsome men you think you have seen.

You curtsy, clumsily, and Joshua can’t help but grin. He said you were to meet his nephews and, as he was a lord, they deserved the same respect, however Bryon hadn’t even given you chance to wash your hands, nor check your face in the mirror for errant paint streaks before he’d ushered you to the parlor.

“My dearest nephews, allow me to introduce the talented painter behind this masterpiece.”  

Your cheeks feel hot, a little flustered in the way which Byron had pulled you in front of his nephews with no preparation. Joshua thanks the Founder that he was stood where he was, meaning that he gets to make your acquaintance first. Byron introduces you by name and turns to the blonde first, beaming.

“This is my youngest nephew – Joshua.” You offer out your hand but also curtsy again, forgetting yourself in the fluster. The Empress Anabella would not have stood for it. Before you can retreat your hand with an apology, Joshua takes it in his hand and drops to his knee, pressing a kiss across the back of it.

“It is a pleasure to meet the talented woman behind the masterpiece.”

“Oh,” your eyes light up and Joshua delights in it, already thinking of how he can achieve the same rush. “Thank you – that’s very kind. I admired Archduke Elwin very much – it was an honour to pay tribute to his memory.” Joshua slowly gets to his feet and relinquishes your hand.

“I… I served under your mother – the Empress Anabella - for a time.”

“Yes, before she was exiled for a portrait of Oliver Lesage not meeting her standards.”

“Ah. I pray you do not hold that against us.” Clive interrupts.

“Of course she doesn’t, my boy!” Byron booms once more. “This is my eldest nephew, Clive. Quite the rogue.”

“Uncle,” Clive gently admonishes. “I cannot see why our mother would be displeased with your work. This is… I feel like I can reach out and touch him. You’ve captured him remarkably well.”

You duck your head down in embarrassment, not used to receiving such amounts of praise. The Emperor would nod his approval, make no comment on style or substance, so to have the three sing your praises is a little overwhelming.

“Thank you.” You nod at Clive, a small smile across your lips and Joshua feels a twang in his chest at the sight of it – odd.

“And now this one is complete, I dare say we mu-“

The parlor door is swung open with a bang. Gav stands there, panting, hands on his knees to try and catch his breath. “Sorry, like, but we gotta scram. Imperial soldiers heading this way – caught wind of Cid the Outlaw sniffing about.”

Joshua did not see you for another year.

Regrettably, other matters had taken precedence. Ultima at first, a period of recovery for both him and Clive – Dion lost in the fight, and then focus had turned to helping nations adapt to a crystal-free life and the rebuilding of Grand Duchy of Rosaria. Parts of the castle were still under construction, but the capital itself had been rebuilt and ready to usher in the new Archduke.

“Your grace,” a servant called, diverting his attention from the latest pile of missives left at his desk, “Lord Byron Rosfield has arrived.”

“Uncle!” Joshua beamed, descending the stairs from the castle into the courtyard where Byron was emerging from a carriage. “We were not expecting you quite yet.”

“My dear boy,” he pulled his nephew into a firm hug. “I’m afraid I was far too keen to give you your gift to wait any longer.”

“A gift, Uncle? You shouldn’t have.”

His eyes widen as you emerge from the carriage, a hesitant smile on your face as you nod your head in greeting.

“Nonsense! The Archduke needs a portrait to mark this historical day.”

“Your grace.” You begin, cautiously. “I’m not sure you remember me, but-“

“My lady,” he begins, slyly taking your hand and pressing a kiss against your knuckles in greeting. “Of course I do. I assure you I could not forget one of such talent, nor of such beautiful visage.”

“You are too kind, your grace.”

“Joshua – I insist.”

“Joshua.” The word feels precious on your tongue. “Lord Byron is quite keen for me to paint a portrait of you and your brother, though I’m aware that this is probably quite a busy time for you to have long sittings.”

“Nonsense. You are welcome to my time whenever you wish, my lady.”

--

Joshua would never openly admit to it, but he had been somewhat jealous of Clive in their childhood. Not of the distain his mother had shown towards her first-born son, no, but of the freedom that maternal neglect had permitted him. Though Clive had taken the burden of being the First Shield upon his shoulders without a word of complaint, it was not as if Joshua had asked to be the Dominant of the Phoenix, nor that he had a choice in the matter at all. So many people were relying on him, championing him on, but when he was laid up in bed, downing elixirs and tonics made by the castle healers, he didn’t feel as strong as he needed to be.

Clive could go out wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted without the watchful eye of Anabella or the gaggle of her handmaidens. He could wear whatever he pleased too, practical things, even. Joshua instead had been draped in the finest fabrics, shipped in from Dhalkmekia that he would be scolded over for dirtying even slightly.

He thought he was old enough to no longer experience such a childish notion as jealousy – he could wear what he wanted, go where he wanted, no longer burdened by Ultima in his chest or the Phoenix in his being… But the foul feeling is getting harder to ignore when he is forced to sit there as you grip Clive’s bicep, moving his arm a fraction of an inch to the left, or the way in which you shyly adjust his shirt, claiming it’s important to have the outfit the exact same in order for the shading, but you never show him the same courtesy. He had hoped for more private sittings, to have your company to himself – perhaps sitting shoulder to shoulder with Clive’s muscular form was doing him no favours - but Byron had requested the two men together in a portrait, so the sessions had been arranged for when they were both free so you could at least get the outlines down, as well as some initial colouring.

You tug Clive’s shirt down a little to try and get it to lay flat – face burning with how your hand ghosted across his muscular chest - it had ridden a little and bunched when he sat. Clive stared straight ahead, hands clasped, ever the gentleman, and Joshua found himself shuffling in position, hoping his shirt might misbehave.

The Founder does not bless him so, as you return back behind the canvas.

--

Joshua arrives for his sitting in a good mood for two reasons – one, it is just to be him as Clive is away in Eastpool for a day or so, and two, he had a plan.

He did have a morning and early afternoon of meetings and reports to get through, but he had promised the late afternoon and as much as the evening for his sitting to take place, and that is certainly enough time to put said plan into action.

“Hello,” You smile brightly as he enters, taking his usual position on the chair.  Joshua has his pose down to a fine art, whereas Clive needed more co-ercing to settle. “Are you sure you have time for this today? It might be a rather long one, I’m afraid I have a lot to get through as Lord Byron is keen for it to be ready for the day.”

“As I said, I am all yours for as long as you can stand me, my lady.”

You nod, stepping behind the canvas and pick up from where you left off. He doesn’t make his move for a good while, watching carefully as your eyes flick between the canvas and him and you begin to mix up paints once more, trial and error as usual as you worked diligently to find the right shade.

He makes his move when you turn back to the table to grab a clean brush, tugging the knot on the laces of his shirt clear and then shrugging his shoulder, revealing a little more of his chest than was previously on display.

You turn back round and your gaze flick between Joshua and the canvas once more… only for you to doubletake. He bites back a grin in celebration. It must be the candlelight playing tricks on your eyes because you could’ve sworn Joshua’s shirt laces were most definitely tied a moment ago. Mayhaps you should open a door – are the paint fumes going a little too much to your head after being sequestered in here all day long?

“Is everything all right?”

“Your, erm…” You put down the paint brush. “Your shirt laces have come undone.”

“Oh, have they?” He shrugs again, his top slipping down his shoulder a little more. “Oh, the shading, of course. My apologies.”

“That’s all right.” You wipe your hands clean on a rag, wondering how it had come quite so undone, before walking over to your subject. “May I?”

“By all means.”

You pull his shirt up his shoulder, lining it up with his ear -  a good reference point - and pull the laces taught to tie off once more. You step back, cock your head this way and that, and then forward again to adjust it once more.

“There.”

“Wonderful.”

You return back to the canvas and begin to paint, brow furrowed in concentration, whilst Joshua feels absolutely giddy that his plan had been somewhat successful in achieving your touch.

So much so, that he cannot resist a tug at the laces once more the very next time he sees you turn your back – this time to take a deep drink of water - shrugging his shoulder once more, so it reveals more of his collarbone. He composes his features, he can’t give the game away by grinning like a child.

You turn back after a few moments and this time notice immediately, opening your mouth to say something but not quite knowing what to say. You’re sure you tied the knot firmly enough to stay put.

“What is it, my lady?” He tilts his head in intrigue.

“Your… Your shirt, it’s come undone. Again.”

“No,” he feigns disbelief, looking down at his chest in surprise. “I only stretched, I assure you.”

“Of course – mayhaps I didn’t tie it tight enough.” You wipe your hands clean again on the rag and stride over, a little less cautious this time as you tug his shirt back up, now standing between his spread legs – when did that happen? - lining it up with his ear once again and tighten the laces before securing it in a knot. You nod, more to yourself, as you check over your handiwork and go to step back.

“Thank you.” Joshua catches your hand as you do so, stilling your retreat. “It is very admirable how dedicated you are to your work.”

“I think it is how I get them to seem as realistic as you say they are – the shading is everything.” Your heart is pounding in your chest by how close you are, stood between his thighs. “I should…”

“Of course,” he releases your hand and by the time you’re back behind the canvas, his legs are crossed once more.

You work in silence for a while, getting fully into the flow now that Joshua’s shirt appears to be behaving. He enjoys watching you work – the way sometimes you stick your tongue out when you are concentrating particularly hard on a certain element, how your brow furrows, how tiny smatters of paint begin to decorate your cheeks and your hair as you dab the brush onto the canvas.

As the time passes, he cannot refuse to chase the thrill of your touch one more time this evening. Clive returns tomorrow and maybe this will be his last chance for a while – he couldn’t so boldly unlace his shirt with his brother sat by his side. He waits for another opportune moment for your back to be turned, and tugs at the knot.

It holds firm.

Your back is still turned, so he tugs again.

Nothing.

He raises his other hand to try and help undo the knot, before leaning up in his chair slightly to see if he can see what you’re doing, how much longer you may be as he continues fighting the knot. He thinks you’re having another drink of water, so he risks looking down, finally pulling the knot free and frantically shrugs his shoulders – a little more vigorously than before as he feels his shirt slip down on both.

He looks up in relief, only to see you have turned back whilst he was looking down, your head tilted as you stare at him in confusion.

Joshua feels his face burn as red as his old cowl at being caught in the act.

You walk over to him again, trying to hold in a smile that is rapidly creeping across your face and feeling as bold as brass. “Although I would like to paint you sans shirt, Joshua, I don’t think your uncle would be best pleased.”

“You would?” His voice lilts before he shakes his head, embarrassment and shame overcoming him. “No, I beg your forgiveness, my lady.” He mumbles, tugging his shirt back up on his shoulders. “I have let feelings of jealousy drive my actions and it is most unbecoming of a future Archduke.”

“Jealousy?”

“I… desired your touch, but I understand that Clive is…”

“He’s…?”

“A finer specimen.” He feels entirely foolish and somewhat pathetic for even saying it aloud – his brother’s body had come from years of enforced labor, for Founder’s sake! “Please, my lady, I beg you for-“

You press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, before pulling back with a shy smile, heart pounding, hoping you’ve read the signs and heard him correctly.

“I assure you, Clive is not the one I desire.”

He lifts a hand to caress your cheek for a moment before pulling you back in between his thighs, a steadying hand on your back as your lips meet again once more – a succession of frantic kisses, as if you are both trying to squeeze in as many as you can before the moment is over.

The two of you begin to slow your rhythm as you nestle yourself upon his thigh, feel his tongue swipe across your lips, seeking entrance. You part them slightly and he is quick to divulge with a moan that makes you tingle.

You have to retreat to catch your breath at one point – never in your wildest dreams had you pictured the session ending with you sat on the future Archduke’s lap, his shirt now hanging open around his shoulders again.

“Please do not say you have to get back to the portrait, darling one.” He murmurs into your throat before pressing kisses across your jaw.

“No. Your complexion is too flush for me to continue,” you tease.

“Good. For I have something else in mind for the evening.”

“Oh?”

“A private showing, if you will.” He takes your hand and places it flat against the exposed part of his chest – you can feel his heart pounding through your fingertips.  

“Where would that be?”

“My bed chambers.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

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[finniestoncrane]

General!Scarecrow x Villain!Fem!Reader, word count: 2k commission: jonathan and his assistant have their first dangerous encounter with batman, and the adrenaline inspires him to set aside his need to protect her with his other desires...🎃🧡 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: public sex, exhibitionism

The chase was intense. The work even more so. In a strange and unusually lenient move, Jonathan had decided that your first outing as his assistant, his partner in crime, would be one of the more dangerous ones. You had long since realised that his feelings towards you extended far beyond passive interest, and thinly veiled sexual attraction. He cared about you, and would go to great lengths to ensure your safety. But, in a twist you hadn’t seen coming, he was willing to let you stand beside him, testing his newest batch of toxin. Quicker to take it’s hold over the potential victims, deeper fears exposed and utilised to bring Gotham to its knees.

He was impressed by you, you could tell as much. He’d called your method of spreading the toxin, through the air, swooping over the already terrified crowds, admirable and genius. Always quick with a compliment. But as beautiful as you looked, as majestic and ethereal, somehow not quite possible even, you were as you flew over the city, it was a far more obvious affair than they had planned. And before they knew it, the Bat was on their heels.

Luckily, escape was Jonathan’s forte. Either in mind, from emotions and painful memories, or in life, from Arkham, from imprisonment, and from the determined clutches of the Batman. He had no intentions of being caught this time, not when his work was becoming so interesting. And not when he had found someone worth staying free for. You were everything to him, and, somehow too late now that capture was imminent, he was realising it.

In a bid to keep you save, a last ditch attempt at maintaining his freedom and continuing his, their, important experiments, he grabbed your arm and pulled you on foot through the alleys, making his way expertly and surprisingly quickly, to the broken back door of an abandoned building. They ran to the stairs together, aware that there were only seconds between them and Batman, between escaping and being separated, sent away. But as they burst forth from the rooftop access, they realised that there was no one chasing them anymore. No thudding footsteps behind them. They had done it. They had escaped.

The thrill, it was exhilarating. To be so close to inevitability and then to evade it. It was all you had wanted, all you had imagined it would be. You braced yourself, hands on your knees as you panted, before you stood up, holding back an adrenaline fuelled scream. Instead, you spoke softly, still aware of your surroundings and the possibility of Batman hearing them and locating them.

“That was… that was amazing! I know you don’t usually like to exert any enthusiasm on the job, and I know that’s all this is, a job… but that was just so freeing. It was just… just so…”

Noticing that he was being oddly silent, even for him, you turned to him, still panting from the exertion of energy and the sweeping adrenaline that coursed through your veins, but laughing in excitement. With a soft giggle, you managed to squeeze out a word between breaths.

“What?”

As he faced you completely, your smile fell as you noticed he was staring, emotionless, neutral and calm.

“What?”

There was no answer, just his eyes, boring into your soul. You could see something flickering beyond them, deep within his pupils, but it was impossible to tell, to read his emotions.

“Ok, Jonathan… you’re scaring me now. What’s wrong? Are you no-”

On a sharp intake, you swallowed the breath, your words and flow interrupted as Jonathan grabbed your forearms, pulling you into a deep kiss that knocked you back, brain blank as you adjusted to his grip. While you found the capacity to kiss him back, leaning into his lips as he moaned soft and low at the reciprocation, Jonathan’s grasp loosened, his fingers beginning to stroke against the sleeves of your costume, teasing at it to pull it away from you, to touch your smooth, warm skin beneath.

Feeling more desperate, keener to touch you with every passing second, he leant into the embrace, knocking you back against the wall of the rooftop access. His kisses sloppily trailed from your mouth to your chin, along your jaw and to your neck. Strands of saliva followed, coating your skin, glistening under the moonlight, a testament to the desperation and desire, to be satiated in his deep hunger.

His lips, chapped and torn, lingered on you, his breath hot and warm, cheeks flushed with the heat of arousal. As he panted into you, you held his cheeks, forcing his gaze back up to yours.

“Are you ok, Jonathan?”

“I… I need you. Now. It can’t wait.”

With a surprised squeal, you were hoisted up against the wall, held there, his arms wrapped around your thighs, your legs around his waist, supported by his surprisingly strong body. Positioned against his body, you could feel his erection, the stiffened thickness at the front of his own costume, pressing against you. Just the suggestion of him alone was enough to arouse you, slick gathering as you felt him buck into you, ever so slightly.

Jonathan’s fingers were pressed into your skin, stinging even through the fabric. He clawed at it, tearing it slightly beneath his ragged nails, ferocious as he felt your skin against his calloused finger tips. His teeth met your collarbone, deep in the skin of your neck, as he moved around, kissing, lapping at you, biting to taste your flesh.

Finding himself, attempting to maintain some composure, he stopped, his forehead against yours, taking the moment to breathe before he spoke.

“This is most… inappropriate, but it’s too good to waste, you know, the feelings. It does feel right. Right?”

Taking his face in your hands you leaned into him.

“It feels perfect.”

The adrenaline dimmed, tension still palpable between them as Jonathan let himself be supported by your hands and head and body.

“There’s danger in this. Too much. But the excitement, the fear, it almost makes up for it. Still… it made me realise how close I could come to losing you.”

His fingers trailed up and down your spine, your blood running cold as the sensation, shivering with excitement as he tickled over you.

“And if we’re to risk that… I’d hate to lose out on anything. To regret not doing what I wanted.”

Jonathan’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, his lips punctuating his words as he kissed your neck and down your arm, romantic and yet, tinged with a sense of possessiveness, as though he were marking you, scenting you as his, covering you with him.

“You’re mine, my sweet. My muse, my assistant, my partner. Mine. And I want to make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

Taking you by complete surprise, his hands moved to the front of your costume, ripping it apart swiftly and with little effort. Your breasts, stomach and shoulders exposed to the elements.

“Unless, that is, I happen to be the one doing the bad things.”

Throwing your hands around his neck, placing one at the back of his head to tease back his hood, you let yourself be taken over by him, ravished completely as he let his hands drag down your front, carelessly and clumsily over your body. Though the sight of you, cold and exposed, entirely vulnerable to his touch and to the world, made his cock twitch, stiff against the front of his pants, he held you close regardless. Covering you up, bringing you into his warmth, attempting to protect you still, even against his own pleasure and desires.

Still, he was happy to let you get cold briefly, just as he positioned himself at your feet. On his knees, grovelling, begging. Devout in his worship and adoration of your body. He held his face against your stomach, kissing up it, straining to reach your breasts. With one hand, he cupped one, letting his fingers tease over the nipple, holding it between his calloused and rough finger tips and rolling it between them. The other he let hold you, palm pressed into your rear as he grabbed at your cheek, bringing you closer, to feel his hot breath against your skin.

Moments like these, where they were close in proximity but in spirit also, were points where he felt like he could be honest. To tell you how deeply he appreciated you. The friendship, the touch, the encouragement. To find such a likeminded soul, it was something he had never imagined possible. But as he held you, softer, kinder, warmer than him, he felt his stomach tighten. As much as he wanted to preserve you, to protect you, all he could think about was devouring you, ruining you for anyone else but him.

Grabbing your hips, Jonathan spun you around until you were facing the wall of the roof access building. With his hands still on your waist, he bent you over, his palm sliding up your spine to your head which he pushed down. Taking the hint, you placed your palms against the rough wall in front of you, steadying yourself. Behind you, his hands now on his own body, you could hear Jonathan unzipping his pants, pulling them down hastily.

[magicalbats]

Tavern Nights (Sampo x reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 5949

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, alcohol, coercion, manipulation, just generally skeevy/predatory behavior, age difference, size difference, public fondling, public nudity, implied public blowjob

A/N: My second commission from the donation's for Parm. I was once again lucky enough to get permission to post this for everyone to read and (hopefully) enjoy, and I am very glad for that. I just don't think Sampo gets enough love! Someday everyone who's been sleeping on him will regret it, I promise you that! Anyway, thank you so, so much for working with me on this @rabbbitseason I had a blast! ❤️

⭐

It's been a long, long time since he last frequented The Tavern as much as he has in just the past week alone. When he was young and still figuring out his place in this expansive universe, he’d spent countless nights here simply taking in the ambiance and the drink, with maybe even a bit of gambling on the side here or there. Maybe a bit of fucking too, when he found an interesting partner to take into one of the frequently used back rooms. And the Masked Fool’s had no shortage of interesting people. 

But now he was older, arguably wiser and not quite so easily taken in by all the revelry and merrymaking of the familiar old haunt. In truth, he hadn’t thought he’d ever visit this place again after willingly parting with his mask. Sparkle drove a hard bargain though and after spending too much time with her on Penacony it was hard to tell her ‘no’ and actually mean it. 

He’d tried. Really, he had. But he hadn’t meant it. 

She’d seen right through it, of course. 

Sparkle isn’t with him tonight, nor had she been at his side the previous time either. Just that first fateful evening, wherein she’d pretended to be the good little chaperone accompanying her charge back to where he belonged (according to her, at least) like a shepherd returning the lost sheep to its flock. She’d ditched him quickly enough after that but he was fine with it. Glad, actually, because he’d managed to find someone much more his speed than ole’ miss Sparkle who in many ways had proven herself nothing but trouble. 

“Mister Koski! I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon!” 

His poor heart practically melts into an unrecognizable puddle right then and there as you come bouncing over to him with an excited grin on your face. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had been so excited to see him, if ever such a person had existed at all. It does his ego a world of good, and he pins you with a dotingly indulgent smile when you come to a stop before him. 

“Now, now. I told you to drop the formalities, didn’t I kiddo’? Just call me ‘Sampo’.”

“Okay, mister Sampo! Will do!” 

Cute. He thinks it’s really quite cute in a way that doesn’t seem particularly fair to him, or any other man with a working pair of eyes and a functioning cock, but he isn’t about to tell you that. You were already fidgeting before him like you were flustered under his attention, or perhaps excited to be on the receiving end of it, and he didn’t want to break the illusion just yet. 

In terms of young rookie Fools, you were perhaps the most bright eyed and bushy tailed he’d ever met. He’d seen more than his fair share over the years, had even been one himself at some point in the far distant past, but he’d never known one quite like you. Even putting aside your obvious fascination with him (only partially owed to his usual charms, he's willing to admit) there was something about you that just screamed … naive and a little too trusting. Like ‘please take advantage of me’ was stamped across your forehead in permanent ink. 

Sampo wonders, not for the first time, how exactly you ended up here with a dainty little mask perched atop the crown of your head like a hat. A somewhat unsettling hat, albeit, but a hat nonetheless. It looks like the blank face of a doll, which he finds rather fitting for you, with a full set of luxurious lashes but no eyes and no hair. Just an adorable button nose and a tiny mouth set in a neutral pout. He probably would have found it a bit creepy had it not only added on to just how very interesting he considered you to be. 

“Alright, enough of that. I’m just stopping in for one last drink before I head out.” He tells you with a velvety drawl. “Would you care to join me?” 

At some point he was probably going to end up regretting this but for right now at least he deemed that a problem for Future Sampo to worry about. In the present, he was much more keen on having some fun with you first before any silly notions like impropriety or moral obligation managed to sink its claws into him. 

At your eager nod, he reaches out to take your shoulder in what most would likely consider a too friendly gesture but you don’t even bat an eye at it when he steers you towards the back of the establishment. Finds a nice unoccupied booth in the corner, away from all the other Fool’s who have largely gathered around the bar to have their drinks and play cards with one another, the wagers of which could have ranged from anything as mundane as simple credits to the outrageous sort he’d seen on more than one occasion here. A long lost relic from a forgotten civilization, once, or even a mutually assured self destruction button courtesy of miss Sparkle herself. It was her favorite toy, after all. 

Much to his satisfaction, you obediently sit when he nudges you into the booth, scooting over along the bench to give him some space to join you. Bending at the waist when a chorus of hoots and hollers rises up behind him, Sampo has to lean down and get close to your ear in order to ensure he’s heard over the raucous noise. 

“What can I get you to drink, sweetheart? It’s on me.” 

There you go squirming again, looking really quite pleased as you sit up a little straighter and round your shoulders for him. “Whatever you’re drinking is fine.” 

How precious. 

“Ooh, now that might turn out to be a bit dangerous if you’re not careful. I have a feeling I’m a tad more experienced than you when it comes to, uh, drinking.” 

If you find the sleazy note in his voice at all off putting you certainly don’t show it, looking up at him with the kind of bright faced confidence only someone in their youth can pull off. ‘Take advantage of me’, indeed. 

“Don’t worry, I can handle myself.” You tell him candidly. “It’ll be your mistake if you underestimate me.” 

Was that a challenge? If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were doing this to him on purpose. 

“Pft. I bet. Okay then, just sit tight. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though. I’ll be back momentarily.” He starts to straighten up but not without sliding his hand down from where it had reached out to brace against the backrest of the booth seat just behind you. Perfectly casual about it, Sampo palms the top of your head in a quick, harmless pat that shifts the little mask and ruffles your hair just so before pulling away entirely. He doesn’t stop long enough to take in your reaction or gauge what you think about it. He doesn’t really need to. 

This was not the first time he’d touched you in such a seemingly off handed manner and he already knew you were preening under the attention. No matter how many times he’d tested the waters the reaction was always the same. You liked him. Wanted him to keep touching you like that, either knowingly or unknowingly, he couldn’t yet say for sure, but he was more than happy to give it to you regardless of the reason. Lucky you. 

He returns to the table a few minutes later with a freshly made drink in both hands, watching carefully from under the fringe of his hair when he sets yours in front of you. It’s a dark, murky looking concoction that seems to announce in no uncertain terms that it’s potent and strong with just a glance. As expected, you don’t look quite so sure of yourself anymore when you take in the thick consistency inside the stout glass. 

But you keep a brave face, which he has to give you credit for, especially when you don’t hesitate to pick it up at his nudging insistence. The first tentative sip has you choking at the taste even as you desperately try to blink away the tears that come into your eyes, and he can’t quite stop himself from laughing at your expense. 

Sampo doesn’t push it on you anymore than that though, finding it much more entertaining to watch you slowly try to drink it all down completely of your volition. He doesn’t even need to wheedle you or coerce you into it. You just do it — because you had something to prove? Or was it because you wanted so badly to impress him that you were willing to get yourself drunk just to accomplish it? He isn’t entirely sure on that front either but it doesn’t actually matter. You were doing exactly what he’d hoped you would and that pleases him a great deal. 

By the time an hour has gone by, you’re slumped against him in the booth with your head tilted back, resting along his bicep where it’s curled over the back of the seat. He’s kept you talking for the greater portion of your time spent together, alternating between one triviality or another just to ensure you don’t accidentally doze off on him. He could now name your favorite color, the school you’d attended back on your home planet and the breed of your first pet. You hadn’t struck him as the sort to be fond of Pettu Hamsters, bizarre little rodent-like beasts that laid eggs and curled themselves into tight balls for protection, but you’d assured him that you were quite fond of them. Given the no nonsense look you’d leveled on him, he believed you. 

“And you know what happened next?”

It’s obvious you’re a little too relaxed to be self conscious anymore, and he doesn’t say a word about it when you not so subtly shift closer to him on the bench. You’re practically pressed right up against his side now but, still, he doesn’t make his move yet. Sampo may have technically been working to pull one over on you but that didn’t mean he was going to be a pig about it. 

“I’d never seen a meteor shower like that before. All up close and personal, right outside my window. It was pretty cool but kind of scary at the same time.” You’re rambling about nothing in particular. Just a fond reminiscence of the long list of firsts you’d experienced upon leaving home, which Sampo listens in on as much as he needs to. There were a few other first time things he wanted to introduce you to, provided you didn’t fall asleep on top of him before then. “I thought for sure one of them was going to slam into the ship and — and vacuum us out into space! All I remember going through my head at the time was that I didn’t want to die like that. I can’t imagine it would feel great. What do you think?” 

You tip your face towards him with the sluggish, heavy lidded lethargy of someone well and truly buzzed. Sampo just chuckles as he tips his chin down, cheek braced against his propped up fist for support. 

“I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night, darling. What was that you said earlier about being able to handle yourself?” 

Unmistakable fluster creeps across your expression, distant though it may be under the hazy mask of intoxication. “I didn’t know you’d get me something so strong. Are you sure you weren’t purposely trying to get me drunk?” 

Feigning hurt, Sampo draws his brows together in an overly affected lift and places his opposite hand over his heart. “Why, I never! Such a serious accusation to lobby at a gentleman of my esteemed standing. Just ask anyone here, missy, and they’ll tell you exactly what kind of upstanding, trustworthy guy Sampo Koski is!” 

You giggle at his theatrics and reach over to weakly shove at him. Your arm seems to immediately lose all of its remaining strength though, and rather bonelessly flops down to stretch out along his thigh. He can see his moment to strike fast approaching but it still wasn’t the perfect time. Soon, very soon, just not quite yet. 

“You’re funny.” 

“We’re all a bit funny here, I’m afraid.” He murmurs, dropping his voice to a slyly suggestive drawl again. “You’ve still got some growing to do if you want to fit into that mask on your head. Want some pointers?” 

Huffing softly at the suggestion, you visibly muster up the strength to send him a weak look of warning. “I’m already grown. I wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now if I wasn’t, would I?” 

Sampo sends a slow look of appraisal down at your chest, noting the weight behind the thin material of your blouse while images of what your bare breasts might look like dance through his head. Yes, there certainly would be no denying that you were of a mature build and filled out in all the right places. 

“Mmm, if we’re talking physically then you’re right, of course. I doubt anything I say would help you get any taller.” 

“Hey.” 

“But I wasn’t talking about that,” He goes on, ignoring your interjection. “I meant your future as a Masked Fool. You haven’t drawn Aha’s gaze yet, have you sweetness?” 

“… no.” 

You look like you want to pout about that, and Sampo chuckles at the petulant tug of your mouth. Seriously too cute. 

“Oh, but fret not, little one.” He coos. “You’ve got me here to show you the ropes, don’t you? I promise I’m a good teacher.” 

You seem to think about that for a long moment, giving it the due consideration of someone who hasn’t yet picked up on the scam. Not that he could really blame you or the alcohol making your eyes look so heavy and tired. Sampo was good at the game. Always had been, even when he was younger, and his technique had only continued to improve over time. Most people assumed him far too goofy and painfully obvious to harbor any ulterior motives after he started laying it on thick enough. That was the real angle to his schemes, once you got right down to it. Hiding in plain sight was in many ways his specialty. 

“What will you teach me?” You finally ask, roving your attention up towards his face once again. The way you look at him is so unassuming and guileless that he knew he could have offered you a tropical vacation home on Jarilo-VI and you probably would have bought into it without question. Poor thing. 

The muscles along his back gradually start to tense with the building anticipation of finally making his move, of pouncing on his chosen prey to claim it for himself, and he leans down, practically engulfing you in the mass of his much larger frame. You feel as tiny sitting next to him on the bench seat as you look, far outclassed by his much taller, broader build and such a sharp contrast to your feminine stature. He could have easily overpowered you if that was how he’d wanted to go about it but, well, Sampo Koski was never one for doing things the hard way if he could help it. 

His face now hovering just over yours with precious room to spare, he slowly reaches up to brush the tips of gloved fingers under your chin. Your lashes flutter at the touch, threatening to slide shut, but an attention grabbing upward nudge prompts them wide open again. 

“There are a few things I can think of,” He purrs, secretly delighting in the way you start to squirm for him. Nervous or eager? He’d find out soon enough. “An old dog like me has his trusty bag of tricks, rest assured. I’d be happy to share some with you, if you’re interested?” 

Your mouth parts, a tiny pink tongue inching out to glance over your lips and wet them. It almost makes him crack. Almost throws all of his self control and restraint right out the window, but he forces himself to wait. To let you respond first before he goes in for the kill. It would make everything so, so much more satisfying in the long run. 

“Okay.” You finally murmur. “I’m game.” 

“Glad to hear it. Shall we seal the deal and make it official then?” 

A small sound of confusion slips out of you but then he’s leaning the rest of the way in, closing the scant distance. You don’t protest or pull away. Just watch him with wide, fascinated eyes as he tilts his mouth to slot against yours, and a dull jolt works through your body at the contact. He keeps it brief and gentle, a mere brushing of mouths, before pulling back enough to pin you with a lopsided smirk. 

“There. Now it’s a promise.”

Tentatively, you reach up to touch your bottom lip. “Is that how all the Fool’s make their promises?” 

He shrugs broad shoulders, tracing shapes along the side of your neck with blunt fingers. “Only the really fun ones.”

Extending his thumb to prod the underside of your chin, Sampo carefully nudges your face back up at him until your hand finally falls away and you comply, offering him a vaguely flustered look. 

“Another, for good luck?” 

The first real glimpse of uncertainty flashes across your face at that. You hesitate, flicking a quick glance behind him at the rest of the bar and — 

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about them.” Soothingly, he cups your cheek in what otherwise would have been a comforting gesture had it not been for the way he gives the roundest part of your face a quick, mostly harmless pinch. “They’ll mind their business so there’s no need to get shy on me now. Besides, I’ve already kissed you once haven’t I? What harm could one more do?” 

You still don’t appear to be totally convinced but you give him a brief, stilted nod anyway. He’s pretty sure it’s the unmistakable gleam of excitement he can see reflecting back at him in your gaze, unsquashable despite your obvious nerves, and Sampo feels a smoldering hot rush of victory sear through his veins when he leans into your space again. 

His mouth brushing over yours in a light, coaxing caress, you simply sit there for a long moment of indecision like a frozen, petrified statue. So still he isn’t even sure if you’re breathing. But then, thoroughly dashing that impression against the floor, you come alive under him all at once. Give a squirming shudder and press up into him, fervently kissing him back as if in outright challenge. He feels your lips trembling against his and he can’t quite keep the leer off his face when he increases the pressure to kiss you just a little bit harder, claiming you as his own. 

The discordant noise of revelry and drinking, Fool’s eternally at play, seems to highlight the poignancy of what’s happening in the booth situated in the far back while at the same time it also recedes to a far distant thrum of vague sounds. Like everyone else in The Tavern was on the other side of some great, reverberating tunnel. His attention is focused entirely on you and the way you slowly bring your hand up to tentatively brace the palm of it against his chest. Your fingers feel dainty, something small and fragile, and he quickly decides to return the favor. 

Sliding his own hand down off your cheek, over the line of your neck and past the soft jut of your clavicle, he takes a slow pass over one breast. They’re big but his hands are bigger still, and it easily cups around the full weight of it behind your blouse. You react like he’d electrocuted you, jolting in your seat as your head tips back and your lips slacken, dropping open as if to moan. But he just follows you, keeping his lips sealed over yours so he can plunge his tongue into that cute, hot little mouth and truly taste you for the first time. 

Noising an incomprehensible kitten mewl against him, you close your hand around his shirt and give it a halfhearted tug. Like you wanted to pull him in closer but you weren’t quite confident enough to follow through on that urge; like your head was spinning a shade too fast from the alcohol as much as the surge of physical responses in your body to make any sense of what was happening and act on it. 

Sampo can tell you’re enjoying it though. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure that out. 

The proof is as plain as if you’d spoken the words aloud. You don’t bite at his tongue when it invades your mouth to explore every little nook and cranny inside, nor do you pull away in revulsion when he leisurely fucks it towards the back of your throat in slow, suggestive motions. You also don’t attempt to slap his hand away when it comes back up to caress over the fullest part of your breast again. He can feel your nipple rapidly stiffening underneath the layers of your clothes, responding to him with a great deal of eager enthusiasm that has you shuddering and pressing your legs together. So sensitive. 

He could really exploit that if given half a chance. 

At length, he breaks apart from the kiss with a low, seedy exhale of deeply felt masculine pleasure. Peers down at you with an easy, self satisfied grin, but you look to be a bit out of it and lost in your own little world. With your head tipped back and rested against his arm where it’s still curled over the top of the booth seat, you merely blink up at him through a hazy, distant gleam in your eyes. Panting softly, as if you couldn’t quite catch your breath while he was idly fondling your tit. Hardly any wonder there, given how much you seemed to be feeling everything in stunning high definition, but he wasn’t quite done with you yet. 

“Oh my, it seems like someone is having a good time now. I wasn’t expecting you to look at me like that, kiddo’. You’re gonna’ have this old man falling in love if you’re not careful.” 

Your breath catches in obvious surprise, a vaguely startled expression creeping onto your face. Sampo doesn’t give you a chance to question him or realize that he was only teasing though, and instead tips his attention downward to regard the weight of your chest. A fresh wave of innate satisfaction washes over him when you do the same, following his line of sight to peer down at yourself as well. 

“You’re looking a little hot under the collar, y’know. Let me help you with that.” 

Fingertips tracing the path over your breast, he reaches lower and you finally seem to snap out of it. You give a quick start, fumbling to get your hands down to try and grab at him, but even with both sets of digits locked around his blocky wrist it’s easy enough for him to tug your blouse free of your cute little skirt and get it inched up enough to reveal a smooth strip of your fluttering stomach. 

“M - mister Sampo!” You squeak, halfheartedly twisting in a futile attempt to delay the inevitable. “We’re — we’re still in public, you can’t - -“

“Hush now, sweetheart. Your ol’ pal Sampo’s got you. There’s nothing to be afraid of. See?” With a taunting flick of his hand, your blouse rises up another inch or so, and with it so too do your eyes grow even wider. “No ones even paying attention to us over here so they won’t see anything. Trust me. I’ll make sure of that. After all, you’re mine now, aren’t you? Can’t have anyone else eyeballing the goods, right?” 

Numbly, your gaze roves up to regard him again. There’s an unspoken question behind your expression, a sentiment that you hesitate to give voice to, and he just hums a playful little tune under his breath while he continues to toy the hem of your top. One more nudge is all it would take to reveal what sort of bra you were wearing and he couldn’t wait to find out. His bet was on something soft and girly, with a bow or maybe even a bit of lace? But first … 

“Don’t tell me you’re really that scared, sweetness? Even with me here?” 

Your brow pinches inward, creating an adorable little crease between them to go with the almost petulant pull of your mouth. An internal war wages, bloody and violent, behind your eyes while you no doubt weigh out the multitude of options at your fingertips. The truth or a deceitful lie, which would you ultimately decide? Sampo knew which one he would pick had it been him standing under the spotlight but he’d meant it when he said you still had a lot left to learn. That part, at least, hadn’t been facetious. 

Finally making your decision another series of heartbeats later, you at last give him a mute nod. It pulls a soft, doting sound from deep within his chest and makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside as he dips his face close again, rumbling a low sound of approval. 

“Aww, you poor thing. It’s okay though. Just trust your old friend Sampo, okay? Here, I’ll even make it better with another kiss.” 

This time you eagerly tip your face up to meet him halfway, and a soft sound of need puffs out of you when your lips meet again. He kisses you deeply now, claiming your mouth for himself and swiping his tongue inside with a possessive, demanding gesture that has you mewling faintly in response. As he’d half suspected you would, you positively melt under him like you were happy to give into the pulse pounding heat and the risk of the moment as long as he was there to guide you through it. To lead you and to teach, just as he’d promised you he would. 

Thoroughly placated now, you don’t protest or make a move to stop him while he inches your shirt the rest of the way up, but you do shudder uncontrollably at the first waft against your exposed chest. Still fervently kissing you, Sampo cracks an eye open and peers out from under the fringe of his hair to look at what he’s working with. A dull thrum of pleasure promptly races up his spine when he sees that your tits are just as juicy and tantalizing as he’d thought they’d be, and he voraciously watches them heave within the confines of your pale peach colored bra. It’s a lovely shade that complements your skin tone perfectly but he’s a bit too impatient to simply admire it or the dainty blue bow on the front for very long. 

You groan into his mouth, arching against the booth, when he casually slips a long digit under the middle center of the dainty undergarment but he just swallows the noise and tugs. Doesn’t even give you a moment to understand what he was planning to do, and your breasts spill out with a meaty jostle as the cups slide up and away. Your nipples are already stiff and aching when they hit the air, pointing up off your chest in demand of attention, and you finally tear your face from his with a threadbare, faltering gasp. 

Sampo can’t quite find the wherewithal to follow after you and lay claim to your mouth again when he was so damnably transfixed by the sight of your bare tits, round and squeezable in all their fleshy abundance. He feels suddenly faint from how violently his cock instantly springs up in his pants to shove at the inside of the zipper, only vaguely aware of you turning your head away in bashful reproach while your hands come up to crowd together over your chest. 

Oh, that wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. 

“Come on, don’t be like that.” He coos at you, the usually soft inflection of his voice noticeably absent now. It seems to have been replaced by a deeper, gravelly edge that makes his customary sing-song fall short. 

You don’t seem to mind though, much too preoccupied with softly whimpering when he takes one of your hands by the wrist and gently pries it away, curling it up and back so he can juggle it over to his opposite hand. Half restrained now, you can’t do much else but anxiously squirm in place when he reaches back down to lightly tweak the exposed tip of your breast between thumb and forefinger. 

“Ahhn!” 

“Mmm, these are awfully tender, aren’t they?” 

He doesn’t really expect a response, which is good, because you can’t seem to catch your breath long enough to actually speak. All that comes out of your mouth are short, tender little gasps and the softest moans his old ears have ever heard. It sounds like the sweetest music and he makes an effort to file it all away for later, when he was back in Belobog and lonely in the middle of the cold, frozen eternity that had yet to see any noticeable improvements since the Stellaron Disaster there was neutralized. Maybe someday it would, hopefully even soon, but he wasn’t expecting to return from this trip to find lush fields of green stretching as far as the eye could see. 

This night spent with you here in The Tavern was going to keep him comfortably warm for many more to come though, and he eagerly folds himself over you so he can bend down and seal his mouth around that pert, straining bud. You give a tiny little cry, a sensitive yelp that you quickly try to stifle, but not fast enough. 

Releasing his hold on your wrist, Sampo snakes his arm around the back of your head and covers your mouth with his broad palm. You let out a muffled protest behind his glove and try to turn your head away but it’s no use. He’s so much bigger and stronger than you that he can easily hold you in place no matter how you squirm or weakly shove at his forearm. Still sucking on your sore little teat, his mouth working the fleshy nub to a tight coil, he rolls his eyes upward to look at you from this angle. 

If he’d thought you were pretty before, now you were downright gorgeous. That hazy, flustered look of begrudging pleasure really suited you. Especially when it was because of what he was doing to you. 

He isn’t sure how much more of the anticipation he can stand when his cock was already aching, practically throbbing inside his pants, and he at least disengages from your breast with a noted hint of regret some moments later. In the wake of his attentions your stiff little teat is left flushed a noticeable shade darker than when he’d started and glistening with a fine sheen of sticky, fast cooling spit. The sight alone makes him groan, low and gravelly, as he looks upon it with longing. 

Oh, how he would’ve loved nothing more than to simply suckle at both of them for an hour or two but this was hardly the right place or time for him to indulge like that. Even what he had in mind for you had the potential to backfire with spectacularly disastrous (yet still amusing) results. It was time to get on with it before anyone’s attention was drawn towards the far back corner and curious interlopers came creeping over to check what was happening. 

“You seem to be quite sensitive, darling. Even moreso than I initially thought, and somethiiiiing tells me you’re going to be a screamer so we’ll have to play it a bit safe.” He murmurs, teasing you with a quick wink as he straightens up and allows his free hand to slide down lower to pinch at the hem of your skirt. 

Already askew from all of your fidgeting, it doesn’t take much for him to pull it up enough to reveal your panties moulded to the puffy outline of your cunt. Even just a quick glance assures him you’re wet and sticky given the way the matching peachy material sticks to you and he gives his tongue a soft click as if in reproach. 

“Really now, are you sure the possibility of getting caught isn’t exciting you? Well, you’re a hundred years too early to try and pull one over on Sampo Koski, I promise you that.” 

He shifts back into his seat to settle in next to you again before releasing his hold on your mouth. You promptly suck in a much needed lungful of fresh air, swaying somewhat unsteadily on the bench, but the reprieve is short lived. Grabbing you around the middle, Sampo effortlessly manhandles you around so he can pull you half into his lap, partially sprawled out across the seat and perfectly positioned over the tent in his trousers. Your little mask has been almost completely dislodged from its perch atop your head in all the shuffling, and he reaches up to pull it the rest of the way off while his other hand busily works on his zipper. 

“How about this,” He starts, using his most effective and well practiced salesman pitch, feeling much too hot and reckless to reconsider the wisdom in this move. If you finally decided you’d had enough of him and all his pawing it wouldn’t be hard for you to put him out of commission for the foreseeable future in this particular position. But, well, he didn’t really think he needed to worry about that too much. “Let’s keep that mouth of yours busy for right now and I’ll make it up to you later, huh? Whaddya’ say? I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

Panting and flushed, you slowly lift your face to regard him. A bright, sparkling gleam flashes through your eyes and you grin, looking like you were seconds away from bursting out into uncontrollable, wild laughter. You looked like a kid on Christmas morning being handed the one present she’d wanted more than anything else in the whole wide world and that youthful, beaming enthusiasm just makes his balls draw up achingly tight in heady anticipation. He couldn’t wait to sink himself into you. Any part of you. It didn’t really matter which, when you had him so painfully stiff in his pants and more worked up than he could recall being in a very long time. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Mister Sampo.” 

He almost laughs too, feeling the familiar bubbling sensation gleefully rising in his chest, but it’s swallowed up and doused by a shaky groan of relief when he finally manages to fish his cock out. It was starting to make more sense to him, why you were here rather than anywhere else in the vast cosmos, but he didn’t care enough to dig for any real answers. 

All that mattered was that you were interesting and you were fun, and as long as the two of you were having fun together then everything else was irrelevant to him.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Hidden embers

Chapter 3

Chapter summary: Joel needs help with his yard, you need help with figuring your feelings out

A/N: Im so excited you guys have been liking this!! last chapter was a good one, but this is my favorite so far. I also started a tag list so if y’all want to be part of that comment down here <3 Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: No outbreak AU, Age gap, DBF!Joel, Mean!Joel if you squint, some accidental physical contact lol, sexual tension but no smut

Series masterlist

“You can’t spend your whole summer doing nothing. You should really find something productive to do while you’re back home.”

Four years of college, every summer break, and most holidays spent working to cover tuition and other expenses—a lifetime of never catching a break until now—and that’s what your mother tells you after just two weeks of "doing nothing"?

You knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time before she decided to insert herself into your life and dictate your every move. It’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. “I’ve been helping out around the house,” you say, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “that’s not what I meant. You can’t be locked up in here all day. People will think you’re wasting your life away. I’ve been asking around at the town’s pageant commission, and they would be absolutely delighted to have you around to help us organize this year’s Teen Country Queen Pageant.”

There it was. Nothing your mother did was ever for anyone’s interests other than herself. If she had no interest in parading you around her pageant organizer friends, you were absolutely sure she couldn’t care less what you did with your days.

Right on cue, just before you’re about to give her a piece of your mind, your dad walks in. “What’s the long face for?”

“Oh, Hank, great! You can back me up here. I was telling her she needs to find something to do with her days. All this lazing around can’t be good for her. My friends at the—”

“Actually, I was thinking the exact same thing,” your dad says, surprising both of you.

“Really?” you ask incredulously. For all his flaws, your dad has never been one to meddle in your affairs.

“Yeah, Joel has been complaining about his front and back yard looking like shit since Cindy left.”

“Hank! Language!” your mom’s voice rises to that ear-shattering pitch she uses when she’s trying to be stern.

“Sorry, looking terrible since Cindy left,” your dad corrects himself, laughing it off. Sometimes he forgets he can only be that relaxed when he’s alone with you; your mom is a whole different ballgame.

“Um… Cindy?” you ask, drawing a blank on the name.

“The ex-wife. That’s not the point, kiddo. The point is he’s been whining about it for the longest time but is always too lazy to figure out gardening by himself. Then I remembered you were in the gardening club back in high school. It’d be nice of you to offer him some help. Poor man doesn't know how to keep a cactus alive.”

“Dad, that was ages ago. I don’t know if I remember much of it anyway. I only joined for my college applications,” you retort.

“It’s just a few plants and flowers here and there. How hard can it be? He even said he bought everything he should need for it but never got ‘round to actually doing it, so it’s all laid out for ya.”

Your choices were clear: spend however long it took to finish Joel’s yard while pretending you don’t have a massive crush on your dad’s best friend, or run around town with your mom organizing a beauty pageant. The decision wasn’t hard at all.

“I’ll go over and check it out.”

The walk to Joel’s house should’ve been short—barely a five-minute stroll up the road—but a nasty crack in the pavement had other plans. You were so lost in your thoughts today that you missed it entirely, stepping right into the trap.

Alright, maybe it wasn’t just today. You’ve been in your head ever since you first saw Joel standing at the bottom of your stairs. The way his hands had gripped your arms, steadying you, had left an imprint that you couldn’t seem to shake. And now, here you were, back in that same position, your mind consumed by this man who seemed to be as bad for your sanity as he was for your attention span.

So what should’ve been a walk up the road turned into a drawn-out pause as you sat on the sidewalk, waiting for the sharp pain in your twisted ankle to dull.

About ten minutes later, you finally make it to Joel’s lawn. You brace yourself to climb his porch stairs, pretending your ankle wasn’t bothering you, when you notice his garage door open. You hadn’t seen him from your previous angle, but as you got closer, the view of Joel's back muscles came into frame. And what a view that was. He was leaning over his truck, completely absorbed on whatever needed fixing under that hood.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the way his shirt clings to the sweat glistening on his skin. It takes a few seconds to remember that it isn’t socially acceptable to ogle someone from their front lawn, so you clear your throat and take a few more steps toward him.

“Hey” he greeted you, looking up from his work.

“Hey, yourself” you say back, playing it as cool as you could. It wasn’t a particularly hot day, but Joel's face glisten with sweat, as do his arms and you don’t not even want to think about what’s going on under that t-shirt.

“Come to pay me a visit?” he asked with a smirk

“My dad didn’t tell you? I’m your gardener for the day… or however long it takes to make your front lawn and back yard all pretty.”

Joel’s response is a breathy laugh, followed by him dropping his head between his forearms resting on the truck.“My gardener, huh?” he finally brings his eyes back up to meet yours. “Your daddy don’t know how to mind his own business, do he, sweetheart?”

Let’s unpack that. This man didn’t just throw in a new pet name you’d be replaying in your mind at any random moment of the day, but he also said it in that tone he seems to reserve only for you—or so you hoped, at least.

And that other word coming from his lips… you were aware people in the south used it more casually, without the connotation it had in your mind, but the way it sounded coming from him…

Oh, it made you think of a million ways Joel Miller could say the word Daddy in plenty of different contexts.

You quickly drop your gaze, hoping to hide the intense blush creeping up your cheeks. “I uh… I’m afraid not.”

The sound of his boots on the garage floor pulls you back to reality as he steps closer. “You don’t gotta do this, y’know?” His tone shifts, becoming more serious. “It’s no big deal, I’ll get to this mess eventually.”

You look up at him once again, more desperate than you’d like to admit. “Joel, I’ve been cooped up in my house with my mother and her pageant friends for weeks now. Please, give me an excuse to be anywhere else.”

A chuckle. You could live for those, make it your entire profession to earn them. You really need to calm the fuck down and get a grip if you are to spend the entire day around this man.

“Alright, then. If it’ll make you happy, I’m not gonna say no” says before turning back into the garage. He returns with a small crate filled with gardening tools and a few potted plants, setting them down on the grass. “Got most of what you’ll need here. Not much, but it’s a start.” His gaze drops to your ankle. “You doin’ alright? You’re limping.”

You wave off his concern, not wanting to admit just how much your ankle is actually bothering you. “It’s nothing, just a little misstep on my way here . I’m fine, really.” You flash him a smile you hope is convincing enough.

Joel studies you for a moment longer, then nods. “Alright, but if it gets to be too much, you let me know, okay? Last thing I need is you hurtin’ yourself on my account.”

“Deal,” you lie. There’s no way in hell you’re backing out of this now.

He gestures toward the mess of overgrown grass, weeds, and flower beds that haven’t seen attention in who knows how long. “I guess that’s the worst of it. Clearing out the weeds should leave enough space for these plants. Don’t overthink it, I trust your instincts.”

You take your first good look at the pots he brought from the back of the garage. “Oh, daisies! They’re my favorite.” You glance up at him, sweetness lacing your tone.

He pauses, something unreadable passing over his face. “ ‘Course they are.” He says, the corners of his mouth tugging up a bit. “Well, let me know if you need anything else. I'll be working over there.”

With Joel back under the hood, you set to work on the lawn. Despite the dull throb in your ankle, you find a steady rhythm in the repetitive motions—pulling out stubborn roots, digging small holes for the flowers, and patting down the soil around them. It’s oddly satisfying, watching the neglected garden start to come to life under your hands. You’ve always had a knack for taking rugged things and making them pretty.

Every so often, you glance over at Joel, who’s completely engrossed in whatever he’s tinkering with under the hood. The way his muscles flex as he works, the concentration etched on his face and how it makes him look a lot more serious than he ever is when talking to you—it’s hard to not get distracted.

There’s something about him, something that pulls you in despite your better judgment, despite every self-preservation instinct in you. Maybe it’s the way he makes you feel grounded, even when your mind is spinning out of control. It’s such a foreign concept for you, you’ve always been the one who has to defuse tensions, be the bigger person, manage the chaos. It’s never like that with Joel.

You’re careful to keep your ankle steady, not wanting to give Joel any more reason to worry. But as the hours pass and the sun climbs higher, you can feel the strain starting to build. Ever the overachiever, you push through it, there isn’t much left to get done in the front lawn anyway.

By the time you’ve planted the last of the daisies, you’re more than a little proud of yourself. There are still a few bare spots here and there and a handful of marigold pots waiting to be planted, but the lawn is starting to look less like a jungle and more like somewhere you’d actually want to spend time in. You wipe your brow, satisfied.

Joel must’ve noticed you slowing down because he calls out from where he’s working, “How’re you holding up? You thirsty?”

You hadn’t realized how parched you were until he mentioned it. “Yeah, a drink sounds good.”

Joel gives you a quick once-over, his eyes lingering on your ankle for a moment longer than you’d like. But he doesn’t say anything as he leads the way into the house, holding the door open for you.

The cool air inside is a welcome relief from the midday sun, and you sigh as you step into the kitchen. Joel pulls a couple of glasses from the cupboard and fills them with ice water, handing one to you. You take a sip, feeling the cold liquid soothe your dry throat.

You lean against the counter, trying to take some weight off your bad ankle. But as soon as you shift your weight, a sharp pain shoots up your leg, and you can’t hold back the small whine that escapes your lips.

Joel’s eyes snap to yours, his brow furrowing with concern. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Joel. I’m fine,” you insist, even though you know you’re not fooling him. “It’s just—”

“ ‘S that why you’re whining every time you put weight on it?”

“It’s just a bit sore. Don’t—”

Before you can finish, Joel’s on you in a flash, closing the distance between you. He’s careful but firm as he lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “Let me see.”

“Joel, really, it’s not a big deal,” you start to protest, but the look he gives you silences any argument you might have had.

“Humor me,” he says, his voice low and steady. There’s a note of authority there that makes your heart race. There’s no disobeying him when he uses that tone.

You sigh dramatically, letting him gently take your injured ankle in his hands. His touch is warm, and the way his fingers graze your skin sends shivers down your spine. He inspects your ankle with a seriousness that makes your heart flutter, his brows knitted in concentration.

“This is more than a ‘little misstep,’” he looks back up, his eyes stern and serious. He slowly drops your leg, turning back to reach into the freezer and pull out a pack of frozen peas. He presses it against your ankle, holding it there with one hand while his other hand lingers on your calf.

It doesn’t take long for his thumb to start brushing up and down in a way that feels more comforting than it should. He starts adding a little pressure to his touch, the lingering touch from before turning into a massage up and down your calf.

Your breath catches as you look down at him, the way he’s so focused on taking care of you. The tenderness in his touch is at odds with the roughness of his hands, and the combination is making it hard to think straight. It’s even harder to keep the little sounds his touch arises in you contained, some of them escaping out of your parted lips despite your best efforts.

“Joel,” you start, your voice softer now, almost hesitant.

He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. His hand is still on your leg, his face overtaken by a dark expression you hadn’t seen on him until now.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels charged, like something unspoken is hovering just out of reach. You can feel it in the way his grip on your leg tightens ever so slightly, in the way his breathing seems to sync with yours.

And then, as if realizing where his hand is, Joel slowly pulls back. “I should get you back home, let you rest that ankle.”

You frown slightly, the way he spoke such a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch still lingering on your leg. “I’m alright. I’m gonna have to be kneeling down for most of what’s left anyways, so I won’t be putting any weight on it.”

“No, it’s best if you just go. I’ll sort the lawn out later.”

The words hit you like a bucket of cold water. You’re left staring at him, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor. Normally, your pride would keep you from asking, but something about Joel makes it impossible to let this go. “Did I… do something wrong?”

Joel pauses, his eyes softening for a split second before his expression hardens again. “No, you're fine. Thank you for your help, but I’m taking you home.”

He doesn’t leave room for discussion as he brushes past you, heading into the living room to grab his truck keys. Your chest tightens, the shame of the moment crashing down on you all at once.

Except… you didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t the one who was running her hands up and down his body, or pulling him close and throwing him on the counter like it was nothing. He did all that. He made you feel like something more was happening, and now he’s treating you like some desperate girl who threw herself at him, needing to be ushered out of his house as quickly as possible.

The ache in your heart is quickly overshadowed by a fiery rage, building more and more with each passing second. You turn sharply in the kitchen, your mind made up as you march toward the open door leading to the garage.

“Don’t bother,” you snap, your voice cutting through the silence as you head for the exit.

“What?” Joel turns around just in time to see you storming out.

You don’t even answer him, your steps quickening even as pain shoots up your leg with every movement.

“The hell are you doin’? You can’t walk home with that busted ankle,” he calls after you, his tone much harsher than it was just moments ago.

You laugh bitterly, not bothering to look back. This man clearly doesn’t know you and your stubborn ass well enough yet. “Oh, I’ll fucking live.”

Without another word, you push through the pain, taking it one torturous step at a time. Each step feels like defiance, a middle finger to your own pride and to Joel’s sudden coldness. But it’s better this way—better to feel the sharp sting in your ankle than the dull ache in your heart. The whole way home, you curse yourself for being so goddamn stubborn, even as the fiery rage keeps you moving forward.

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